Speed Dating (10 page)

“Play along with me for the cameras, okay, honey?” he whispered.

She nodded, obviously having no clue what he was up to.

He let out a rebel yell, and then he kissed her.

Maybe she was more media savvy than he’d guessed, because this time she helped. She threw her arms around him and kissed him back.

She smelled a lot better than the inside of a stock car, tasted better than the cold beer he was looking forward to cracking. She tasted, he thought as he smiled against her lips, like luck.

Then he pulled away, keeping an arm around her waist since he knew Ashlee had to be around here somewhere, and if she wasn’t she’d be seeing him on TV with his new girlfriend.

Maybe that would be enough to get the woman finally headed off on her honeymoon.

His PR guy passed him a ball cap with one of his sponsor’s logos on it, and then a few microphones were stuck in his general direction.

He answered the usual questions, described some of the critical moments of the race as he remembered them, and then the gal who’d interviewed him prerace asked, “So, Dylan, introduce us to your good luck charm.”

She was a nice lady, and she always tried to go easy on him, so he felt he owed her, but he hadn’t expected to have to introduce Kendall on air without talking to her about it first.

“This is Kendall,” he said finally.

To his astonishment, instead of directing the next question at him, the TV lady said, “Kendall, do you think you helped Dylan win the race today?”

He gave Kendall’s waist a tiny squeeze, hoping she’d take the hint.

She turned his way and those cool gray eyes looked brimful of mischief. “I think every fan who cheered Dylan on today helped him win that race.”

Good for her. His PR guy couldn’t have scripted
anything that would have sounded better. In fact, he’d have thrown something in there about the sponsors, and as much as Dylan appreciated his sponsors, he liked that Kendall had complimented his fans.

“Do you think your kiss before the race helped?”

Kendall glanced at him again. She seemed to hesitate a second, and he knew she wasn’t one for blowing her own horn. In fact, he doubted she even knew how pretty she was and how much he’d enjoyed those kisses. Then she smiled wider. “Absolutely.”

“Where did you and Dylan meet?”

She hesitated and he knew she was picturing, as vividly as he was, the way she’d walked into his hotel room by mistake dressed pretty skimpily. Kendall was the kind of honest woman who would have trouble telling the whitest of white lies, so he leaned in and said, “We met through mutual friends.”

He kept Kendall with him as he did post-race interviews and photos, autographs and backslapping.

“Hey, Carl,” he said, as the younger driver strode up, deep-set blue eyes twinkling above a big grin.

“Nice job, Dy. I like your good-luck charm, here. Hi, Kendall.”

She seemed pretty happy to see a familiar face, but then he thought his buddy had the kind of smile that made women smile back and a charm much older than his years. In the movie of Carl Edwards’s life, Matt Damon would play him.

“I liked your victory kissing.”

“Can’t manage those backflips of yours,” Dylan said.

“A man doesn’t like to be predictable,” he said, turning his attention to Kendall. “Anytime you want to
bring me some luck…” He was enjoying himself so much a dimple appeared.

“You find your own girl to kiss,” Dylan said.

“I’ll try,” he said and walked away with a wave.

“Somehow, I don’t think he’s going to have any trouble.”

Dylan laughed. “You’re right about that.”

“Still, he sure seems like a nice guy. I’d like to help out any friend of yours.”

“Don’t even think about it. On the track, the only guy you kiss is me.”

He looked so fierce and seemed so serious about the whole luck thing that she kept her smile stowed.

“I see. What about off the track?” She had no idea what she thought she was starting here, but the way he was gazing at her made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut. He was staring at her mouth, and the expression in his eyes could only be termed possessive. “What would it take to get an exclusive contract with those lips for the entire season?”

Kendall had never been much for flirting, but there was something about this whole NASCAR thing that was turning her into a completely different woman. So she licked those lips he was staring at. “An exclusive contract on these lips?”

“That’s right.”

“For a whole season?”

