This Racing Pulse

This Racing PulseRomance in Iron Range #1Mal Trevino Copyright © 2023 Mal TrevinoAll rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.Cover design by: Mal Trevino Contents Title PageCopyrightChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32EpilogueAbout The AuthorBooks In This Series Chapter 1Ryan Zeller was going to get eaten by a moose.Hannigan’s Bar, like the rest of Iron Range, Michigan, was completely surrounded by trees. It grew out of the woods like a boulder that had always been there, lit by a single green neon sign. Ryan grimaced to himself and hit his blinker.He pulled into a small parking lot filled with rusted pickups and SUVs with DIY wooden bumpers. One thing he did like about the Upper Peninsula so far: his ancient Toyota Corolla fit right in. In fact, everything about the town of Iron Range was a little shabby. The cars, the pot-holed streets, the faded brick buildings. Even his apartment was a relic haphazardly updated to keep it in code. He could cross the entire unit in fewer than ten steps, and he wasn’t exactly leggy.But it didn’t matter. He would get a different job before autumn, and then he would be out of here. The tiny apartment would suffice for the summer.“Ryan, can you still hear me?”He glanced down at his phone that he had propped in his car’s empty ashtray. On the screen, Dierdre Mason, his former graduate advisor, smiled back at him. Her big, green eyes sparkled with an excitement that Ryan couldn’t quite muster in return. He forced his smile a little wider just for her.“You cut out for a second,” she continued, “anyway, you are going to love Crema. All the faculty go for their coffee in the morning. Oh! And you have the binder I made for you, yes?”Ryan reached out to pat the binder sitting on the passenger seat.“Yes, my trusty binder rode co-pilot with me all the way through Michigan. You thought of everything I could possibly need to know. In fact, I didn’t even need to check my phone for a gas station—which is lucky, Dee. Do you know why? Because I didn’t have cell signal for three entire hours of the ten-hour trip.”“See? I knew it would be helpful. And all of that nature is going to be so good for you, Ryan, I promise. You’re going to get settled in and you’re not going to want to leave.”Dierdre’s auburn curls bounced as she talked. Her hair was shot through with fine streaks of gray, but she looked so young as she gushed about her hometown.Ryan had never pictured his grad advisor to be like Dee. He’d always imagined some stern old man who looked like an undertaker, a graphing calculator sticking out of an enormous pocket in his tweed blazer. Dierdre had been a surprise and a blessing. She looked like a yoga instructor who lived off green smoothies and pure sunlight. But Ryan couldn’t have asked for a better guide to his torturous years of graduate studies.“Let me get through this summer first,” he said.“I’m serious, Ryan,” Dierdre said. Her eyebrows tilted together in a compassionate expression, the corners of her mouth down-turned just slightly. “I know you’ve had a rough year. Take this chance to slow down, all right? I know your dad was a shock—”“Oh, look,” he interrupted her, “I’m here. I need to run in so I don’t keep my department waiting.”She sighed. “All right. Listen, though, okay? If you need anything, even if it’s just to talk…”Dierdre seemed older when she was sad.“I know. Thank you. For everything, Dee. I mean it.” He forced a smile. “And now I need to get drunk with my colleagues.”She huffed a little laugh. “You’ve earned it! Call me after your first class, okay?”Ryan smiled. “I will.”He could smell the inside of Hannigan’s Bar before he even reached the door. Fried food and stale beer and cigarette smoke hung heavily outside the entrance. With a deep steadying breath, Ryan pushed his way inside.The sound of an electric guitar assaulted him as he made his way through the crowd. The bar was as packed as he would expect for a small-town Friday night, with everyone’s attention focused on the stage where a three-piece band played something approximating Guns N’ Roses. The drummer had the most magnificent curly gray mullet Ryan had ever seen.“Ryan!”Ryan craned his neck to see a man at a table in the corner, grinning at him and waving his arm.“Hey,” Ryan said when he was finally through the crowd.“Hey, I’m Eric Dawson. We spoke on the phone,” the man said, rising and extending his hand to Ryan.Eric had called earlier in the week to invite Ryan to the department outing as a welcome. Ryan wasn’t a welcome-party kind of guy, but at new job, sacrifices had to be made. He had dreaded this event for his entire drive up from Chicago.Eric was handsome in a private-school kind of way, medium height and build, medium blond hair, blue eyes, square-jawed—perfectly, appealingly, strategically average. He was also the first man Ryan had seen since he crossed the Mackinac Bridge who wasn’t wearing a Ski-doo baseball cap. Ryan wasn’t in any position to complain.Ryan took a seat at the sticky table.“Am I early?” he asked. “Eric tilted his head. “Early? Oh! Ha, no, you’re good. The department is just me and you—and the department head who’s home with a nursing baby.” He leaned back in his seat, his smile turned sly on his face. “Jesus fuck, thank God