Throttled (Dirty Air 1)
“You don’t have to worry about that.” He fills me with faith before ripping it away. “I’m going to be behind the wheel.”
I need to put in a Bandini work order for this man to get a warning sign. Noah all but drags me to the neon green beauty with black leather seats and neon green piping.
A Bandini employee passes me a helmet. I don’t put up much of a verbal fight with Noah because people watch us, and I can’t be too embarrassing. Press crew follows us, eating up my reluctant display like I drag my feet for the fun of it. My stomach rolls, my face most likely matching the same green shade as our car.
I take deep breaths, trying to relax.
“Here we have Noah Slade taking Maya Alatorre onto the track. Maya, how do you feel about being driven around by one of the best race car drivers out there?” A reporter jams a foam microphone in my face.
“Nauseous?” my voice rasps.
The reporter laughs at me like I mean it as a joke. I shoot Noah a glare, questioning if it’s too late to back out. My eyes dart between the car and the pit lane, estimating how quickly I can run before Noah catches up to me.
“It’s interesting Maya chose to come out with you instead of her brother today. Any thoughts on this, Noah?”
My palm drags down my face. Deep breaths.
“I can’t help that she wants to try out the track w
ith me when she’s watched her brother drive for years. But there’s nothing like taking someone’s racetrack virginity.”
Pretty sure his response turned me on, and I’m halfway convinced I’m dating the devil in disguise.
He shoots me a wink. “We’re going to get going. See you later, guys.” He waves at the reporters like the natural he is.
Following his lead, I hop into the passenger’s side.
Noah’s eyes gleam. “You packed your camera, right?”
I pull the camera out of my purse. He takes it from my hands and sets it up on a conveniently placed camera mount.
“My heart may explode out of my chest. I might not make it through the whole thing.”
He chuckles. “You’ll be okay, we’re only going to go about one hundred and thirty to one hundred and fifty miles per hour. That’s not too bad. It’s our trust test, remember?”
I no longer feel bad for disgruntled coworkers who have to do trust falls during employee retreats. That has nothing on this cruel version.
I never did find out the recovery rate for having a heart attack at twenty-three. Regrets.
“Jesus take the wheel.” I do the sign of the cross before putting on my helmet.
“You may have called me God last night, but I’m the only one behind the wheel today.” The smug man fucking winks.
His hand finds the stick shift and we propel down the grid area. He laughs as we make it past the first turn, tires screeching against the pavement while he speeds up again.
“Damn, I didn’t hear you scream like that last night. Do I need to change my technique?”
“You perv! This is terrifying. Oh my God. How do you do this all the time? How is this even legal?” I’d slap his arm if I wasn’t plastered to the side of the car.
“I love it. Just relax and enjoy.” His voice does nothing to calm me.
“Never tell a woman to relax!” I scream again as we drift on another turn. It’s touch and go with my heart, stopping every time Noah turns the car before picking back up again as he races down the road.
“Who can ever be calm at a time like this? If they do, they’re certifiable.”
Another scream erupts from my mouth. I don’t have the chance to feel embarrassed, the loud shrieks pouring out of me with no control.
The engine purrs as Noah’s lead foot hits the accelerator. His hand does a bunch of shift changes, which are honestly kind of hot because his muscles strain and tense. I distract myself by staring at him in his element, a smile plastered on his face, beaming at my reactions. My screams stop long enough for me to check out how happy he looks.