The heat around her wasn’t coming entirely from the sun. She felt overwarm and reminded herself too late that she was toying with a man who’d been voted one of
People
magazine’s hottest 50 bachelors. Her most exciting media appearance had been when her picture
appeared in the company newsletter as Employee of the Month.

However, she thought, as she settled a ball cap with Dylan’s picture and car number on it more firmly on her head, she was a fast learner. She sent him a saucy look. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“I
COULD KISS
her myself,” Jeff Geralski, his PR guy, said when Dylan introduced them after the race. “She’s a natural in front of the camera. Did you see how often the kiss got broadcast and how much fun the sportscasters are having with this?”

“Yep.” And the added bonus to all this coverage was knowing that it should be speeding Ashlee on her honeymoon.

“I can’t believe you never brought her to a race before.”

“I told you, we just met.”

They were hanging out in his motor home enjoying a cold drink and the sweet feeling of victory. Jeff said to Kendall, “But you’re sticking around for a while, right?”

“For a while, yes.”

“Good. Excellent.” He rubbed his hands. “I’m not sure if this thing has legs, but let’s see what happens.”

What he meant was that Dylan’s luck needed to stay changed before anybody was going to believe that one kiss from one pretty woman had worked magic.

Dylan wasn’t thinking about whether it was fluke or coincidence, or if Kendall was an angel sent to Earth for the sole purpose of helping him win the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Championship. For one evening, he was
kicking back and savoring the fact that his team had won.

“One race at a time, buddy,” he said.

A
ND THEN HE WON AGAIN
at Dover, finished second at Pocono and held the lead for most of the day at Michigan.

By then, he was convinced, his team was convinced, his sponsors were convinced and his fans were convinced.

Kendall Clarke was his lucky charm.

Every time he kissed Kendall before a race, he got a kind of buzz, like a shot of energy that infused him. It seemed to affect his car, too—she was running like a dream. His pit stops were short. He was driving at the top of his ability. Life was good.

Of course, there were always subtle adjustments to keep things humming, and there was one obvious correction that needed to be made.

After Michigan, he was booked for a charity golf tournament in Miami. He and Kendall and Jeff flew down together and while there he made a change that he thought Kendall, being a woman, would jump all over.

He should have remembered that Kendall rarely reacted the way he expected her to.

“What do you mean you hired me a personal shopper?” Kendall asked when he told her the news, looking deeply offended.

“Honey, you’re my lucky charm. My PR guy loves you. Jeff loves that they’re making us into the latest cute couple. You can’t be the other half of my cute couple and wear business clothes all the time.”

She looked at him, but didn’t respond. She was neat as always in a trim skirt the color of compost and a blouse the color of a mushroom he wouldn’t trust eating.

“I need you to wear brighter colors, things that look better on TV.”

“That show more skin,” she said and sniffed. Deciding that if she was supposed to look like a frivolous person, she might as well start acting like one.

Dylan’s smile was slow and made her feel like an ice-cream cone that had ventured too close to the sun. “I didn’t say that. NASCAR’s a family sport. All I’m asking is that we find you some outfits that are more colorful, more relaxed, for the TV.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that from a handful of on-camera kisses, you and I are suddenly being talked about like we’re a big romance?”

“Are you kidding me? If everybody in the NASCAR Series thinks you’re my woman, maybe Ashlee will finally get it through her head that she is married to another man.” He looked at her with a crease between his eyebrows. “Why? Does it bother you if everybody thinks we’re an item?”

“Bother me? Why should it bother me?”

They were in a luxury townhome that the three of them would be sharing for the two nights they were here. Today had been crazy. They’d breakfasted with some old friends of Dylan’s, Marlena and Mike from Nashville. Marlena had soft blond hair and pretty green eyes, and the way her husband looked at her, Kendall could tell they were newlyweds. After breakfast, there’d been a promotional event to attend and there’d been no question that Kendall would go along. In a very short
time, Kendall had come to be as much a part of the team as the jackman or the hauler driver. It was exciting and flattering, and she was having more fun than she could have imagined. She was also more relaxed. Maybe she had needed this stress leave.

