He smiles back. “I remember.”
That look, the one with laugh lines framing the corner of his eyes and those sexy, full lips turned upward, is the one I recall the most. The boyish look, happy after a race or with grease under his nails. Before I can even stop myself, I bring the device back to my face and press the shutter, capturing that smile once more.
A tension fills the room, one laced with sex and desire. His eyes turn from laughing to something darker, something dirtier. The air seems to crackle with something recognizable, something meaningful, something that’s laid in wait, dormant. All it needs is the cue, a sign, and it’ll unleash a force I haven’t felt in a while.
Three years, to be exact.
Oliver cries out, breaking the trance we both seem trapped in. I blink rapidly as Mack pushes off the wall and approaches. His eyes are on me, but he doesn’t stop when he reaches me. Instead, he goes to the bed, to his son. Mack swoops him up carefully and raises him to his head. He places his mouth on Oliver’s belly and blows out. I’m right there, capturing the moment with my camera.
“I think this one’s hungry,” Mack says, bringing him down to the crook of his arm.
“I’m sure he is. If you want to change him, I’ll get the bottle ready,” I reply, turning and heading for the diaper bag to retrieve the supplies.
“Sure, sure, leave me the dirty job,” Mack hollers, stretching out the changing pad and placing his son on top of it.
“I’m no dummy,” I retort, taking the formula can and water bottle to the counter. While I make up Oliver’s spaghetti and meatballs, I listen in as Mack talks, telling his son how nasty his diaper is. I’m pretty sure I even hear a few gags coming from the sleeping area.
When the bottle is ready, the boys are heading to the sitting area, both much happier after the pants change. The moment he’s in position, he sticks the bottle in Oliver’s waiting mouth and gazes down lovingly.
Quietly, I grab my camera off the counter and snap another photo of the two together. This time, Mack knows I’m there and is looking directly at me. There’s residual tension there, as if we both have something to say, but don’t say it. There’s no use, right? One of us is leaving in a handful of weeks, so why bring up the past. Or worse yet, cloud the present and future.
“I think I’m going to run through the shower,” I tell him, aiming a thumb behind where I stand.
“Okay,” he replies, those dark brown eyes never once wavering. Just when I turn to leave him in peace, he says, “Oh, I almost forgot. The guys and I usually have dinner together at the hauler. Probably just some hamburgers and hotdogs. I want to take Ollie so my team can meet him.” He pauses before adding, “Do you want to come?”
A part of me thinks it’s a bad idea, that I could use a little alone time, away from Mack. But a bigger part of me feels excitement. I’m thrilled at the possibility of heading to a racetrack, in the garage area, and seeing what all has changed since my time there when I was a girl. I also remember how important the team is, the comradery and downtime spent together. That’s probably why I end up saying, “Sounds good.”
Good idea?
Probably not.
But there’s no going back now.
Chapter Six
Mack
“There he is!” Chief hollers as he mans the grill, flipping whatever meat he’s cooking.
“Is that little Cruz?” Jones asks, setting his beer down on the table and heading our way.
“Yeah, this is him, but keep your dirty hands back,” I tease my friend.
“Yeah, get back, Jones,” Fish yells as he gets up from his chair. “The best friend gets to see him first.”
“No fair, you’ve already met him,” Jones fake-whines, sticking out his bottom lip for good measure.
Fish is already shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I got pissed on that first night. That makes me important.”
“That’s complete bull—” Jones retorts, but stops mid-sentence. I realize instantly what made him stop. No, not what made him stop, but who. “Well, hello, pretty lady,” he says, his voice all sugary sweet.
Before I can even reply, Fish smacks him on the back of the head. “Ain’t gonna happen.” Then, he takes the carrier to the table, unbuckles the harness, and removes my son from his restraints. “Everyone, this is baby Cruz. We’re going to teach him everything we know about racing.”
My team all crowds around the infant, and part of me wants to balk at how close they all are, but the guys are all pretty cool. They each take a turn checking him out and saying something to the little man before stepping aside and letting the next one get a better look. When Coop is the last one, he takes Oliver from my best friend’s arms and cradles him to his chest as if it were the most natural thing on earth. I guess, for him, a proud father of two, it is. I have a lot I could learn from my crew chief, and this time, I’m not talking about racing.
I place my hand on Lena’s lower back and escort her to the thick of the group. “Everyone, this is Lena, my friend from Brenton. Lena, this is…everyone.”
“Hey,” they all holler in some form or another as Fish jumps up and motions for her to take his seat. “Here, darlin’, take this one.”
“Oh, I’m okay to stand,” she tries to say, but I already know Fish won’t allow it. He has more manners than any man I’ve ever known.
“I insist.”
Lena glances my way but slowly starts to head toward Fish. “If you’re sure.”
“Oh, I’m definitely sure,” he replies with a wink. “Can I get ya a beer?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Budweiser?” The moment the request is out of her mouth, a round of whistles erupts from the crew.
“Damn, Cruz, seriously? Budweiser?” Chief asks, obviously impressed with Lena’s preferred beer of choice.
“Will you marry me?” Cookie asks, dropping down to one knee in the dirt in front of her.
“No, she won’t marry you. Who wants to marry a guy named Cookie?” Pete asks from his chair directly across from Lena.
“I’m the Cookie Monster,” he roars before turning to Lena and adding, “If you know what I mean.”
“Dumbass, everyone knows what you mean,” I finally say, taking both offered Budweisers from Fish and heading over to where she sits.
“Stop being crude in the presence of a lady,” Fish adds, smacking Cookie on the back of the head.
“Dammit, man, stop that!” he hollers, rubbing where his skull hurts and drinking several gulps of brew.
“If you’ll all stop acting like children for five minutes, we can go over tomorrow’s schedule before dinner’s ready,” Coop says, coming to stand in the middle of the circle, my son still nestled against his chest.
“Want me to take him?”
“I’m good,” he replies before turning his attention to Lena. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Lena. Do you mind if we discuss a few things?”
She takes a big swig of her beer. “Mind? Are you kidding? I grew up listening to this shit, so don’t let my presence stop you from conducting business.”
“What do you mean?” Pete asks.