Shifting Gears: The Complete Series (Sports Bad Boy Romance)

by Alycia Taylor

  “Do you mean rough as in impolite, or do you mean rough as in I walk out of my apartment at the wrong time, I could catch a stray bullet?”

  His hesitation isn’t comforting.

  “It’s probably somewhere in between,” he says. “I don’t think you’d actually get shot, but you’d probably see some things you wouldn’t in the neighborhood where you live now.”

  I can’t help but cringe. “Why don’t we put a pin in that one for now,” I tell him. “What I’m more interested in at the moment is whether or not you actually want to make a go of this or if I’m just wasting my time.”

  “I don’t want to break up,” he says. “I like you—a lot, really. I’d just rather not be the reason why you gave up on your dreams.”

  “You have a frighteningly high opinion of yourself,” I tell him. “Look, if you’re in this, I need you to be in this. No more dodging calls and texts. If we’re going to give us a shot, you’re going to have to talk to me, even when you’re not sure how it’ll go. If there’s a problem, or if you’ve done something, I may get upset. But if you just ignore me, we’re going to have some problems. That’s just part of being in a relationship.” At least, that’s my understanding. “Are you in or out?”

  He smiles.

  “Yeah, I’m going to need a yes or a no here,” I tell him.

  “Yes,” he says. “I’m in.”

  “Good,” I tell him.

  “Your mom’s gonna be pissed,” he says.

  I shrug. “She’s usually mad about something,” I tell him.

  A car horn honks outside the shop and Eli and I both head for the bay door. There’s a customer waiting behind my parked car.

  “I’ll move it,” I tell Eli before he has a chance to ask, and I get in and pull my car through the shop and out the open bay door on the other side.

  Walking back into the shop, Eli waves me over while the customer’s getting out of his vehicle.

  “Hey,” he says, “I’m going to have to help this guy, but I think Mick’s kicking around here somewhere. Tell you what. While I’m doing this, ask Mick if he’ll ride along with you for a driving lesson. He may not have the reflexes, but he’s got all the knowledge.”

  “Okay,” I tell him. “Maybe that’ll be a good opportunity to bond with your friend. Now that I know you want to be my boyfriend, I think I can handle something like that.”

  He bends down and gives me a quick kiss on the lips.

  While he heads over to talk to the customer, I turn into the office.

  Mick’s inside, watching a soap opera and laughing himself silly. By the time he notices I’m in the room, he’s wiping tears from his eyes.

  “Hey,” he says, “you’ve got to check this out.” He points at the small screen, saying, “The one on the left, the blonde, she just got back from doing CIA wet work, only she’s telling her husband she was on a business trip to Rome to talk about importing-” he interrupts himself with his own laughter.

  “If you’re too involved with the show,” I tell him, “I can come back later.”

  “Oh,” he says, sitting up straight and hitting the power button on the remote control with the same move. “I didn’t know you were in here to talk to me. What’s up?”

  Now that I have his full attention, this whole thing starts to feel awkward.

  “I was wondering,” I start. “I mean, Eli suggested if you, you know, have some free time or something…” I hate asking for favors from relative strangers.

  “Go on,” he says. “You’re doing great. Tell me your words.”

  The more I’m around Mick, the more I understand why Eli gives him such a hard time.

  “I don’t know if Eli’s told you or not, but he’s been teaching me the fundamentals of racing,” I start again. “While I’m waiting for him to get off of work, I was wondering—he suggested that you might be willing to give me a few pointers, yourself. He says you know all that there is to know about it.”

  If that last part doesn’t get him, nothing will.

  “Sure,” he says. “What kind of car are we taking?”

  “It’s not exactly what you’d call a racecar,” I tell him.

  “Most of the cars I race weren’t racers until someone turned them into one,” he says. “What do you have?”

  “It’s an automatic Honda Accord,” I tell him.

  “An automatic?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “That’s going to be a problem,” he says. “Eli told me you’re still learning to change gears properly?”

  “Of course, he’d tell you that,” I groan.

  “It’s fine,” he says. “We all start somewhere. When I first started racing, I was in my parents’ Jeep, and the only way I even won my first race was because the other guy was laughing too hard at my gear changes. You’re in good company.”

  Well, at least he’s diplomatic.

  “What do you want to do then?” I ask.

  “We’ll take mine,” he says. “It’s got a lot more horses than what you’ll have under the hood, but the clutch is forgiving. It might just be what helps you break through.”

  He seems excited about this. That’s got to be a good thing.

  I agree and he leads me out of the front of the office.

  “Go on and head over to the GT86,” Mick says. “I forgot the keys inside.”

  He heads back inside and now I get to pretend like I know what GT86 means. I am reasonably certain it’s a car, but none of the ones parked in front of the office look like anything a mechanic would want to work on, much less drive.

  I walk around the back of the vehicles, looking for the letters GT, as I can’t remember what other nonsense Mick tacked onto the end of the name.

  I’m still squinting at car badges when Mick comes back out of the office.

