Chapter 1
Remy
“You need to call your mother.”
“I talked to her last week.”
Lo cleared his throat. “We are talking about the same woman, right?”
“The woman who treats me like I’m thirteen and not twenty-six.” I sighed and dropped the wrench on the workbench.
“Okay, we’re talking about the same woman. So, you should know you need to call her, because if you don’t call her, then I have to deal with her, and while I love the hell out of your mother, I don’t want to deal with her like that.”
“I’m well aware of the ways you like to handle my mother.” I shook my head, still trying to remove the image of what I had walked in on the last time I had been home. Thank God I had only seen Lo’s ass and my mom’s hand waving frantically. “You guys really shouldn’t do that on the kitchen table. People eat there.”
“And most people knock before they walk into someone's house.”
I ducked out the side door of the shop and leaned against the brick wall. “This is what you called to talk to me about?”
“When did you become such an asshole?”
“Got that from you,” I mumbled.
“Humph. You might wanna tone that down when you’re talking to me. I could kick your ass.”
“I always do enjoy these talks, Lo.” He was an ass half of the time, but he was a good guy. Plus, he kept my mom happy, so I couldn’t really find any fault with him.
His deep chuckle traveled through the phone. “Just call your mom when you get the chance. And by that, I mean call her today.”
He disconnected the call before I could say any more. That was his way. He said what he needed to, and that was it.
“Don’t you think you should be working on the car instead of gabbing on the phone?”
I shoved my phone into my pocket and twisted around to see Roc walking across the parking lot with a cup of coffee in his hand. From talking to one asshole to another.
“Just talking to Lo.”
“Should I care who Lo is?” He stood in front of me with his hand in his pocket, looking like the asshole he was—ripped and tattered jeans, black boots, and a tight shirt stretched across his chest. I don’t think I have ever seen him in anything other than what he was wearing today other than the color of the shirt varying. Today, he had on the same blue as the main sponsor for the Brooks Cummings Racing Team. Also known as the race team I was finally part of.
I shook my head. “Probably not. Just my mom’s husband.”
“Well, you can chit-chat on your own time. Right now, I need that new engine dropped into the car before five. We have time at the track tomorrow afternoon to see if it’ll run well enough for the first race of the season.” Roc nodded to the shop. “Once the engine is dropped, you can help with the clutch.”
Roc wandered off around the building, leaving me stewing.
This was my dream job, but I fucking hated it because it wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined my dream job. I was working for a top five NHRA team, but all I did was assist the clutch and driveline specialist. That was the job I really wanted. A specialist.
I needed to be grateful for the job I had since I was one of the youngest pit crew guys out there, but damn if I didn’t want more. I could do the job. I just needed to put in my time and prove that I was here to stay.
“Get to work, Grain,” Roc called.
Son of a bitch. That guy was on me like white on rice. I looked around but didn’t even see Roc. How the hell did he know I was still standing here if I couldn’t even see him?
“You need me to talk to him? Ask him to go easy on you?”
Fucking Frankie. “Still think you showed him your tits to get on his good side.”
She stuck her head out the side door and laughed. “He’s too old for me. I’m more into guys who couldn’t pass for being my dad.”
“That picky attitude is what’s keeping you from finding a guy, Frank.”
She shook her head. “Probably has to do with the fact people call me Frank, and I always have grease under my nails.”
I grabbed the rag out of my back pocket and tossed it at her. “That’ll help.”
She rolled her eyes. “A dirty shop towel sure is going to fix all of my problems.” She held open the door. “You helping me get the computer hooked up would actually help me more.”
“You really think they are going to let me help you? Roc thinks the only thing I’m good for is standing over Ronald and handing him a wrench now and then.” I hadn’t been as lucky as Frankie. We had both gone through High Performance Engine Building in school, along with ten other courses that had prepared us to be on the Cummings Racing Team, but Frankie had stood out with her natural ability with computers and her eye for detail.
“If Roc wants to get out of here before nine, he won’t mind you helping me.”
I rolled my eyes and slid past her into the shop. “You can argue with him over me helping you.” My eyes fell on Ronald, who was bent over the engine. “I’m sure ol’ Ronald is almost done, anyway. He even thinks it’s dumb for me to watch him.”
Frankie clapped me on the shoulder. “Ronald is old. Ronald will not be doing this job two years from now. When Ronald races off into the sunset, you and I both know this job is as good as yours.”
“Two years, Frank? I don’t wanna have to wait that long to do a job I can do right now.”
We watched Ronald slowly stand up from the engine with his hand on his back. “I’m thinking you might just have to wait one season.” She laughed and headed to the other side of the garage.
“Grain, you wanna come over here? I want you to make sure I got those nuts on tight enough,” Roland called.
I sighed and hung my head. This is what I was getting paid for—tightening nuts. Not like I was making some grand salary, but I had hoped to be doing more than this.
Patience.
The only problem with being patient was, I wasn’t.
*
Chapter 2
Remy
“We’re going to shoot some pool tonight. You in?” Jay asked.
I was laid back in my bed, my hands behind my head with a rerun of Fast N’ Loud playing on the TV. This was one of our last night’s actually sleeping in our own beds before we left for Vegas on Wednesday. We didn’t need to be there until Thursday to start setting up, but since every race we drove in a huge caravan of semis and trucks, we needed to head out early.
“It’s Sunday night. Where the hell are you going in this small-ass town?” Cummings Racing was set up in the tiny Podunk town of Leeds Square that had a whopping nine-hundred-and-seventeen people. The only reason I knew that number was because I drove past the damn sign touting the abysmal number every morning. They had two gas stations—one on each side of town—a drive-in movie theater, and four bars. Four bars, mind you, that were not open on Sunday nights.
“Hilltop.”
He was going to drive a half an hour to go shoot pool? “How the hell are you planning on getting home after drinking in Hilltop?”
A smug smile spread across his lips. “It’s your turn to DD. Hurry your ass up. Frankie and I are ready.” He ducked the pillow I tossed at him and pointed his finger at me. “Five minutes, asswipe.” He managed to pull the door shut right before I threw another pillow at him. It thunked against the door and fell to the ground.