What podcasts does he listen to? I don’t know whether I should be concerned or impressed.
“Your smile makes me a little nervous,” I blurt out. Nothing good comes from his shit-eating grin, the same look I give my parents when I’m hiding something.
He walks toward Bandini’s pit area, a silent command to follow him. I wish I had stayed in the car. Distant sounds of tires squealing across pavement alert my senses.
A group of people rallies around the pit area. Camera crews film people getting inside of neon-colored Bandini cars, perfectly lined, making up the entire rainbow.
I make the mistake of reading the banner above our heads. Bandini Race Day Experience. Drive like an F1 racer.
Oh, no.
His hand gives mine a reassuring squeeze before he drops it.
“Please tell me we’re doing a press appearance.” My voice sounds stronger than I feel.
Hope surges through me at the idea of coming to watch and cheer fans on. Noah can take them for a spin while I stand behind the barriers, a few fist pumps in the air to sell my enthusiasm while he careens down the track.
“We are.” He reveals nothing more. My heart rate slows down, confident the date is what I expect. Safety barrier here I come.
He speaks again. “But we’re filming from inside that car.”
Oh, shit. Please tell me he means I’m going to look inside the car for two seconds. Slap the hands of the nerds who design the cars, take a quick photo, throw a thumbs up. A girl can dream.
My eyes follow his pointing finger. They land directly on a neon green Bandini car with open scissor doors. It looks like a car from the future, estimated at about 500,000 dollars.
“I am not setting a foot behind a steering wheel.” Over my dead body. Hard no.
“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 with 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.