She shrugged and silently agreed with her smile.
“So, what did he do? I kind of thought you liked this guy. You even went to Vegas with him.”
Picking up a chart, I acted like I was looking through it. “It wasn’t a good fit.”
“Bummer. He was so cute. And that body!” She used her hand to fan herself. “Speaking of hot bodies, that hottie from SMU will be coming in tomorrow. Oh happy day!”
Chuckling, I dropped the file onto my desk and shook my head at her. I worked for a large physical therapy clinic in Southlake Texas that I’d interned for and was hired on right after I finished school. It was a great place to work and I mostly dealt with athletes from Southern Methodist University.
“Okay, so if you’re not going to give me the deets on Trey, I’ll let it slide. I wonder if he had something to do with these, though?”
She handed me an envelope with my name written across it. “Please be Dallas tickets for this season. Oh please!” Stephanie chanted.
Hitting her with the large manila envelope, I snickered. “Stop it.”
Stephanie stood there and stared at me. “Well, are you going to open it?”
With a frustrated sigh, I opened it up and dumped the contents out on my desk. Picking them up, I saw a VIP pass for Texas Motor Speedway. Smiling, I opened up the letter and read it. My mouth dropped as I sat down in my chair.
“Oh. My. God.”
“What is it? Paislie! What’s wrong?”
Slowly trying to clear my head, I looked up at her and said, “They’re um . . . tickets for this weekend’s race.”
Her lip snarled as she looked at the tickets. “NASCAR? Do you even like racing?”
My heart felt as if it was about to burst from my chest as I looked back at the note and read it again.
Paislie,
Deuce requests your presence at a dinner function Thursday evening at Texas Motor Speedway.
Enclosed you will find one all-inclusive pass for this weekend. With this pass you are able to come and go as you wish. When arriving at the speedway, please use Gate One and show them the VIP pass and let them know you are a guest of Elliot Racing.
We really hope you can make it.
Deuce and Malcolm
Covering my mouth, I felt like a little girl in a candy store. “Paislie Pruitt. Are you blushing?”
I dropped my hand and pinched my eyebrows together as I gave her a huff. “No. I’m just really surprised. How in the world did he know where I worked?”
“Who?!” Stephanie exclaimed.
“Malcolm Wallace. He’s a driver . . . a um . . . a NASCAR driver.”
Crossing her arms over her chest she asked, “And how do you know a NASCAR driver? Oh my god . . . first a Dallas football player and now this! Where are you going to meet these guys?”
With a dry laugh, I stood and started to usher her out of my office. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now I have a phone call to make.”
She grabbed onto the door jam and held on for dear life. “With who? Him? The driver? Is he cute? Hotter than Trey?”
Placing my hand on her forehead, I pushed her out of the way and shut the door as she called out, “I’m googling him right now!”
I picked the letter back up and took in a deep breath while I reached for my cell phone. My hand was shaking as I dialed the number.
“Jesus H. Christ, what in the hell is wrong with me? He probably thinks he’s going to get lucky or something. Like all of them.”