With a small smile, I hightail it out of there and follow the crowd, doing my best to blend in, and make it back to the hotel room. The chill from the air conditioning hits me full force the minute I step in the room, and it’s a welcome sensation against my heated skin. I strip off the shorts and t-shirt before sprawling on my bed, letting the cold air wash over me. I can’t even close my eyes without seeing Trent tearing up the race track and flying in the air behind my eyelids. Breathing in and out, I concentrate on the ceiling and try to rein in my thoughts. It was just a race. A few tricks. There is no reason for me to feel this way. Above all else, Trent is a target. I shouldn’t be fascinated with him beyond that.
I have no idea how long I lie there, only that I hear groups of people pass outside our window, all of them talking excitedly, most of them intoxicated.
“I’m back, bitch!” Evita yells and the door slams behind her. My head turns, and sure enough, her cheeks are a little flushed. I’m assuming she had at least one more drink before coming back.
“What’s the plan?” I get up and walk over to my suitcase, fingering through the shiny and glittery material of dresses she picked out for me.
“Well, nothing I packed for us is going to be useful,” she huffs, her hands on her hips.
“What do you mean? We can check out both clubs tonight and the bars tomorrow if you weren’t able to get information,” I reassure her, my shoulders shrugging.
“Oh, I got the info,” she tells me, walking closer, her eyes twinkling, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Ask me how.”
“How?” I ask, playing into her game, my brow quirking.
Evita squeals and jumps up and down, a huge smile on her lips. “I ran into him!”
My mind blanks for a second, before spinning into overdrive. Shit. “Who?”
Her eyes roll. “Fifty-four! Elias Martinez. I caught him when they were walking out. Turns out, your boy is not much of a partier. They don’t do the club scene on weekends like this. They don’t even stay in hotels, choosing to rent houses outside of the city.”
I wait for my heart rate to slow down before answering. My bravado starts to deflate. How am I supposed to get to him this way? “Well, that changes things. Now what?” I ask more to myself then her.
“We get dressed for a bonfire,” she answers, spinning on her heel and heading over to her bags. “And, as I said, everything I packed is pretty much useless. Sounds like they keep it casual at these beach and house parties.”
My teeth pull and tug on my bottom lip while I contemplate the information Evita found out. Casual means they probably keep their group small and intimate. I won’t be able to just dance up on him like at a club and convince him I’m what he wants to take home for the night. What kind of pro athlete prefers a quiet and intimate beach party to a crowded bar where everyone is singing his praises all night? I thought racers were cocky and certain their sport was the best because all other sports only require one ball, or at least that’s what I saw on a t-shirt once.
I’m about to voice my thoughts when Evita pops back out of the bathroom, wearing an off-the-shoulder black sweater. Large, gold hoops adorn her ears and she slips on a pair of black flipflops. “Are you getting dressed or wearing your underwear? I mean that certainly would get his attention.”
Looking down, I realize I’ve been standing the entire time in front of the window in my underwear and bra. Blushing, I grab some clothes and slip into the bathroom. Five minutes later, I’m wearing black shorts, a white t-shirt and my jean jacket. This time, I do follow Evita’s lead and go for some sandals rather than my Adidas, so they’re easier to take off while walking through the sand. I comb my fingers through my hair and fix the mascara that has been collecting in the corner of my eyes from the heat my body was projecting earlier.
“You know where?” I ask as we leave the hotel room. The hallways are quiet and a quick glance at my phone tells me why. It’s already half past ten.
“Yeah, they’re renting a place in Clearwater. The address is,” she quickly taps through her phone before flashing it at me.
“Text the address to my phone in case I need it,” I tell her. “I’ll drive. I think you’ve already had a few.”
“That I have, cousin.” She giggles. “And it was all for you.”
“I worship you,” I tease, batting my eyes while she cackles and blows me a kiss.
We manage to get to her car and I pull up the text she sent with the address. It’s not as far of a drive as I expected, but it still will be after eleven before we get there. I find a parking spot and notice the whole street is lined with cars. Something tells me this isn’t as low-key as Evita was suggesting. I park and we climb out, eyes taking in the small bungalow-style home. There is an open gate and a sandy path, I assume leads to the beach. From the road, I can hear people laughing and talking, as well as the low base of some music.
I fidget nervously with the hem of my jacket. Pull it together, I think over and over again in my head. For crying out loud, I’ve scaled the outsides of buildings and lured a man to a hotel room, without his goons noticing, before killing him. I’ve taken down men twice the size of Trent Nichols in a cage fight. There is no reason my palms should be sweaty right now. “Ready?” I turn to Evita who is practically bouncing on her toes in excitement.
“Yes! Let’s get it, girl!” She whoops and grabs my arm, propelling us both onto the sandy path.
We get a few feet out and cross over a sand dune before the party comes into view. There are actually three different fires going. People are lounging around them, standing or dancing. I look down at my outfit and realize I fit in, that no one is overly dressed. If anything, I’m almost overdressed compared to a few people wearing their swimsuits and towels. A yellow Jeep was driven up as close as possible, a keg sitting in the back seat. We walk closer and I can now make out the words to Sean Kingston’s “Beautiful Girls” playing from a speaker and I’m completely feeling the vibe. My lips part in a smile, and that bundle of nerves in my stomach starts to lessen.
“Drinks.” I point Evita over to the keg and she follows, even while her eyes comb the crowd. I pour us two cups and try my hardest not to shudder. I like beer. I like alcohol. It comes with the jobs and the territory. I just prefer a bottle or draft. Anytime I have keg beer, I know I’m waking up with a headache. “Do you see them?” I lean closer to her.
She shakes her head, before taking a sip from her glass. Luckily for her, my cousin never gets hungover. Ever. We walk across the sand and head toward the fire closest to us. A girl sitting in a chair notices us first and lifts her chin smiling. “Hey!”
I wave and smile back, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Hi.”
“I’m Evi,” my cousin says and extends her hand to the girl. She’s stunning with pale blonde hair and blue eyes, and I can see a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
“I’m Scarlet,” I tell her, shaking hands next. “Is this your place?” I ask, pointing to the house behind us.
“Oh gosh, no.” She laughs, and I’m struck with the thought of how young she looks. “My brother is renting the house with his friends. I’m just visiting. It’s his weekend to babysit,” she rolls her eyes at the last part, “I’m Ayda by the way.”