Faster Dirtier (Take Me...#5) (A Team Ferrelli Novel) Read Free Page A

Bruno’s
dismissal has left me stinging, and more than a little frustrated. I refuse to
give up racing just because it happens to be inhospitable to women, but the
constant rejection and belittling can really take a toll after a while. Being
talked at by middle aged dudes has never been my favorite part of this profession.
    “What’s the matter, Ace?” Alec asks, nudging me. He came up
with that nickname himself, when I was still zooming around in my Big Wheel.
Even though “Ainsley” is technically a unisex name, he said I needed something
tougher still. It stuck, and my friends all call me “Ace” to this day. I think
it suits me pretty well.
    “Just wondering when I’m gonna catch a break is all,” I
sigh, watching as my teammate Eddie—the prince of FullSpeed Racing, and nephew
of one of the owners—climbs into his car. “This whole paying-my-dues thing is
getting old.”
    “That’s kinda the whole point of paying dues, right?” Alec
laughs, crossing his heavily-inked arms. “You work, and work, and work, and
then one day something just...falls out of the sky. Just like— Hey !”
    I look up in surprise as a big red bouncy ball collides with
Alec’s head, dropping off into the pit below us. My brother and I glance
around, searching for the owner of the lost ball. It isn’t until I feel a tug
on my sleeve that I look down and find a two-year-old boy staring back up at
me. My biological clock has yet to start ticking in earnest, but even I have to
admit that this kid is absolutely adorable. He’s got a mop of dirty blonde
curls, a warm, olive complexion, and the most dazzling blue eyes I’ve ever
seen. His white sneakers are scuffed and muddy, and he’s even wearing a tiny
racing jacket. For a second, it’s all I can do to stare at him. Toddlers aren't
exactly a common sight around here.
    “My ball,” he finally says in a tiny voice, his baby blues wide
and serious. “That’s my ball!”
    “Looks like your ball is long gone, little guy,” Alec says
gruffly, rubbing his temple where the rubber sphere struck him.
    “But...that’s my ball ,”
the kid sniffs, looking heartbroken as hell. Big, round tears well up in his
eyes and his lower lips sets to quivering.
    “Stay right here,” I tell him, laying a hand on his tiny
shoulder, “I’ll grab it for you.”
    I vault over the railing and chase down the bouncy ball from
where it’s rolled under my car. The pit crew looks at me curiously as I lower
myself onto the pavement and snatch the toy out from beneath the undercarriage.
With those gorgeous blue eyes, I bet that little boy has no trouble getting
people to help him out. But I don’t mind being counted among that number.
    My fingers finally close around the ball, and I pull myself
back to my feet, eager to return the prize to my new little friend. But as I
straighten up, I see that the members of my pit crew are all staring,
gobsmacked, back toward the stands. I follow their collective gaze to where I
left Alec standing with the little boy, and see for myself that they’ve been
joined by a third figure. A woman. A stunning, statuesque woman who’s scooping
the two-year-old up into her arms. Even my unflappable brother is staring at
her, unabashed. The sight of a woman other than me around the track is an event
in and of itself, it would seem. Let alone a woman as beautiful as the one
who’s appeared this afternoon.
    I jog back to the bleachers, holding the red ball out to the
toddler. His tiny face breaks into a huge grin as he happily reclaims the toy
from my hands.
    “There you go, buddy,” I say warmly.
    “Thanks for that,” says the woman holding him, a smile
curving her full lips. “He loves that thing.”
    “No problem,” I tell her, brushing a loose lock of hair from
my grease-smudged forehead. “Is this little one yours?”
    “Sure is,” she smiles, planting a kiss on the top of his
head. “Say hello to the nice lady who rescued your ball, Alfie.”
    “Hello,” he