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“Yes, wife. Nag nag nag,” he teased back.
The next hour swirled into a whirlwind of speeches and pictures, as well as the obligatory hat dance where Axel, Troy and the team put on one of their sponsor’s hats, had a picture taken then switched to another sponsor’s hat. Over and over and over. I’d never seen it before, but Novie who’d slipped in next to me explained what it was.
Sometime in the midst of it all, Axel’s parents had come to congratulate him before they left for their hotel, and I got pulled over to Axel for a couple more pictures.
I leaned into him, kissing his cheek before he headed off for a press-conference style interview. “I love you,” I said. “I’m heading back to the RV, and I’ll see you in bed.”
“Tease. How am I supposed to answer questions with that anticipation filling my mind?”
I just grinned, shrugging, then jogged over to where Novie waited before he could catch me into another kiss. Not that I didn’t want one, but the longer he delayed, the longer I had to wait for him to come home.
“It’s gonna behours,” she moaned, her tone full of mirth, while her wavy blonde hair bounced around her shoulders like a happy cloud. “And Huck’s gonna be grouchy. He got spun early.”
I’d seen that. “He got back on the track, though.”
“Yeah, but he never regained much position. So…maybe, we can go chill at your place for a little bit?”
I glanced toward Axel, who was downing a Gatorade while he nodded at someone’s question. His fire suit was peeled down, hanging around his waist, to reveal the damp shirt beneath that clung to his cut muscles, muscles I’d trace with my hands and mouth later.
“Hours?” I breathed, my tone uncomfortably close to a whine. As a newbie to the professional circuit, I had no idea.
“Two, minimum,” Novie chirped, clearly unaware of the simmering need that would be tormenting me.
“Chilling sounds good,” I sighed. “Lead the way.”
Thirty-Eight
Axel
Winning was awesome, but no one had ever told me coming in second might be the real win when you just wanted to rush back to your wife. But this was my job, and I fucking loved it.
While I sat at a long table with Troy and Jon, my adrenaline from the win was momentarily waning. I knew it would amp up again when I was jogging back to my RV. It always did. How many night had I stood in my shower and jacked off to thoughts of Bristol? But not tonight. Tonight, I’d have the real thing.
For a couple hours, I’d talked to all the press and answered the same questions on repeat. I’d posed for pictures—and pretendednotto pose for “candid” pictures. I’d signed autographs and stood for more pictures, this time with VIP fans.
As things were winding down, I heard sirens in the distance. Apparently, some race fans were partying too hard tonight. At least, the drivers’ lot would be quiet—quieter, anyway. Quite a few of the rigs would already be pulling out tonight. Even before the win, Bristol and I had planned to stay until morning, though. So had Huck and Novie.
“Axel, tell us about the woman with you today,” a reporter called out. Normally, I tended to sidestep personal questions, redirecting toward the car, team, sponsors and racing, in general. Not tonight.
“That’s my wife, Bristol,” I corrected with a wide smile.
“Wife?” he asked with raised brows, though I knew he wasn’t surprised. They were all aware of my new married status, since rumors had been reported over the past week. This was just a fishing expedition to get a confirmation.
I nodded with a wide grin.
“Did you get married over the off-season? Are there pictures?”
“Bristol and I have been married since the end of high school—since spring break that year. We were separated for a bit, but we’ve recently reconciled.”
Even more sirens blasted through the night and I glanced toward the door, concerned about whatever was happening. That didn’t sound like a response to a raucous party. It sounded like an emergency. I looked over at Troy, but he shrugged, shaking his head to tell me he had no idea.
A door flew open at the back of the room.
“Axel!” Quill burst into the room, yelling over the top of the people seated between us. He’d showered and changed into street clothes—something I couldn’t wait to do—but even from this distance, I could see his eyes were wild. My skin was starting to itch from dried perspiration, but now, it crawled with trepidation. Fear. I shot to my feet, dread heavy in my gut.
“Axel, it’s your rig. Come quick! We can’t find Bristol and Novie.”
Bristol. No! Fuck.Fuck!
