I groan. “It’s a damn mess.”
Sighing, I release my hands, drag my drawer open, and pull the first hat out. Undamaged. Untorn. Uncut. It’s in pristine condition, considering its age… and smells of cars; rubber, oil, sex.
“Shit.”
Bryan
Chicks Dig It
“I’ve got you starting against Radcliffe tonight.” Manda reads the information from her clipboard, though I doubt she needs it. Her brain is finely tuned, and Piper’s Lane is her baby. She knows everything that happens here. Everyone. Every detail. “He’s got a shiny new Beamer.”
“Guess I’ll have a shiny new Beamer soon.” I flash a wicked grin, and mentally cheer when I get her small snicker. “I got him. Bikes first?”
She makes a note on her paperwork, and gives a distracted nod. “Yup. Morris is up before you. He’ll be done before you even get started.”
“Good. Then his head will be clear when it’s my turn to roll up. He’s better with my engine when his head is in it. Price here?”
She snorts. “You ask me every single night. And I give you the exact same answer every time. Unless you’re racing him, he’s none of your business. Ignore his existence. Stop picking fights with him.” Her eyes come up to mine. “Your obsession is unhealthy.”
I bark out a dismissive laugh. “It’s only unhealthy for him. I wonder what car he’ll be bringing me tonight?”
She shrugs, and fist-bumps someone as they race by us. When her attention comes back to me, she steps onto her toes and reaches up to ruffle my hair. “This is new. I didn’t even know you had hair.”
“Mm.”
I want to smile, but the only thing I can think about is the fact Madilyn still has my hat… and the longer I’m away from it, the worse my stomachache grows. There are only so many times I can explain to my dad why I’m not wearing Grandpa’s hat, when, before last weekend, I’ve worn it almost exclusively since I was thirteen years old.
It’s a legacy at this point. A family heirloom. And a girl that hates my guts, a girl that has my enemies whispering in her ears, has it in her possession.
She could have already lit it on fire. Maybe she got her dog to take a shit in it first, maybe she left it on the ground for her boyfriend to back over a few times, and then with maniacal laughter, she lit it on fire.
It would almost be deserved. It’s not like I’ve left her with a good impression of me, and my declarations of innocence are always followed by a move my momma wouldn’t approve of.
But still… fucking with my grandfather’s hat is crossing a line.
Right now, Madilyn is like an annoying gnat that continues to bite my ass. She’s a bother, she keeps my attention, but only because I’m wondering what her next move is. But for now, she hasn’t crossed any lines or fucked with anyone I love.
So far, it’s merely… implied.
“Bry?” Manda taps my stomach with her clipboard. “You in there?”
I come back to reality. To the darkness that blankets the world, except for the spotlights that hurt my eyes. I come back to the loud roar of cars and dudes who compensate for their small dicks with large exhausts, back to the bikes, and the cheer girls hoping to bag a winner.
“I’m here.” I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“You’d better find your focus, handsome. We want to keep our incident-free streak, please. No way am I letting you drive if your head ain’t in it.”
“I’m fine. I’m here.” I paste on a fake smile and back away. “I’m here. I swear.” I reach up out of habit with the intention to reseat my hat. Instead, I run a hand through my hair and sigh with what I’m certain is genuine grief. “I’ll be on the line when it’s time.”
Turning away from the five-foot woman, I cast my eyes over the large crowd in search of Tuck, and figure I can be his support while he races, then when he’s done, he can be mine.
Racing is only a solo sport if you want it to be.
There aren’t a lot of drivers here tonight that don’t know how to fix their own cars. It’s just something you grow to learn after a couple years of trying to make a machine run faster and faster. Knowing that, knowing how to change a tire, knowing that you’ll be alone in that car when the flag comes down, it’s easy to become the guy who avoids human contact. We don’t need anyone else.
And if, by some really shitty stroke of bad luck, you crash… you won’t have left behind anyone with a broken heart.
“Bry?”
I spin at Tuck’s voice, and grin when I find him pushing his bike in my direction. “I was just looking for you.”
“That’s what all the pretty girls say.” He comes to a stop in front of me, and kicks the bike stand down so he can release the handlebars. “You look stupid when I can see the top of your head.”
“Get the fuck outta here!” I swing out with a right hook, but laughter ruins my attack. As do his quick feet and his ability to duck and weave out of range. “I’m about ready to blow my fuckin’ lid at all the smartasses around here.”
Chuckling, he only leans against his bike and folds his arms over his chest. “You seem tense. All the pretty girls say no?”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the way they travel over the crowd in search. “I haven’t even spoken to a chick yet. Can’t strike out if I don’t even try.”
“Said every fat, lazy, forty-year-old virgin that still lives in his momma’s basement.”
Finally, I bring my eyes back to his and grin. “I lost a few pounds recently. You didn’t even notice.”
He throws his head back and lets out a barking laugh. “Who are you rolling up against first?”
“Radcliffe.” I shrug. “Manda said he’s got a Beamer.”
“You worried?”
I scoff. “I’m actually kinda psyched. The new models are sexy, I wanna see how it runs. You know engines turn me on.”
“Probably why you’re so obsessed with me. I’m flattered, Bry. I truly am.” He presses a hand to his chest. “But I’m into chicks. There’s just something kinda welcoming about a pair of titties to rest on at the end of a bad day.”
“Ya know what I don’t get?” I push away from him, and begin striding across the hard-packed dirt on my way to my car. “Seriously. You’re over here waxing on about titties like a total bastard, but everyone loves you. They think Tucker Morris is sweeter than honey and can’t do any wrong. Your real friends know you’re a dick, by the way. Meanwhile, I actually try to be a decent person, I tell the underage girls to go home, I let a dude know his fiancée is a cheat, and everyone gets off on hating me.”
He keeps up with my brisk pace, and only laughs as we move. “It’s all about the approach, Bry. See, I help people. I fix their cars. I tip my hat for the girls. I help them out of cars, and I never get caught staring at their titties.”
“Ass.”
He snorts. “That either. These people probably think I’m a virgin, ‘cause I’m that sweet. Then there’s you…” His chest bounces with laughter. “You’re loud, you’re fucking obnoxious. You peacock around and tell people you’re gonna fuck their girl. You win every single race, and you ain’t humble about it.” He looks to me and lifts a brow. “Do you understand that word? Humility; noun; to not be full of your own self-importance; also, not being full of shit.”