  “I’m parked behind the building,” he says, “probably should have mentioned that.”

  He leads me around the shop and we wave at Eli as we pass the open bay doors. Once we’re behind the shop, I start feeling a bit better.

  “This is your car?” I ask.

  He nods, saying, “It gets me around.”

  “I thought you and Eli were really into the old cars or classic cars—whatever,” I respond as I very literally begin to salivate. I manage to stop short of drooling, but not by a wide margin.

  “That’s what we both like to race,” Mick says, “but when it comes to an everyday, get-around-town car, I like something that’s going to be a little bit more comfortable. That, and after watching Rans drop thousands and thousands into his heap only for the dumb thing to break down again and again, you come to appreciate the wonders of the modern automobile.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “It’s not over the top, but it has smooth lines.”

  “Look at you,” he says. “Making up crap like you’ve been talking cars all your life.”

  I ask, “Did you want to drive or did you want me to?”

  He tosses me the keys and gets in the passenger’s side.

  I get in the driver’s seat as Mick’s saying, “It’s not a very expensive car.”

  “I like it,” I tell him.

  He’s leaning back in his seat, saying, “It’s really just something to get me around. It’s not something I’d really race all that often.”

  “Okay,” I respond, wrinkling my brow.

  “I have done some work on it though,” he says. “You’ll feel that when you turn it on.”

  Mick’s a little weird.

  “All right, it’s clutch on the left, brake in the middle, and gas on the right, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says. “You really are pretty new to this, huh? Don’t worry. I’m here to help you.”

  I put the key in the ignition and buckle my belt, just trying to ignore the possibility that Eli’s best friend is actually trying to hit on me right now.

  “That was actually a joke,” I tell him. “I know where the pedals are, I’m just still trying to get better with m
y timing, especially when it comes to double-shifting. That one doesn’t really make a lot of sense to me just yet. It takes me about four times as long to make sure that I stop shifting before I actually reach the next gear and release the clutch just to push it back in again…”

  I’m talking a lot because Mick is leering at me.

  I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone leer at me, at least not right in front of me like this. I don’t like the feeling.

  “But I know it’s one of those practice things, you know, ‘practice makes perfect’ and all that,” I say and I have nowhere else to go. “Practice makes perfect” was the tail end of my swan song and Mick’s still leering.

  “That’s funny,” he says.

  “Is it?”

  “I don’t know,” he laughs. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  He’s sitting up in his seat now, facing me.

  “I know that sounds like I don’t listen or something, but I have to tell you, I was really distracted by your necklace,” he says.

  I’m not wearing a necklace. He can see very well that I’m not wearing a necklace. I know he can see that I’m not wearing a necklace because he is staring at my chest.

  “You know,” I start, unbuckling my belt, “maybe this isn’t such a-”

  “Ransom’s a good guy and everything,” Mick says, “but do you really think he’s ready to settle in for something real?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “All I know is that he’s young.”

  “You’re young, too,” I tell him.

  “Not as young as Ransom.”

  “Why do you keep calling him that? I thought you usually called him-”

  Mick asks, “Did he ever tell you about our bet?”

  If this wasn’t going a bad direction before, I have a feeling it’s about to.

  One hand on the door handle, I’m ready to get out of here.

  “Hold on,” he says as I start to open the door.

  “Mick, I don’t know what you think is going on here, but I’m with Eli,” I tell him.

  “I know you didn’t just come visit me because you thought you might catch him,” he says. “It’s okay. I know you probably felt a little weird with the whole doctor/patient thing.”

  When one thing gets fixed, you can be pretty sure something somewhere else just broke.

  “Actually, I’m not a doctor, I’m a hospital volunteer,” I say as if it matters. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but-”

  Moving like the snake he’s striving to be, Mick leans forward, nearly catching my lips with his before pulling away. My palm stings as I make sure he knows exactly how I feel about what he just tried.

  “Okay,” he says, rubbing his cheek. My handprint is remarkably well-defined. “Okay, I guess I was misreading signals or something-”

  I’m already out of the car, closing the door behind me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Revenge/Armistice

  Eli

  “Now, what did we learn?” I ask Mick as I shake my hand.

  He’s sputtering for a moment, his hands up in defense as he crawls away from me.

  I’ve already made my point. I don’t know why he’s so scared.

  “Just calm down, man,” he says. “I can explain.”

  “What did we learn?” I repeat, this time more slowly.

  “Don’t try to make out with your girlfriend?”

  I shake my head. “No,” I tell him. “What we should have learned is a lot more fundamental than that. If a woman looks like she’s trying to get the hell away from you, that’s not your cue to try to put your mouth on her. Are you stupid? What did you think was going to happen?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I thought you were wrong and there actually was something between her and me. I didn’t actually kiss her.”

  “You’re an idiot,” I tell him, tossing him a handful of paper towels. “Didn’t the fact she was trying to get out of the car—or that she was telling you she was ‘sorry if you got the wrong idea’—let you know pretty clearly that she wasn’t interested, dumbass?”

