Imogen had to concur with that. She would really like to have an orgasm at the hands of a race car driver. A race car driver. Ty. Sexy, laid-back, always wearing a grin Ty. Who was instead giving Nikki orgasms and track passes.

It was utterly futile to think she could ever attract the attention of a man like that, and she needed to remember that. Why she even wanted to severely mystified her, but there was something about his joie de vivre, the way he didn’t take himself too seriously, that appealed to her. Or at least to the parts of her that resided below the waist.

“Well, let’s go sit down,” Tamara said. “We’re going to miss half of the race and I have a certain rookie driver I need to cheer on.”

Tamara was clearly antsy to see her husband Elec driving, already flashing her pass and making her way into the seating area of the boxes. Imogen followed her, wondering if her sunscreen was going to hold up for the duration of the race. She was dark haired and fair skinned, and the North Carolina sun was brutal. Looking around at the crowds, she realized that the straw hat she had brought to shield her face wasn’t exactly de rigueur. Everyone else who had on a hat was wearing a ball cap, most advertising their favorite driver. Imogen was aware she wasn’t dressed appropriately either. She was wearing a black sundress with a three-quarter-sleeve cardigan and sandals while the majority of the crowd was in shorts and T-shirts.

But considering it was her very first time to the track in Charlotte to watch a live stock car race, she hadn’t known the protocol. She had been looking forward to it as a life experience and because she was still fishing around for a thesis project for her graduate degree in sociology. The culture of stock car racing in the South seemed like a great jumping-off point, but she needed to home in on a more specific topic.

Only she hadn’t anticipated being stuck sitting next to Nikki. Suzanne had virtually vaulted over the row of seats to get the one farthest from Nikki, and Tamara had already taken the seat next to Suzanne. That left Imogen, then Nikki on the end, who was wiping the seat off with a tissue.

“I don’t want to get my white pants dirty,” she said in explanation when Imogen stared at her.

“Then why did you wear white pants?” Imogen couldn’t help but ask.

“Because they make my butt look good,” Nikki said, like this was completely obvious.

“Don’t you have other pants that make your butt look good that won’t attract dirt?”

Nikki smiled. “Yes. But with white pants you can’t wear anything but a thong, and men love that.”