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the lie by adding, “Which came first—the uniform or the contact lenses?”
    He laughed. “That’d be telling, chickadee.”
    Jen stepped over the pit wall to stand with Eli next to the No. 502 car. The seven team members permitted over the wall to service the car during his pit stops lined up behind them. All along pit road the tableau was repeated—crews fidgeted, drivers talked quietly with their wives or girlfriends. Most of those women were a lot taller and a lot prettier than Jennifer—she’d heard some of them were models. Supermodels, even. She wondered that no one had accused her of being an imposter. Guys like Eli didn’t date girls like her.
    After the invocation, a band struck up. The stirring words of the national anthem came over the sound system, sung by a young opera star. To Jen’s bemusement, tears dampened her eyes as she joined in the singing.
    Eli sang beside her, his voice deep, the notes true. He spotted the emotion in her face and raised his eyebrows, smiling as he sang.
    Then it was time for the drivers to climb into their cars.
    â€œDrive safely, Eli,” Jen said.
    â€œThanks, chickadee.” He leaned in, so close she could see the crinkle lines around his eyes from that smile he always wore. Then closer still.
    She backed up. “What are you doing?”
    His eyes were wide and innocent, green as spring grass, his drawl smooth as molasses. “Why, chickadee, I’m going to kiss you.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    J EN DIDN’T MISS THE WAY Eli’s smile turned devilish. All her danger sensors went on red alert. “No way do you get to kiss me.”
    â€œLook around,” he invited, “and you’ll see that going over the wall with a NASCAR driver is like making out at the movies.”
    She didn’t believe that for one second. Until a glance to either side confirmed that women were puckering up all along pit road. The driver of the red-and-white car next to Eli’s was locked in a passionate embrace with his wife.
    â€œIt’s a NASCAR tradition,” Eli said. “I can’t race without the kiss.”
    â€œIt’s not part of our deal,” she argued.
    â€œThe deal was, you would pose as my girlfriend. Girlfriends kiss their boyfriends.” He eyed her mouth. “I’ll keep it brief, Scout’s honor.”
    â€œYou were never a Boy Scout,” she said with complete certainty.
    He grinned. “Only because I moved around too much.”
    â€œYou were expelled, more like it,” she muttered. “For conning the Girl Scouts into kissing you.”
    Now he was laughing again. “Are we good for this, chickadee?”
    Any more protest and she risked revealing just how much Eli disturbed her. He probably knew that already, but she didn’t have to lose all dignity.
    â€œFine,” she said stoically. “Go ahead.”
    Which made him laugh harder.
    Then his hands went to her waist, anchoring her. “Ready, chickadee?”
    No. Her breath came in short bursts. “Would you stop calling me that ridiculous—”
    His lips met hers.
    The kiss was as circumspect as she could want. But beneath the firmness of Eli’s lips was a softness that teased. Taunted. Tantalized.
    Jen’s lips molded to his. Around them, the air hummed, a force-field of attraction. Eli’s thumbs caressed the sides of her waist, and she made a little noise against his mouth. He captured the sound, echoed it, adjusted the angle of their bodies so that somehow they were closer together.
    When he pulled away, Jen had to pour every ounce of effort into not letting her knees sag.
    Eli ran a hand through his hair, his eyes still on her mouth. “Thanks, Jen.”
    He sounded dazed, as if that kiss had floored him.
    If she let herself believe that, next thing she’d be putting out milk and cookies for Santa. The truth, she told herself ruthlessly, was that Eli had kissed dozens,