Read Online In the Groove by Pamela Britton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Pamela Britton
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Contemporary, Contemporary Romance, Man-Woman Relationships, Love Stories, Sports & Recreation, motor sports, Automobile Racing Drivers
Ads: Link
whom Sarah had thought at first might be a pervert (she'd heard RV parks were famous for them) but for the fact that when he whistled, he had his eyes on Lance's bus, not her.
"Sure is a beauty," he drawled in a voice as southern as Lance's, and in a tone usually reserved for speaking of the Pope, patron saints and other sacred things. "Bet you she cost a fortune."
"You don't want to know," Sarah mumbled.
"You a Lance Cooper fan?" the guy asked, spotting a white number twenty-six sticker on a side window.
"Um, yeah," Sarah said, and in her mind she could hear Lance's sexy voice drawl sarcastically, "Oh, yeah?"
Argh. Even now she couldn't get him from her mind.
"Really? I am, too," he said, motioning to his diesel pusher.
Sarah's eyes widened because this man, this eighty-year-old retiree from Florida (she assumed), had all kinds of stickers on his RV's windows. Race car stickers. From some type of air filter to his favorite type of oil. But what shocked her, what made her mouth drop open, were the dozens of different car number stickers on the side—all in various shapes and sizes, and all Lance's car number.
"Sure wish he'd fire his crew chief or something," the man said. "If he did that, he'd start winning again."
"Uh, yeah," Sarah said, having to blink when she looked back at the man again.
"You going down for the race?"
"E-yeah," Sarah drawled.
"Terrific. What spot are you parking in?"
"Uh." What to say? She had a feeling if she told the guy she was supposed to park in the driver/crew area, he'd freak out. "In a special spot?" she said lamely.
"I have a special spot, too," the man said, completely misunderstanding her. "Been parking there for ten years. Where's your spot?"
"Um, look, I, ah, I've got to go inside. I left something on the stove." Which was as dumb an excuse as she'd ever heard because she'd only just pulled in. But the man nodded, seeming to be content to take her at her word—her being a Lance Cooper fan and all.
"Sure, sure," he said, lifting a hand. "I'll talk with you later."
Sarah lifted a hand, too, diving into Lance's bus with a pounding heart.
Why? Why had seeing that man's RV made her suddenly feel nauseous?
Because you've been telling yourself that Lance Cooper isn't really a celebrity. Because you'd deluded yourself that racing couldn't be that popular. Because until you'd seen those stickers you'd believed exactly that.
But it wasn't until the next day that she realized just how famous Lance Cooper really was. She'd popped into an Internet café, her fingers flying as she Googled her new boss's name.
There were 900,000 hits.
Well, okay, obviously there were a lot of Lance Coopers in the world. She narrowed her search down a bit, typing in: Lance Cooper, race car driver.
This time 441,200 hits.
She felt her eyes widen. Lance Cooper, race-car driver was mentioned nearly half a million times on the Web?
Just for comparison's sake she typed in her own name, kindergarten teacher and then hit the return key.
Results 1 of 1 for "Sarah Tingle" "kindergarten teacher":
Naughty (and Naked!) Teachers!
She gasped, quickly hitting the return key, glancing over her shoulder to make sure nobody had seen that. Why, that low-down, no-good, dirty—
She almost picked up the phone and called her ex right then, but, she quickly reminded herself, what good would that do? The man purposely tried to get her goat. She'd checked her e-mail earlier and found half a dozen messages from him, each with a header like, I'm Sorry, and, Forgive Me. As if. Only a pervert like Peter would send her photos to Naughty (and Naked!) Teachers. But she wouldn't call him, and she wouldn't answer his e-mail, either. The sicko was just fishing to see how upset she was. He'd just sit there and gloat the moment after she hung up with him.
Still, her hands shook as she went back to her original search, all the while chanting, "What's in the past is past. What's in the past is past," to make herself feel better.
"Sure is a beauty," he drawled in a voice as southern as Lance's, and in a tone usually reserved for speaking of the Pope, patron saints and other sacred things. "Bet you she cost a fortune."
"You don't want to know," Sarah mumbled.
"You a Lance Cooper fan?" the guy asked, spotting a white number twenty-six sticker on a side window.
"Um, yeah," Sarah said, and in her mind she could hear Lance's sexy voice drawl sarcastically, "Oh, yeah?"
Argh. Even now she couldn't get him from her mind.
"Really? I am, too," he said, motioning to his diesel pusher.
Sarah's eyes widened because this man, this eighty-year-old retiree from Florida (she assumed), had all kinds of stickers on his RV's windows. Race car stickers. From some type of air filter to his favorite type of oil. But what shocked her, what made her mouth drop open, were the dozens of different car number stickers on the side—all in various shapes and sizes, and all Lance's car number.
"Sure wish he'd fire his crew chief or something," the man said. "If he did that, he'd start winning again."
"Uh, yeah," Sarah said, having to blink when she looked back at the man again.
"You going down for the race?"
"E-yeah," Sarah drawled.
"Terrific. What spot are you parking in?"
"Uh." What to say? She had a feeling if she told the guy she was supposed to park in the driver/crew area, he'd freak out. "In a special spot?" she said lamely.
"I have a special spot, too," the man said, completely misunderstanding her. "Been parking there for ten years. Where's your spot?"
"Um, look, I, ah, I've got to go inside. I left something on the stove." Which was as dumb an excuse as she'd ever heard because she'd only just pulled in. But the man nodded, seeming to be content to take her at her word—her being a Lance Cooper fan and all.
"Sure, sure," he said, lifting a hand. "I'll talk with you later."
Sarah lifted a hand, too, diving into Lance's bus with a pounding heart.
Why? Why had seeing that man's RV made her suddenly feel nauseous?
Because you've been telling yourself that Lance Cooper isn't really a celebrity. Because you'd deluded yourself that racing couldn't be that popular. Because until you'd seen those stickers you'd believed exactly that.
But it wasn't until the next day that she realized just how famous Lance Cooper really was. She'd popped into an Internet café, her fingers flying as she Googled her new boss's name.
There were 900,000 hits.
Well, okay, obviously there were a lot of Lance Coopers in the world. She narrowed her search down a bit, typing in: Lance Cooper, race car driver.
This time 441,200 hits.
She felt her eyes widen. Lance Cooper, race-car driver was mentioned nearly half a million times on the Web?
Just for comparison's sake she typed in her own name, kindergarten teacher and then hit the return key.
Results 1 of 1 for "Sarah Tingle" "kindergarten teacher":
Naughty (and Naked!) Teachers!
She gasped, quickly hitting the return key, glancing over her shoulder to make sure nobody had seen that. Why, that low-down, no-good, dirty—
She almost picked up the phone and called her ex right then, but, she quickly reminded herself, what good would that do? The man purposely tried to get her goat. She'd checked her e-mail earlier and found half a dozen messages from him, each with a header like, I'm Sorry, and, Forgive Me. As if. Only a pervert like Peter would send her photos to Naughty (and Naked!) Teachers. But she wouldn't call him, and she wouldn't answer his e-mail, either. The sicko was just fishing to see how upset she was. He'd just sit there and gloat the moment after she hung up with him.
Still, her hands shook as she went back to her original search, all the while chanting, "What's in the past is past. What's in the past is past," to make herself feel better.
Similar Books
