Page 14 of Driving Wild

“Hey, Matt, you know you can’t mess with excellence, and I get up and piss excellence every day. One day you might be able to catch up,” Clint says with a smirk.

“Grace, I got to go, or Jamie is gonna be pissed if I miss another dinner because I’m wandering around the garage area. I’ll text you later because I still have questions, and I’m sure you’d love to tell me all about pretty boy here instead of Jamie or Cortney,” he says, laughing as he turns and heads to where I can only guess Jamie is waiting.

“Ready to head to the hauler and find something for supper, wife?” Matt asks, grabbing my hand in his as we head out.

Race day in Miami comes early on Sunday morning, and I’m more nervous about the race today than I have been in a long time. I had tied my race shoes four times, and I couldn’t get my hands to work right. Trying to shake off the nerves that may have something to do with the blonde bombshell standing beside me as the national anthem plays, or it could have something to do with all the extra attention that I have on me now that I’m married to Grace Miller. Over the course of the weekend, word began to spread as to who Grace is and the power that comes in the racing community with the Miller name.

I was asked more questions about my personal life this weekend than I care to admit. Granted, up until a week ago, I was the fun-time guy, or as Grace pointed out, just the fuckboy of the racing world. But I’ve never been asked who I was dating or anything personal. It’s always been focused on my racing career, so I sure as hell am not a fan of the love life stuff.

The sounds of the crowds and the flashes came as we walk toward my car, my hand in Grace’s as we now stand, listening to the singer belt out the anthem. Just looking over at this gorgeous woman has me finally starting to relax. This woman is mine. For the next two months, she's all mine.

As the national anthem ends and I start to get into my car, I turn back to see Grace with tears in her eyes as she stares at me.

Bracing my hands on either side of her face, I’m blown away that I get to see this side of her. I haven’t known her for very long, and when we did talk, we didn’t go too deep because, well, she hated me, and honestly, I didn’t want to know more. But I want to get to know all about her the more I’m around her, and I want to be the one she trusts with her heart.

“Give me a kiss, Red. I’ve got to go to work and kick Clint’s ass out there,” I say with a slight laugh to try to get a smile out of her.

Leaning into me, she presses those red lips to mine, and my heart rate picks up. Yeah, we may be putting on a show for the cameras and those watching, but if that’s what I need to endure to have these full lips on mine, then dammit, that’s just what’s going to happen.

“Good luck out there, Cowboy, and give ‘em hell, okay!” she says, pulling away from me, making sure that I don't have any lipstick left on my lips as I get into my car and start to strap in for three hundred laps.

One hundred and fifty laps down. We’re halfway, and I have driven the hell out of my car today. The changes we made on Friday were for the better because the car is just where I want it.

“Clint’s coming up quick on you, Matt. Watch your back quarter panel,” my crew chief, Doug, says through the headset.

“I see him. Is Ryan around to block?” I ask to look for my teammate so that I can have a little cushion in case he comes on me faster than I expect.

“Ryan’s coming, but he may not get to you before Clint. You better get ready to hold him off on your own.” Doug’s voice comes through my headset.

Coming out of turn two, I see Clint’s car coming up fast. I’m in fourth position, and if I keep up my pace, I could pull off the win. The only problem would be him. He’s one hell of a racer and always makes it impossible to pass if he ever gets around you.

“On your right, Matt,” my spotter calls as I see Clint make his move to go.

When I started in this sport, I was always told that I was a levelheaded racer, and I prided myself on that. My teammate, Ryan, is the opposite of me when he gets into the car. He turns into the devil and doesn’t give two shits who he takes out.

Just as we round turn four and head to the flag, I feel my car shake. Shit, am I cutting a tire down? That’s about right, of course; we wouldn’t be at the end of a stage and something would go wrong so that we don't lose laps. Slowing to the bottom apron so that I can get to the pit row, I radio that the tire’s going down and I’m coming in.

Twenty laps—that’s how long it takes me to get back to the top ten. The pit stop took longer than I wanted, and I made sure that my pit crew knew I was not happy. I had to put the pedal down and get back into the mix. Clint ran away from the pack with Ryan hot on his heels. I’m going for that top spot, and I’m not stopping until I’m in it.

I bob and weave through the top ten as the laps tick by. My spotter keeps me aware of what lines seem to be running the fastest, and it helps put me in the top five with fifty laps to go. It gives me the boost I need to get to the back bumper of my teammate.

I turn my radio to the station that connects me to Ryan just for a little bit of fun.

“Hey, bud, guess what?” I say, making sure that Ryan sees me in his mirror.

“Matt, now is not the time for your silly shit. I’m trying to win,” he grits out, sounding a little irritated that I’ve come on his radio.

“Just wanted to say, watch this,” I say just as we come out of turn four, and I slingshot around him. Ryan is one of the few racers who, if you can get around him, will give you the line, knowing that you earned it. Granted, he’s my partner in crime, so we always give the other some grace. Except when it comes to winning, then it’s game on, and the best man would come out. Yet he knows that I have the better car today and is willing to let the pass happen.

Coming up into the second position I set my sights on the first place car. Now it’s just Clint that stands in my way.

For twenty laps, we go back and forth with each other. Just when I think I have the line, he weaves and leaves me a few car lengths behind. I know that my car is faster. I had my car chief track his lap times for the last ten laps, and I had him, coming off the corners. I just need to find the line and blow past him. The only issue I have is I’m running out of laps. Less than ten to go, and I’m still following behind him. I’m not above wrecking someone if they push, and honestly, the longer we play this cat and mouse, the more frustrated I’m growing.

Three laps to go, and I know it’s now or never to get around him. Pulling out of the line, I start to go, but he cuts down in front, shutting me out again. Laying back just a hair, I wait, and just when he starts to come down again, I dart up the lane and get around him, coming out of turn two. Kicking the car into the next gear, I start toward the white flag.

Just as I cross over the start-finish line, I hear Doug come over the headset. “Wreck coming out of turn four. Slow it down.”

Shit, now we’re going to have a green-white-checker. Normally I don’t mind them, but Clint has been a bitch to pass. I’m going to run the chance of him getting back in front again, and I won’t have nearly enough laps to pass him. I need to be ready to punch it as soon as that green flag drops.

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