Read Online In the Groove by Pamela Britton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pamela Britton
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Contemporary, Contemporary Romance, Man-Woman Relationships, Love Stories, Sports & Recreation, motor sports, Automobile Racing Drivers
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As luck would have it she soon became distracted because she found Lance Cooper's Web site.
It was a shock to see his smiling and—yes, she could admit it—sexy face staring back at her own. It made her blush, a ridiculous reaction given he wasn't even within four hundred miles of her. But she blushed nonetheless, and then quickly clicked on the Bio button. To be honest, it felt a bit like poking around someone's underwear drawer, as if she was doing something bad by snooping on him, but her overwhelming curiosity made her do it anyway. Sarah averted her eyes from the tiny, less intimidating picture that cropped up to the left of the bio. It gave his stats, including his age (twenty-nine, she noticed, five years older than herself), his height (six feet—ai yi yi) and his marital status (single), but not much more than that.
Further surfing revealed a picture of his car. It was white. In the middle of the hood was a large orange star. Bright, there's-no-way-you-can-miss-me fluorescent orange, the words Star Oil in black cursive beneath that. She wondered for a moment who Star Oil was, only to discover a few clicks later that they imported oil, reselling it to refineries.
It was a few clicks after that that she finally discovered a bio worth reading. In it were all the pertinent facts of Lance's racing career. Of how he won a midget championship at age eight (whatever a "midget" was), and how he joined USAC at age seventeen (whatever USAC was, although she assumed it wasn't the opposite of MY-SAC), dropping out of high school to do so. But his lack of education must have paid off in this instance because he went on to win the USAC championship two years later. He'd raced "open wheels" next, and then in the NASCAR Busch series, and so then she assumed Busch was a type of race car, and not, as one might think, a car decorated with shrubbery. Finally, when he was twenty-four, he'd entered the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup series with Blain Sanders as his team owner. That threw her for a moment because she'd assumed the driver owned the car, and yet that wasn't the case, apparently. He'd been with Sanders Racing his entire career, although by the sound of another article, it hadn't been the best season so far. Heck. It hadn't been good for a couple of years.
Further snooping revealed other facts, such as Lance's lack of family—he and his father appeared to be estranged. That Lance Cooper was revered by many, and yet, oddly enough, hated by an equal number of fans. The reason for that, she found out later, was because Lance had scored too many wins (obviously before his losing streak), thus irritating the fans of the other drivers who didn't win. What an odd sport.
Her cell phone rang.
She just about jumped out of her chair. The cell phone actually belonged to Lance Cooper, Inc., which meant the caller was either Lance's business manager Sal, or—
"Are you wearing underwear?"
Lance Cooper himself, she realized, blushing yet again.
"You know I could sue you for sexual harassment," she found herself saying, feeling more emboldened because he was miles away from her, while she was staring at his picture.
She quickly closed the screen, almost as if he might know she was snooping on him in some Star Trek, mind-melded way.
"I know," he said. "But you won't. If you were the suing type, you'd have already filed a lawsuit against me for felony hit and run."
"You didn't run."
"That's true," and she could hear the smile in his voice. "How about kiss and run?"
The skin on her lips tingled just before her cheeks heated up. "I'd rather not talk about that," she mumbled in a low voice, looking around her again as if someone might have heard him.
There was a pause. "Yeah. We probably shouldn't."
But she wanted to. Curse it all, she wanted to ask him all sorts of questions about that kiss. Had he enjoyed it? Did he like the way she kissed?
Was he going to kiss her again?
"How are you feeling?" he asked, suddenly all seriousness.
Stop
It was a shock to see his smiling and—yes, she could admit it—sexy face staring back at her own. It made her blush, a ridiculous reaction given he wasn't even within four hundred miles of her. But she blushed nonetheless, and then quickly clicked on the Bio button. To be honest, it felt a bit like poking around someone's underwear drawer, as if she was doing something bad by snooping on him, but her overwhelming curiosity made her do it anyway. Sarah averted her eyes from the tiny, less intimidating picture that cropped up to the left of the bio. It gave his stats, including his age (twenty-nine, she noticed, five years older than herself), his height (six feet—ai yi yi) and his marital status (single), but not much more than that.
Further surfing revealed a picture of his car. It was white. In the middle of the hood was a large orange star. Bright, there's-no-way-you-can-miss-me fluorescent orange, the words Star Oil in black cursive beneath that. She wondered for a moment who Star Oil was, only to discover a few clicks later that they imported oil, reselling it to refineries.
It was a few clicks after that that she finally discovered a bio worth reading. In it were all the pertinent facts of Lance's racing career. Of how he won a midget championship at age eight (whatever a "midget" was), and how he joined USAC at age seventeen (whatever USAC was, although she assumed it wasn't the opposite of MY-SAC), dropping out of high school to do so. But his lack of education must have paid off in this instance because he went on to win the USAC championship two years later. He'd raced "open wheels" next, and then in the NASCAR Busch series, and so then she assumed Busch was a type of race car, and not, as one might think, a car decorated with shrubbery. Finally, when he was twenty-four, he'd entered the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup series with Blain Sanders as his team owner. That threw her for a moment because she'd assumed the driver owned the car, and yet that wasn't the case, apparently. He'd been with Sanders Racing his entire career, although by the sound of another article, it hadn't been the best season so far. Heck. It hadn't been good for a couple of years.
Further snooping revealed other facts, such as Lance's lack of family—he and his father appeared to be estranged. That Lance Cooper was revered by many, and yet, oddly enough, hated by an equal number of fans. The reason for that, she found out later, was because Lance had scored too many wins (obviously before his losing streak), thus irritating the fans of the other drivers who didn't win. What an odd sport.
Her cell phone rang.
She just about jumped out of her chair. The cell phone actually belonged to Lance Cooper, Inc., which meant the caller was either Lance's business manager Sal, or—
"Are you wearing underwear?"
Lance Cooper himself, she realized, blushing yet again.
"You know I could sue you for sexual harassment," she found herself saying, feeling more emboldened because he was miles away from her, while she was staring at his picture.
She quickly closed the screen, almost as if he might know she was snooping on him in some Star Trek, mind-melded way.
"I know," he said. "But you won't. If you were the suing type, you'd have already filed a lawsuit against me for felony hit and run."
"You didn't run."
"That's true," and she could hear the smile in his voice. "How about kiss and run?"
The skin on her lips tingled just before her cheeks heated up. "I'd rather not talk about that," she mumbled in a low voice, looking around her again as if someone might have heard him.
There was a pause. "Yeah. We probably shouldn't."
But she wanted to. Curse it all, she wanted to ask him all sorts of questions about that kiss. Had he enjoyed it? Did he like the way she kissed?
Was he going to kiss her again?
"How are you feeling?" he asked, suddenly all seriousness.
Stop
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