Nikki was rustling around in her handbag and Imogen glanced over to see the blonde tearing into a bag of mixed greens. She pulled out a piece of spinach and popped it in her mouth like it was a potato chip.
“Want some?” Nikki held the bag out to Imogen.
Imogen shook her head. “No, thanks.” She had zero interest in chewing on greens sans salad dressing. Watching her waistline was as important to her as the next person, but she wasn’t about to sacrifice at least some kind of flavor for skinny jeans.
Not that Imogen was really the skinny jeans type. She had probably exited the womb wearing Ann Taylor coordinates. The clean lines and understated harmony of classic clothes made her happy, and she was fortunate to have inherited her mother’s naturally thin figure. Of course, the flip side of that was a serious lack of br**sts, but it was what it was and she had no interest in buying herself a larger cup size.
“Does that actually satisfy your hunger?” she asked Nikki curiously.
“No. But it keeps me from buying nachos.” Nikki had balanced her salad bag in her lap and she was digging a notebook-sized book out of her bag.
“Is that a race program?” Imogen asked. She wanted to look up Tamara’s husband Elec, and okay, she could admit it, Ty McCordle, so she could monitor their progress around the track.
“No, it’s a book I’m reading.”
Imogen gained a whole new respect for Nikki. She was reading at the racetrack. Clearly she was there to show support for her boyfriend, but had brought a book to occupy herself in the long hours alone as the cars did something like five hundred laps.
“Oh, what book is it? Fiction or nonfiction?”
Nikki frowned and pushed her sunglasses up. “I don’t know. I can never remember which one means it’s real and which one means it’s fake.”
Huh. “Fiction is a story; nonfiction is based on facts.”
“Then I guess this is nonfiction. I think.” Nikki held up the book for Imogen to see the cover.
The title was How to Marry a Race Car Driver in Six Easy Steps. On the cover was a photograph of a woman kissing a man in a racing uniform with a pair of wedding rings surrounding them.
“Wow, uh, I don’t know if that is fiction or nonfiction either.” Imogen wasn’t sure if the book was intended to be tongue-in-cheek or if someone really thought there was a formula to garner a proposal from a driver. Or if the publisher and author didn’t necessarily think so, but knew women like Nikki would buy the book to learn the secret. “What does it say?”
“There are all kinds of tips and rules, plus profiles of the single drivers.”
“Are you serious?” That completely piqued the interest of the sociologist in Imogen.
“Yeah. And I broke Rule Seventeen of Step Two by accident. I wasn’t supposed to wear high heels to the track, only I didn’t read that part until after I was here.” Nikki rolled the top of her lettuce bag closed and stuffed it back in her purse. “I hope Ty doesn’t notice.”
Considering the man was in a car on the track driving at approximately one hundred and eighty-five miles an hour and attempting to pass other cars going an equal speed with only inches of clearance, Imogen highly doubted Ty was concerning himself with Nikki’s trackside footwear. “I’m sure it’s fine. I don’t really see why a driver would care what his girlfriend or wife wears at a race anyway.”
Nikki looked horrified. “That kind of attitude will never land you a driver. It’s all about image.”
“Really?” Imogen glanced over at Tamara and Suzanne. They were both normal, attractive women in their early thirties. Tamara was married to a driver; Suzanne was divorced from a driver. Somehow Imogen doubted either one of them had followed a manual to land her husband. In fact, she would bet her trust fund on it. “Can I look at the book?” she asked.
Nikki clutched the book to her chest for a second, clearly suspicious.
“Don’t worry,” Imogen said. “I have no interest in following the steps. A stock car driver isn’t really my type.” Which she would do well to remember. Just because she had a strange and mysterious physical attraction to Ty didn’t mean it was anything other than foolish to pursue that. A driver wasn’t her type, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she wasn’t a driver’s type. She was the total antithesis of Nikki.
“Okay.” Nikki handed the book over begrudgingly.
Imogen almost laughed. It wasn’t like what was in those pages wasn’t available to anyone who had twenty bucks and a bookstore at their disposal. She opened the book, and it flipped automatically to the section on your first date with a driver. The “Don’ts for First Date Night” included drinking any alcohol, even a single glass of wine, an explanation of why beer-drinking women weren’t at all the thing, and how while a chaste kiss at the door might be deemed acceptable, anything beyond that was wrong, wrong, wrong. Girls men wanted to marry did not, repeat did not, have sex with men on the first date.
Feeling like she just might have slid back into 1957 when she wasn’t looking, Imogen flipped to a new chapter. It was a list of places to meet drivers, including the stores they might shop at in Charlotte, the bars and restaurants they were known to frequent, and the gym several worked out at.
The wheels in her head started to turn faster and faster as she scanned through half a dozen more pages.
“What are you looking at?” Tamara asked her, leaning toward Imogen to read over her shoulder.
Imogen looked at her friend and sociology professor in satisfaction. “My thesis. I’m looking at my thesis.”
The book declared itself an instructional manual on how to marry a race car driver. Which led Imogen to the question that would be the basis of her thesis—did dating rules result in success when altered for a specific occupation?
Imogen was going to follow them and find out.
TY McCordle ducked out of Tammy and Elec’s front door and quickly moved to the left on the porch, away from the view of the picture window. He desperately needed a bit of fresh air and a breather from Nikki’s constant chattering. It was obvious to him that he had been dating Nikki way past the point of novelty. She got on his nerves just about every minute that he was with her, and had actually brought up the M word—marriage. Good God, the thought made him want to chew off his own foot to escape that trap. So he had reached the moment he hated in dating. He had to break things off with Nikki, and that was bound to result in a couple of things from her he had a hard time dealing with—tears and anger.