Number Nine

Chapter Thirty Four

  I realized that he was in his early twenties, I knew it full well- but the man tucked beneath red flannel sheets looked half as old. The apples of his cheeks were flushed a much deeper red than normal from the night of drinking, and I could only imagine the pounding in his head that was sure to assault him upon waking. 

  As if in response to that thought, Chase crinkled his face in his sleep, grunting a little and clumsily wiping the tip of his nose with a balled fist. Then he settled back farther under the covers and let out a deep sigh. His mouth was open just a bit, and with his cheek pressed against the pillow he clutched his face had the distinct appearance of a young child fast asleep. 

  I couldn't help but smile at the sight. Last night I had gotten a full introduction to the Chase that hid behind a smooth and confident façade. I'd gotten the opportunity to see just how troubled he really was, and because of that I fully appreciated seeing him in a moment of total relaxation, in a place where his worries couldn't find him. 

   He stirred again, and blinked drowsily in the morning light flitting through the window on the wall over his bed. Satisfied that he was perfectly fine-albeit hungover- and still grinning to myself, I shut his bedroom door softly and went back to check that I'd left nothing behind. Picking over the filth of the place, I made my way to the door and left. Making sure that the door was locked behind me I turned away from his bus and meandered down the row, basking in the creamy new light of the morning. 

   I tried to focus on noticing the details of the morning, or comprehending the email that had just pinged into my phone from Jen Janks. I needed to know what was in the message, it was titled with the date and word "assignment"- but one thing was taking over my mind. 

  Chase told me that he loved me.

  He was drunk, so terribly drunk. And did he think I was asleep? Why would he wait until I was asleep to tell me that, or did he legitimately not know whether I was awake or asleep and not care-just wanted to get that off his chest. Most importantly though, did he mean it? 

  And how did I feel about it either way? 

*************

  An hour later I was showered and dressed in a respectable sleeveless emerald green keyhole top and a pair of khaki jeans. My hair had been blown dry and fixed into a ponytail at the crown of my head so that the shining tail swung around easily. 

  Refreshed from the soothing warmth of the shower, I easily read my assignment email as I combed a meager amount of mascara through my lashes. 

  Today was as simple as ever, all they wanted me to do was talk to the drivers about how they feel like the being in the desert has affected their performances in the past. Although not expressly stated, I assumed one minute clips with each driver would be just fine. I was supposed to hit the usual's; whoever was on the pole, anybody with a major amount of wins here, anyone for who this was a home track and if there was anybody in a particularly odd spot. 

  I about stabbed myself in the eye with the wand when I started reviewing just who all those people were. 

   I didn't know who was starting first, from the pole today. I had suspicions about who it could be, knowing in the past couple years who it had been, and I wasn't happy about it. What I really wasn't happy about was the single person that definitely fulfilled the second two descriptions if not in addition to the first. 

  Kyle Busch of Joe Gibbs Racing. 

   I could think of two or three recent wins of his at Vegas across the various series' off the top of my head, and I was certain that there had been many more that just didn't surface immediately. And where was the guy from you may ask?