Fast & Hard (The Fast 1)

“Five more minutes,” he responds. He’s asked for five more minutes a dozen times now.

Five minutes later I put my foot down, pick up my backpack of gear, and pull him away from the line, begrudgingly.

“Where are you dragging me to now, anyway? I’m done for the day.” He grumbles as I lead him through the maze of the circuit.

“We have a recent addition to your schedule, it won’t take long,” I tell him as we make our way toward the exit and the private parking zone behind the garages for the teams.

When we reach the parking lot I dig into my bag and pull out the key fob and hand it to him.

“What is this?”

“It’s a key fob, Lennox.”

“Yes, smart ass, I can see that. Where are we going?” He pushes the button on the fob and a sleek dark grey Ferrari convertible near us lights up and beeps.

“It’s a surprise,” I say. I hope this works. The fans must have rubbed off on him, he’s not as combative as I expect him to be, so far.

“What kind of surprise?” One of his eyebrows raises playfully and his lips curl up.

“If you don’t fight me on this, there may be pussy in it for you.” I smile. I can play his game too if I get what I need out of it.

“Consider me intrigued, Ms. Mitchell,” he smolders back.

We both sink into the car and he hits a button to roar the engine to life, a deep rumbling of the motor that I can feel through the soft leather seat and into my core. This Ferrari coupe would make anyone’s panties wet, it’s just a fact.

“Where to?” He asks as I pull out my phone and start giving him directions from my map app.

This car is obscenely sexy and it seems an intimate moment despite the passing freeway. We’re rarely alone together for this long and he’s never been this cooperative.

We’re cruising in the convertible, my hair whipping around my face in the warm sun and I am having very impure thoughts about Lennox’s hands working the paddle shifters on the steering wheel. Every sinew and tenon in his forearms flex as he guides the steering wheel and it’s hot watching him drive this powerful car. If he would just shut his mouth, he’d be the perfect specimen of a man.

In a show of good faith, I decide to push my luck and try talking to him, like an adult, without any barbs or snide comments. “Want to know something?”

“You’re a virgin? It’s ok, I’ll be gentle,” he says and pats my knee.

“You’re such an asshole,” I grumble and turn away to look out the open window. I should have known.

He laughs, “Ok, come on, tell me.”

“Are you going to be a dick?” I turn back to him and cross my arms over my chest.

“Probably, but I want you to tell me anyway.” His brown hair is blowing and he’s looking straight ahead under his aviator sunglasses. If he wasn’t a client and if I didn’t have a boyfriend, I have to admit, I would also very likely do things to him that are illegal in most countries like Francisca suggested. Just for one night, of course, because Lennox Gibbes is not a man for keeping long term.

“I’m the worst driver in the world. Literally the worst. I wrecked four cars by the time I was 18 and my roommate won’t let me near her ten-year-old junker. I’m that bad.”

He open mouth laughs. I think it’s the first time he’s had a genuine positive reaction to something I’ve said and it makes me smile, in return. “Wasn’t expecting that,” he chuckles.

“Take exit 26B,” I tell him. Should I push my luck even further since he’s in such an unusual mood? What the hell. “Can I ask you something?”

“I may not answer, but you can ask.”

“Why are you so nice to everyone else but so mean to me?

He pauses for a long time and isn’t speaking. I can’t take the silence anymore so I continue even though I should know better by now, “The fans, the catering crew, you’re so much different with them.”

Finally, he answers. “Aye, I love the fans and most of the support crew. They’re real people.”

“So I’m not a real person?”