Race To The Altar

“That’s right. The invitation was in my press package. I was introduced to Jimmy, and I told him about you and the new sponsorship, and he said great, he’d like to have you on his show tonight. Simple as that.”

Rick knew it wasn’t that simple at all. Jimmy Barnes had been turned on by Liz like any normal man would be, and he’d let her wheedle him into putting him on the show. Maybe some drivers would consider that an advantage—having a sexy female pave the way for them—but not Rick.

Still, he knew better than to gripe about it. He did need the exposure. And he wanted it badly. That’s how other sponsors became interested in a driver.

“Well, that’s nice, Liz. I’ll look forward to it.”

Something in his voice raised suspicion that he wasn’t all that pleased, but not about the show. He probably thought she had flirted with Jimmy Barnes to get him on there. But she hadn’t.

One of the things Liz adhered to was her personal rule that she would not use womanly guile to open doors. Yes, she would try to dress nicely, but she would be all business. If anyone got any ideas, she set them straight. And that was how she intended to conduct herself in the racing world.

Liz ordered breakfast, even though she wasn’t hungry. In fact, she never ate breakfast, just grabbed a quick cup of coffee on the run.

She told herself the only reason she was eating this morning was because it was going to be a long day. She needed her energy. She would not even remotely consider it was to prolong her time with Rick because he was being friendly. Still distant. Still reserved. But it was an improvement over his previous demeanor.

He was wearing a T-shirt again. It reminded her of Clint Eastwood in Bridges of Madison County. The man might be pushing seventy, but in a T-shirt he was a sex symbol nonpareil.

Liz munched on a piece of toast she didn’t want and wondered what size shirt Rick wore. She seized on an excuse to ask. “I should be receiving the new T-shirts today that Big Boy’s had made up to sell at the concession stands. I’ll take out a few for you guys. What size do you wear?”

“Extra-large.”

She should have known.

“And how big are you?”

“Thirty-four, C cup,” she blurted without thinking and wanted to die then and there. What was wrong with her? She gulped and corrected, “I meant medium.”

“I can’t believe you’re blushing.”

“Am I?” She took a big swallow of orange juice, hoping it would cool her cheeks.

“Yeah, you are. And that’s kind of nice. I didn’t know women blushed anymore.”

“I just got too much sun yesterday.” Maybe it had been a big mistake to prolong the meeting. But she had dared to think she had her emotions under control. Last night she had lain awake for hours lecturing herself that she was a fool to be even remotely attracted to him.

The waitress brought the check. Liz reached for it, but Rick got it first.

She protested, “I’m on an expense account.”

He leaned across the table so those around would not hear. “Then next time make arrangements to pay the tab before it’s put on the table.”

“What difference does that make?”

“I don’t know where you come from, Liz, or how they do things there. But I hail from a small town in Georgia, which makes me, I guess, a country boy, with old-fashioned ways, and one of them happens to be the man pays the bill when he’s dining with a lady.”

“I paid it last night.”

“It wasn’t just the two of us.”

She argued, “I’m not paying for it. The sponsor is.”

He countered, “Others don’t know that.”

“I don’t see why we should care what others think.”

“Hey, aren’t you the one who was giving me a lecture on public relations just yesterday? Well, we’re in public, and we’re having relations—social, anyway. So that means I have to be aware of what others think. Am I right?”

“You’re stretching it a bit,” she said stiffly.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal. And I don’t have time to debate the issue, anyway. I need to get to the track. I’ll let you know tomorrow how the show went tonight. Or maybe you’ll listen to it.”

He rose, and so did she to quickly inform him, “Not only will I listen, I will be there. In fact, I’d like for us to drive together, if you don’t mind. It will look good for you to walk in with your PR rep.”

Rick did not like that picture, at all. After the dream he’d had last night, he wanted to avoid Liz like the plague. He hadn’t had a dream like that since high school, for crying out loud, which only reminded him all the more how long it had been since he’d slept with a woman. And he needed one badly. But not Liz.

She fell into step beside him. “I’m going to the track, too. In case you do really well in the qualifying races, I’ll need to be around to put a spin on it.”

She had been up since dawn, doing more studying and now understood the twin qualifying races. At other tracks on the circuit, drivers just went out individually for time trials. The starting lineup was set according to the average speed they ran for two laps. It was different at Daytona, where two 125-mile races were held, and the way drivers finished was how they would start the race on Sunday.

Liz realized Rick had stopped walking and had come to an abrupt halt. She whirled around to see that he was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What?”

“This isn’t politics.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to hang around me putting a spin on things.”

She felt totally frustrated. Was everything that came out of her mouth that day going to sound all wrong? “What I meant was—I’ll be around to drum up as much coverage from the media as I can. Brag about how you did and point them in your direction.”

“I guess that’s okay.” He started walking again.

As he caught up with her, his bare arm brushed against hers, and he cursed himself for the rush. She was wearing slacks. Tight white slacks. And a pale green blouse of some kind of cool, clingy material that emphasized her nice breasts.

No doubt about it, he thought on a sigh. He had to make her want to quit…and fast.

Liz heard Rick sigh and mistook it for annoyance at the trio of girls standing in the lobby.

“Rick Castles, it’s really you,” one of them squealed. She was poured into her jeans, which cut below her navel. Her braless bosom was about to tumble out of her halter top as she bounced up and down on the toes of her platform slides.

“Can we have your autograph?” asked another girl, dressed almost identically, as she rushed up to Rick.

“Yeah, sure,” Rick said pleasantly. He suspected Liz thought it was for her benefit that he was being so nice about it, but the truth was he didn’t mind when the girls weren’t at the track. “Got a pen?” he asked Liz.

“Who’s she?” one of the girls asked, scowling jealously at Liz.

“My PR rep.” He took the pen Liz handed him and signed the piece of paper the girl thrust at him.

He did the same for another, but the third girl, who had been hanging back, moved in and said, “I want something else autographed.” She indicated her arm.