Free Faster Dirtier (Take Me...#5) (A Team Ferrelli Novel) by Colleen Masters Page A

have been devastated if I’d walked away
from it because of what happened to them. Being around cars now gives me a
sense of power. Like I’m taking something back from fate.”
    “That’s exactly it,” Nils nods, “I’ve never been able to say
it better myself, but that’s exactly how it feels. Thank you, Ainsley.”
    “Of course,” I smile, laying an encouraging hand on his arm.
“And you can call me Ace, if you want. All of my friends do.”
    “Well Ace,” Nils goes on, setting his champagne down on a
passing tray. “I know you don’t really ‘do the whole clubbing thing’, but how
would you feel about one dance?”
    Now that I think about it, losing myself on the dance floor
might be just the thing to dispel my lingering nervousness. “Sure Nils,” I say,
setting down my glass as well. “Let’s do it.”
    The tall Swede leads me out into the fray. The older party
guests have all moved to quieter areas of the house, leaving the space in front
of the DJ open to us youngin’s. An awesome mashup is blasting from the speakers
as we let ourselves get swept up in the beat. I can’t remember the last time I
let loose and had fun like this, but it turns out that Nils is pretty good company.
And a good dancer, too. I lose track of how many songs roll by as we dance
side-by-side. I’m honestly a bit relieved that he doesn’t try to go all Dirty
Dancing on me. It’s nice to have found a new friend among the assorted F1 types
here tonight.
    But despite the lively atmosphere and the good time we’re
having, I know that I still need to brace myself for Siena’s announcement. As a
particularly heavy beat starts pounding through the speakers, I turn to Nils
and excuse myself from the dance floor.
    “Already?” he asks, “But the party’s just getting started!”
    “I’ll be back,” I assure him, picking my way through the
crowd. “I just need some air.”
    “Want me to join you?” he asks, moving to follow me.
    “No, that’s OK. You stay with all the other pretty young things,”
I tell him.
    “You calling me pretty, Ace?” he asks, giving me a
theatrical wink.
    I laugh at his charmingly goofy expression and offer a
little wave before continuing on my way. I wasn’t lying about wanting a breath
of fresh air, but I’m jonesing for something else, too. I swing by the bar and
pick up a fresh drink. I’ve always been good at handling myself, when it comes
to booze. I hardly ever get wasted, despite my taste for martinis. I’ve just
never liked the sensation of being so drunk that I’m out of control. Especially
since it was a drunk driver who killed my parents. But still, having a few
drinks is not the same as getting shit-faced, as long as you know your limits.
    Furnished with a perfect martini, I pick my way through the
crowded main floor of the house, searching for a private little nook. But there
are so many guests in attendance that privacy may be hard to come by. Finally,
I notice the twinkling string lights through a set of double french doors
leading off the back of the house. I decide to head out onto the terrace, to
see if anyone’s claimed that space for their own just yet.
    Stepping out onto the secluded patio, I’m relieved to see
that no guests have wandered out here. The pool area is empty and relatively
quiet, despite the pumping bass that sounds out from within the house. I take a
huge cleansing breath, gathering my wits after hours of new faces and small
talk. I think I’m holding my own all right, but once Siena pulls me up in front
of all those people...I don’t know what to expect.
    I cross the tiled space, smiling as my high heels click
against the tiles. Now that’s not a sound that I’m used to. Most of the time I rock a pair of Chuck Taylor’s
and leave it at that. But no sneakers for me tonight—I’m like Cinderella at the
ball. Only, my racecar won’t turn back into a pumpkin when the clock strikes
midnight. Hopefully.
    The view from the Lazio villa’s terrace