Of course, she didn’t believe in luck, but so long as she was perceived as bringing it, she was having a blast. For once in her life she was in the spotlight, part of the In Crowd, and it did her battered ego good.

“I was thinking about the folks back home,” Dylan said.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but nobody I know watches NASCAR.”

He didn’t look a bit offended. In fact, he chuckled. “Honey, I will offer you a money-back guarantee that everybody you know in Portland, Oregon, is going to be hearing about this. Racing news has a funny way of going mainstream.”

It didn’t matter to her if he thought his racing news was a bigger deal than it was. And it was sweet of him to worry about her reputation. Then, the very idea of Marvin, Mr. You’re Not Exciting Enough, seeing her on TV being kissed by one of NASCAR’s finest was all she needed to immediately agree to Dylan’s proclamation that she needed new clothes.

“Okay,” she said, imagining Marvin and pregnant Penelope seeing her living life in the fast lane. “I’ll get some new clothes. But I am buying them myself.”

“Kendall, you don’t want to waste good money on clothes that I need you to wear.”

“I won’t spend a lot of money,” she assured him. “I’m very good at finding treasures on the sales racks.”

But he was shaking his head. “Rhoda is from around these parts, and I’m telling you right now that people talk. And talk spreads and next thing you know, everybody’s saying, ‘That Dylan, he sure doesn’t treat his woman right. What’s she doing shopping at the discount store? By the way, where’s all his money?’” He threw his hands in the air like a Bible-thumping preacher. “Drugs? Gambling? Blackmail? Next thing you know, the tabloids are taking a little, itty-bitty bit of dirt and turning it into a mudslide.”

She was opening and closing her mouth as if she wanted to say something so he kept on talking, figuring the longer she had to get used to the idea, the less mad she was going to be. He didn’t want her buying clothes with her own money, not with her being demoted from her job, and him having more money than he knew what to do with.

“But—”

“I’ve got my reputation to think of, and it’s not just me, it’s my team. It’s Mike and Jeff and the rest. You wouldn’t want them being bothered by a bunch of paparazzi all because you didn’t like the high-handed way I hired you a shopper who knows this town a sight bit better than you or I know it, now would you?”

“But it’s chauvinistic for you to buy my clothes.”

He tried another tack. “Look, you’re doing me a favor. I’d really like it if you’d let me pay for a few clothes that will help you do that favor better.”

Indecision was written all over her face. “It feels strange having a man buy my clothes.”

“I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important to the whole team. We’ve got a great streak happening, and
Jeff thinks we can get a lot of mileage out of this kissing thing. More airtime for me makes my sponsors real happy.” He grimaced. “The way I’ve been racing lately, anything I can do to make them happy I aim to do. If I win, my whole team gets a bonus. Seems only fair you should get one, too.”

“But I didn’t change tires or pump gas or—”

“Doesn’t matter. You definitely brought something to the team. Those kisses help us win.”

It was the most ridiculous notion in the world that one kiss from her would change anything. She was an actuary. She dealt in probability and statistics, not luck. And yet, there was something intoxicating about a man like Dylan believing she, boring, mousy, not-exciting-enough-for-Marvin-Fulford Kendall Clarke could help him win a race. Today, probability and statistics were banished. Today, she would believe in luck, and maybe a little bit in magic.

She’d snuck a peek at those pictures of her and Dylan on big-screen TVs everywhere. He was right, of course; her earth-tones wardrobe was perfectly appropriate for her professional life. As the wardrobe of a NASCAR good-luck-charm kisser, her clothes definitely lacked style.

“Well, when you put it that way.” She glanced at him and said, “All right. I accept.”

“Thanks. Be nice to Rhoda.”

“I’m always nice,” she informed him.

“Oh, and buy something sexy for the dinner tomorrow night after the golf.”

“But you said NASCAR is a family sport.”

“It is. Tomorrow night, my ex-wife and her poor sap of a husband are joining us for dinner.”

