Page 72 of Drifting

He chuckles. “My father’s George Wright.”

It takes me a few minutes for my brain to realize who he’s talking about.

I let out a squeal as I push myself up on my elbows. “You’re shitting me! Your father’s the famous race car driver? I grew up watching him race. I wanted to be just like him.” I laugh. “One of my favorite memories from when I was living with Uncle Brett was when I told him I wanted to be a race car driver, just like George Wright, and I didn’t need to learn the ins and outs of cars. My uncle smirked and said I’d be a talented driver, but I still needed to study cars before I could learn to drive. I crossed my little arms, stared up at the giant in front of me, and told him Cin would be my pit crew. He squatted down and looked into my eyes and said, ‘Do you think George doesn’t know how to fix his car? Any racer worth a lick knows his car inside and out. How do you think he tells the head mechanic there’s something wrong during a race?’”

“I can picture a little Shelby saying something like that.” Cam smiles at my excitement. “I thought we told you who my dad was. I guess not.”

“Ahh, no. I don’t think I’d forget that.” I lie back down on his arm. “What else have you forgot to tell me?”

“Let’s see… I was raised by Camilla and Berti, our cook and gardener. They’ve been with us since I was young.”

“Where’s your mom?”

He shrugs. “Left when I was eight.”

He tells me what it was like growing up without a mom and only seeing his dad once during the school year. During the summer months, he traveled with his dad on the circuit.

I lay my head on his chest. “Sorry. I understand what it’s like to have an absent parent in your life. At least, you had two people who seemed to love you. I just found out about my dad. Mom told me more about him.”

Moving his head on the pillow, he says, “Spill.”

I tell Cam everything Mom told me today. “I guess I can’t be upset that you didn’t tell me all about your life when I’ve been keeping something from you all. I don’t know why. It’s not a big deal.”

Cam shifts so he can see me. “If you want to tell me, go ahead. I’ll listen.”

“The only thing I ask is that you let me tell the other guys.” I chew my bottom lip.

“Okay.”

I tell him everything, from Mom and her drug addiction to how I spent my teen years in and out of group homes. How I ran away and how I was street racing to pay the rent. When I tell him about the racing, he smiles.

“What?” I demand.

“You’re Little Devil’s driver.” His chuckle boils over into full-blown laughter.

I pull my head back. “Yeah, how do you know?”

“Dom raced you once. You beat his ass. When you tell him, I want to be there. He’s a big fan of yours. Oh, this is good.”

“I didn’t know he races. See? This is what I mean when I say I don’t know anything about any of you.”

“I’m pretty simple. I love the color red. I have a red R8 that I don’t drive much. I dream of racing motocross. I love pranks. I have two tattoos, and I’m pansexual.”

I frown in confusion. “You’re what?”

What the hell is pansexual? I’ve never heard of that before. I thought there was only straight, gay, or bi.

“It means I can be attracted to anyone, regardless of their gender,” he says simply.

My brows pop up. “So, you can be attracted to guys?”

Oh, I could like this. It’s always been a secret fantasy of mine to watch two guys go at it. I think it would be hot as hell.

“Yes, I have in the past,” he states calmly, putting his hands behind his head.

I gnaw on my lip. I want to ask him this so bad, but I don’t want to offend him.

“Shelby, whatever you’re thinking about, spit it out. You’re biting your lip.”

---