  I kind of want to kick him, but then he might consider filing charges so I don’t.

  “I’m sorry!” he says. “Okay, I know I messed up and I’m so-”

  “I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” I interrupt. “You’re right that you messed up, but you need to apologize to Kate. You think about that, maybe I’ll think about taking you to the hospital to get your nose put back in place.”

  His hands are instant to cover the lower half of his face, and his breathing just got a lot faster.

  It looked like he’d been doing really well after getting punched in the face (repeatedly,) but it seems the idea of his nose being a little crooked overwhelms whatever fear-inspired courage he was showing.

  “Of course I’ll apologize to her,” he says through his cupped hands. “You need to take me to the hospital, Rans.”

  “You will apologize to her if and when she decides to allow you to apologize to her, and you sure as hell better mean it,” I tell him. “Until then, you’re not going to go anywhere near her. If we’re in the shop working on the President’s motorcade and the Secret Service has their hands on their guns, telling us to hurry it up, and Kate comes into the shop, you drop what you’re doing and you walk the other way, you got me?”

  The betrayal part of the whole thing bothers me, sure; but it’s the fact that she said she wasn’t interested and he kept going that makes me feel pretty good about his now-crooked nose. A kiss is a kiss, but someone doesn’t want a kiss, you do not try to give them a kiss.

  It’s pretty damn simple.

  “All right,” he says. “I got it. When she’s ready for-”

  “If,” I correct. “If she never wants to see or hear from you again—and I think that’d be justified—you make sure she never does.”

  “Fine,” he says. “If she decides she’s ready for me to apologize to her, I’ll apologize to her. If not, I’ll stay away. Now, will you please take me to the hospital? I can’t drive like this.”

  “Fine, but we’re taking your car,” I tell him. “I don’t want you getting blood on my seats.”

  “Oh, come on,” he protests. “Your Galaxie’s seats are cracked and filthy. The GT’s only a year—”

  “Either I can drive you in your car or you can drive yourself…in your car,” I tell him. “Blood’s harder to get out than motor oil and my car’s not going to pay for your mistake.”

  I’m almost expecting him to point out that there are multiple oil stains over most of the interior of the Galaxie, but he doesn’t say anything. He just nods.

  I have no way of knowing, but I like to think he’s being so cooperative because he’s trying to figure out how I would know that blood stains worse than oil. The truth is that I have no idea which is worse. I just wanted to see that fear in his eyes one more time before I take him to get all patched up and feeling better.

  All right, that part of it is just for me.

  “Fine,” he says.

  He goes to reach in his pocket, but I stop him, saying, “Whoa, hold on there a second.”

  Mick looks down at his hands.

  “You’ll want to wash those,” I tell him. “Making you bleed is one thing. I’m not touching your blood.”

  He washes his hands thoroughly—twice—and, after drying them, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his keys and hands them to me.

  “Can we go now?” he asks as he grabs a couple more paper towels for his face.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “We can go now.”

  Just to be on the safe side, Mick and I are going to Gianelli Teaching Hospital on the edge of town. I’ve only ever been to St. Mary’s of Egypt, but I’d rather not give Kate’s mom any more reason not to like me.

  I’d imagine bringing in the guy who needed medical treatment because I just beat him up wouldn’t exactly change her mind about me.

 
We pull into the lot and find a spot to park.

  Getting out of the car, Mick’s still holding paper towels against his nose, although it looks like he’s stopped bleeding. Part of me does feel kind of bad for hitting him, but he did have it coming.

  It wasn’t all that long ago that Mick was the only person I would ever think of calling my friend.

  We get into the emergency room and get Mick checked in.

  When the nurse doing the intake asks how he hurt his face, I don’t expect it, but Mick covers for me. It’s funny, I never asked him to lie about what happened. As long as he’s not pressing charges, I don’t care who knows I beat the crap out of him.

  Still, I don’t bother correcting him. I may not be ashamed of introducing my friend to my fists, but I’m not looking to brag about it, either.

  I honestly think it hurt me just about as much as it hurt him. Seriously, I think I’ve got a knuckle out of place or something. My hand is throbbing.

  We’re waiting a while before a doctor calls Mick’s name.

  “You want me to go with you or stay here?” I ask.

  “Go with,” he says.

  The way he was asking to be brought here, I almost forgot he’s just as likely to come out of here more injured as he is healed.

  I don’t make a big deal about it, though. No reason to get his blood pressure any higher than it is already.

  This is already going to be the second half of his punishment. I don’t need to do anything more to make it unpleasant for him.

  We head to the back so they can take his vitals. I don’t know if it’s because I’m feeling guilty or what, but I can’t stop thinking about the first time Mick and I met.

  I was living in the Galaxie at the time, even though I was too young to legally drive it. I had parked it behind an old building, now a Dairy Queen.

  Living on the street that young, I was a bit surprised more people didn’t try to rob me. Of course, if I’d kept having that kind of good luck, I probably never would have met Mick.