“What?”

“That’s pretty much what I said when I heard. As Ashlee pointed out, they bought tickets to help support charity.”

“Hah. Ruining my life is not a charity event.”

He sent her the grin that transformed his tough-guy scar into a crescent moon. “So, you’ll buy something sexy for tomorrow?”

“I hope your credit card has a very high limit.”

“That’s the go-to spirit.”

The personal shopper was a five-foot-tall whirlwind of big, strawberry-blond hair, incessant gum-chewing mouth and clothing that had Kendall suspecting the woman needed to rethink her career.

Rhoda was in her mid-to late thirties, and her clothing would have looked trashy even without the excess jewelry. She jingled with big earrings, big bracelets and a big chain belt around her hips, as though she could enhance her small stature with huge accessories.

Rhoda took one look at Kendall’s face and burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, I get that stunned look all the time. I was brought up in a convent and ever since I got out, I crave color. I won’t make you dress like me. But, honey, if you don’t mind me saying so, a little color wouldn’t hurt you, either. Looks better on TV. Of course, the way Dylan looks at you, I don’t think he notices what you’re wearing.”

She waved a slim hand and long pistachio-colored fingernails flashed. Kendall stood there amazed and unable to think of a single thing to say.

Her companion laughed again. “Oh, you’ll get used to me. I’m a very oral person. I talk too much. I know
it. Can’t help it at all.” She dug a stick of gum out of a fuchsia purse hanging from a chain. “I’m giving up smoking. The gum’s supposed to help, but it just makes me hungry. Chew, chew, chew and you never feel satisfied. So, what colors do you like?”

Good. Now they were getting somewhere. “I had my colors done several years ago. I’m a fall.”

Rhoda made a tsking sound through her gum. “I don’t believe in that stuff. What if you like black? You’re never supposed to wear black because you’re a fall? Besides, Dylan was very specific. He wants you in bright colors. He knows what he likes.”

“But I’m the one who has to wear these clothes,” she reminded the woman, trying very hard not to snarl.

“Sure you do. The trick is to find fabulous things that make everybody happy. Well? What are we waiting for? My car’s out front.”

As Kendall had feared, Rhoda drove the way she talked, erratically and too fast. Miraculously, they arrived at an upscale shopping district unscathed, and Rhoda led her straight into a store she’d have passed by on her own.

“I think this shop is for young people.”

“What are you? The wreck of the Hatteras?”

“Hesperus,” Kendall said quietly. Maybe if she kept talking in a soft voice, Rhoda would catch on and do it, too.

“Whatever.”

The small woman disappeared into a swirl of colored garments and Kendall found herself following. She wasn’t going to buy anything she wouldn’t have purchased if alone, she reminded herself.

But there was something downright cunning about Rhoda. She’d flit and chatter and pick words at random, so Kendall was so busy trying to follow her conversation that she found herself pushed into change rooms with clothes she didn’t want and then felt churlish not to try them on.

In less than an hour, she knew she’d met her match. Luckily, she was also smart enough to know that she was in the company of a genius. Clothes she would have passed by without a second glance looked much better on her than anything she’d have chosen for herself. In fact, she became quite enthusiastic as she trailed in her fashion mentor’s wake. When she went so far as to ask to see a chunky, beaded turquoise necklace because she thought it matched one of the tops they’d bought, Rhoda gave her a big smile and patted her arm. “You’re catching on, hon.”

When they returned to the town house loaded down with bags, they got a little giggly. Everything was colorful, fun, trendy and stylish. While her dress for tomorrow’s dinner wasn’t sexy so much as romantic, in pale primrose with a drapey skirt and a fitted bodice, it made the most of her subtle curves.

Rhoda said, “Normally, I’d purge your closet at this point, but…” She waved her arms around the impersonal townhome. Foreseeing something like this might happen, Kendall had hidden her overnighter in her bedroom closet.

“I can at least purge that,” she said, pointing to the suit Kendall was still wearing. “Then we’ll have a drink to celebrate.”