Page 3 of Be Still My Racing Heart
“Fair enough, Sweet Pea. I’ll make you a promise, and since you know I always keep my word, you can be sure I’ll do so. If you can transform Ryder Stone into a public relations dream instead of a PR nightmare, then we can discuss your aspirations in more detail.”
Accepting the olive branch for what it is, I take the deal.
“I won’t let you down.”
“One venti, half caff, soy, hazelnut, no vanilla, extra caramel, Caramel Macchiato for Blake,” the barista says as she calls out my drink. It sounds more like a novel than a beverage, but I like what I like, and I don’t make any excuses for it.
“Thanks, Lily.” I take my cup of coffee and head down the block toward Play It Forward. I need a little pick-me-up after the day I’ve had, but I still want to fall asleep at bedtime. Half the caffeine and a touch of sugar should do the trick. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s a lot of sugar, and I’ll likely be awake most of the night until I crash and fall face-first into my sofa cushions.
With a phone in one hand and coffee in the other, I check the latest standings in the NASCAR Xfinity Series. It’s one step down from the NASCAR Cup Series and the equivalent of the minor leagues. I mumble under my breath when I see the current rankings. “Ryder Stone is still in second place and Bryson Dawson is in first.” I search for the name Reggie Buchanon, and it doesn’t take me long to see the name is ranked eighth, just behind my brother, Teague. “You’ll get there, Reggie! All you need is a few more wins under your belt, then you’re golden.”
I sip my hot beverage, not paying attention to my surroundings as I keep checking the stats.
“Oomph!”I grunt as a body collides with mine, knocking me to the ground. The lid of my coffee pops off due to my inadvertent squeeze of the paper cup, causing the sticky, sweet drink to coat my T-shirt. I hold the fabric away from my body, the contents still hot and scalding my skin. “People have sued over such atrocities,” I quip.
A pair of penetrating blue eyes stare at me in horror. “Please don’t take me to court for texting and walking at the same time. I’ll gladly cover your dry cleaning, but with the number of fines I’ve accumulated recently and trips to court, I’m unsure if I can afford a lawsuit. My sincerest apologies.”
“You can certainly afford it, Mr. Stone. Since you walk as haphazardly as you drive, I’m not so sure I’m inclined to forgive your clumsiness. However, I will reconsider if you replace my drink.” I wave the empty cup toward him.
“I’ll order one on DoorDash right now.” With the phone still in his hand, he taps the small icon to open the delivery service app.
I chuckle and gesture for him to put his phone away. “That’s all right. It won’t be made the way I like it. The app doesn’t offer enough options to satisfy my preferences. It has to be ordered in person to ensure it’s just right.”
“Oh, so you’re one ofthosepeople,” he remarks sardonically.
Confused, I ask, “One of what people?”
“You’re high maintenance, but you think you’re low maintenance,” he winks, quoting one of my favorite movies of all time—When Harry Met Sally.
“Uh, no! I’m the worst kind! I’m high maintenance, and I know it! I have very particular tastes and a refined palate.”
Ryder extends a hand to help me up, and I gratefully accept. When my slender fingers entwine with his much larger ones, a jolt of electricity flows through me. It takes every ounce of effort I can muster to stifle the gasp that nearly escapes.
“I prefer a woman who knows what she wants because then there aren’t any guessing games involved.”
I still hold the shirt away from my body, although it’s no longer hot to the touch. It just feels gross and sticky. “I’m not your woman, Ryder. From what I’ve seen, you have enough of them.”
Ignoring my jab, he simply smirks. “So, you know who I am.”
I grumble out a reply. “Of course, I do. You work for my father, and eventually, you’ll be working for me if he gets what he wants. It’s my duty to know all of your personal details, and most of what I’ve learned, I wish I could erase from my mind.” That’s not entirely true. I want to erase the stuff I’ve been told is untrue. Even though my brother vouches for Ryder, it’s still hard to not let the media and rumors taint the image in my mind.
He opens the door to Play It Forward, gesturing for me to enter. “Wow, I didn’t even get a chance to make a first impression. My reputation precedes me.”
There’s a melancholy underlying his jovial tone that tugs at my heart. Ryder’s reputation does precede him,ifI were to believe the gossip. But I’ve also heard plenty of good things about him and I want to formulate an opinion based on my own interactions with the handsome driver. I know there’s more to Ryder than what’s on the surface, and while I’m interested in digging deeper to understand what makes him tick, I’m not keen on getting caught up in his web.
“It does, but you have a chance to turn everything around here. Put your all into this opportunity, and I’m sure things will work out for you in the end. Your goal is to make people love and adore you, right?”
Ryder’s answer in this moment will shape the way I view him from here on out.
“That’s Bennie’s goal. I’m not going to lie to you and pretend I don’t have a lot riding on this; you seem to already know the truth. But maybe I can learn as much from the child I mentor as he can learn from me. I don’t really know what it’s like to be a kid. I didn’t have much of a childhood outside of school and sports. Everything I did served a purpose.”
I’ve read numerous articles about Ryder, noting that he learned to drive at an early age because he helped his father steal cars. The reason Ryder’s father is in jail is that Ryder is the one who put him there.
Ryder
“AslongasI’veknown your brother, how is it that we’ve never met?” I ask as Blake gives me the nickel tour of the facility. She made me donate $15 to buy her a new Play It Forward T-shirt that had a logo on the front and a list of locations on the back. I had no idea the organization was nationwide or that there were so many locations.
As we meander down the halls, children are running around as fast as cockroaches scattering when the lights come on, barreling past us while screaming and laughing. I’ve already saved one kid from imminent demise by catching him as he tripped over his own two feet.
