Free In the Groove by Pamela Britton Page A

there?
    But that's exactly what he did, having told his pilot to meet him at the airport Wednesday evening in an attempt to beat Sarah Tingle to the racetrack. Ridiculous. What about his routine?
    Thursday: Leave for the track, arriving in time to settle into his motor coach for the night.
    Friday afternoon: Practice and then qualify.
    Saturday was happy hour—usually. This weekend it was Friday, the whole schedule moved up a day because they were racing Saturday night.
    And while he was at the track he didn't leave his motor coach, aside from media appearances. He never had women to his motor coach. He never even went out with the boys. He focused.
    Until now.
    "You're here early, Mr. Cooper," the infield guard said when he pulled up in a rented Lincoln Navigator.
    "Media appearance," Lance lied, smiling at the man through the car's lowered window.
    "Good luck on Saturday," he said, waving him through.
    "Thanks," Lance said, rolling up the window and resisting the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel as he drove through the narrow tunnel painted to look like a giant checkered flag.
    He was doomed.
    Doomed, doomed, doomed. He'd broken his routine and now there was no telling what might happen.
    Fortunately, someone else was at the track early, too. Todd Peters, the driver of the number forty-eight car. Lance spotted his blue-and-black motor coach the moment he entered the private parking area.
    His friend gave him a curious stare when he opened up the door, saying, "Lance Cooper. What the heck are you doing here so early?" Todd had thick black brows that matched his equally black hair, and so when he lowered his bushy brows like he did now, he looked a lot like Mr. Potato Head. They even called him Spud, although they called him that because of his spud-shaped body.
    "Sal had me scheduled for some radio show, but it got cancelled at the last moment," Lance lied. "Now I'm stuck with nothing to do."
    "Stop the press," Todd said, smiling. "You agreed to come to the track early?"
    Lance almost groaned. "I did."
    "You breaking your routine now?" he asked. "You that desperate?"
    "Can I come in?"
    "No," the stocky driver said instantly. "Not after spinning me into that wall last week."
    "Me?" Lance asked, pointing to himself. "You got loose all on your own, Spudly."
    "Yeah?" Todd said, stepping back from the door. "I can still blame it on you."
    And so he would, Lance thought, familiar with the tactic. "You here all alone?" he asked as he took the first step up, knowing Todd wasn't really mad. And, indeed, his friend stepped back to let him pass.
    "For now," Todd said with a fox-in-the-henhouse smile. "Don't plan on being lonely for long."
    Lance rolled his eyes. "By the way, what are you doing here early?"
    "Aw, I gotta go do some lunch thing for Super Tools. Supposed to be there at noon, along with a few other drivers, reporters and TV cameras."
    "Man, I hate those things."
    "Yeah, but you can't get out of them, not and keep your sponsor, even if Super Tool is just an associate. I'm still required to go," Todd said with a shake of his head, "Hey, look. There's your bus now."
    Lance paused, turning back from the top step to peer in the direction Todd pointed. Sure enough, there it was, the familiar black-and-silver paint scheme shiny even beneath Daytona's partly cloudy skies.
    "Who's that driving?" Todd asked, squinting those eyes to the point that his thick brows became one.
    "That's Sarah."
    "What happened to Frank?"
    Lance looked away, refusing to admit he felt any sort of reaction. "You're not going to believe what happened to Frank," he said, forcing himself to stand there and not rush over like an excited puppy.
    "Try me."
    Lance bit back a smile, watching as Sarah stopped the bus near "his" spot.
    "He ran off to drive for Mötley Crüe."
    "He what?"
    She hadn't seen them watching her, and Lance bit back a smile as he watched a look of intense concentration cross her face as she put the bus in reverse, the backup