Page 35 of Driving Wild

“Keep your pants on, McCall. I’m trying to find an outfit that says NASCAR wife but also doesn’t scream, ‘Girl, what the hell were you thinking?’”

“Babe, you look good in everything. Just throw on some shorts and a ‘Matt McCall’ shirt and call it a day. It’s hot as Satan outside; you’re not going to want to put a lot of effort into your outfit. I promise, you and Tinley are going to want to stay in the AC all day until we have to make the pit walk.”

I pick my favorite vintage McCall shirt that I stole from Matt’s closet my first few nights at the house and pair it with some cute shorts and my Vans. When I make my way out to the living area, I find Matt on the phone with a deep frown forming on his face.

“Cowboy, what’s wrong?” I ask as I go to stand next to him.

“It’s nothing, Red. My guys were just calling to let me know that there was an issue with the inspection, and unless they can get the spec right, I’m going to be starting at the back of the pack, which is the last thing I want to do at this track. It’s easy to get caught up in the big one, and being a part of the final four group, honestly, a wreck is the last thing I want to think about with this race. It’s never good to tempt fate,” he says, wrapping his arms around me.

I can feel how tense he is, and I want to take that away from him, but there is nothing I can do. The cars go through a machine full of sensors to make sure that everyone has the same components in place. We just need to have faith that the team will make the necessary changes so the car can go through the machine again and pass. Time will tell if that’s going to happen.

My day has gone from one I was looking forward to to one that I just want to get over with as fast as possible. I thought everything was taken care of back at the shop when I left on Wednesday to come to visit my parents. And I thought that the car would sail through the inspection with no issues, but I guess dreaming is child’s play.

“Cowboy, look at me,” I hear Grace call out as I put our luggage into the trunk of the car.

I round the back as I close the trunk. Running her hand through my hair, I instantly start to relax just a little.

“Listen to me carefully, driver, okay?” Her voice is sexy—the one that she uses when she wants to be dominated.

“You are going to be great out there, and this is just a little bump in the road.” She gives me a little peck before trying to walk away from me. Grabbing her wrist as she turns, I pull her back to me again and kiss her with so much intensity and with all the emotion that I want to share with her but don’t because I think it will scare the ever-living hell out of her.

“All right, Red, get in the damn car before I fuck you where the whole world can see.” I smack that beautiful ass before she makes her way to the passenger seat, and we head toward the track.

It’s going to be a good day, no matter what. I have the sassiest-mouthed woman beside me who wants me to do well, and honestly, I think I may just be falling in love with her.

Walking into the garage area hand in hand with Grace, this time around feels different. The atmosphere is electric, and everywhere I turn I feel like we’re being watched because we are. If it’s not for the fans wanting to get close to the cars, then it’s the media snapping pictures of Grace and me.

“Grace, Grace, can we get a quote before the race?” I hear one of the reporters say as I walk over to check my car.

She looks up at me. “I’ll be right back. Let me appease them so they’ll leave us alone, Cowboy,” she says, giving me a quick kiss as she walks toward the vultures.

“Hello, gentlemen. You have, looking down at my watch, five minutes, so fire away,” she says to the reporters as I go over to find out what the hell went wrong in the inspection.

It turns out that the mistake isn’t as bad as I thought when they called me earlier to let me know that we were at risk of heading to the back of the pack. Turns out I was missing a lug nut. It may have come off when they were unloading the car. But that just goes to show that even the smallest detail could cost me the race and the possibility of the championship for Mac Motorsports.

Looking over at Grace, I can tell she’s deep in conversation with one reporter, and it looks to be getting a little heated, so being the good boyfriend/husband I am, I make my way over to her. She isn’t a damsel in distress, and I know she can handle herself when needed, but the raise of her voice as I get closer doesn’t sit right with me.

“Jim, what’s going on here, to make my wife talk over you?

“She was happy to answer your questions, but I’ll gladly walk away and leave you standing here,” I demand, instantly feeling protective of what’s mine and making sure that this asshole knows that I mean every word.

“Well, if it isn’t the playboy himself. Mr. McCall, care to answer my question that your wife refuses to?” I’m immediately on edge and in defense mode. Being on the edge with car issues, the last thing I need is some reporter with an ego.

“And what exactly is that, Jim?” I cross my hands over my chest, ready for this asshole to crawl back to the pit he came from.

“I was just asking Grace here if she was part of a long line of women who became a notch on your belt or did she think this was real. Because from where I stand, you’re not really married.” The asshole has the nerve to smirk as he continues to talk.

Letting my hands drop to my side, I feel my fist ball up, and I want to throttle this asshole faster than a two-hundred-mile-an-hour car, but I need to keep my cool. My contract is worth more than me beating the total shit out of this reporter.

I walk right up to him and make sure he’s looking directly at me. There are times in your life when you realize what you want, and this is one of them.

“Listen closely, Jim. I’m not going to repeat myself, so get that recorder ready,” I say, deadly serious.

“Grace belongs to me, mind, body, and soul. She’s not, nor has she ever been, a notch on my belt, as you put it. She’s my first love and my last. So if you ever question my devotion to my wife, I’ll make sure those credentials around your neck never appear again. Do I make myself clear, Jim?” I say, backing up just a little to grab his lanyard and inspect which media outlet he’s with.

With wide eyes I see him start to speak.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. McCall. And Mrs. McCall, I’m extremely sorry for making you feel less than and overstepping,” he says as he turns on his heels and heads off to bother someone else.

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