I jerked out of the doorway and stepped into the room. “Here’s a pillow,” I said loud. Then I stopped like I was surprised to see the woman there.
“Oh, hey,” I said. “You bring the sheets? Thanks. We needed ‘em.”
The woman’s eyes flared a little. Then her mouth opened and closed. Good. I hoped she was wondering about us. About Drew.
Only skanks hit on men they didn’t even know two seconds after laying eyes on them.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were alone,” she said.
I made a sound. “Yeah, ‘cause one guy needs all that extra bedding.”
Drew’s eyes narrowed on me over the blonde’s head.
She laughed lightly and her eyes turned calculating again. Clearly, she’d put together we weren’t sharing the same bed since we needed extra sheets.
Guess she wasn’t as dumb as she looked.
“So should I come back?” she asked, her voice low, for Drew only.
I still heard her. My back teeth came together, and irritation along with the feeling I was being poked with a branding iron pushed me across the room.
“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t,” I half growled, reaching around Drew to open the door and stare pointedly at the girl.
She marched out into the hall and turned back, her hair flinging as she moved.
I slammed the door in her face before she could open her mouth. For good measure, I threw the lock.
“What the fuck was that?” Drew asked, befuddled.
“That girl was a total ho,” I snapped.
His eyes widened. “It’s not like I was going to hump her right here in the middle of the room.”
I laughed, a bitter sound. “I’m sure she’d have let you.”
“Trent,” Drew said. The word was a cross between awe and confusion.
I cursed beneath my breath. I was acting crazy. No. Jealous. I was acting jealous.
Because I was.
“I’m going to bed. If you want to hook up with her, go ahead.”
His hand caught my elbow when I tried to walk away. “I don’t want to hook up with her.”
Something in his voice made me look up. His fingers were cooler than my skin, and it felt like relief. “I’m not up for you hooking up with anyone tonight,” I admitted with a whisper.
Our eyes met and held. For long moments, we just watched each other. I swear I measured my breath with his.
Minutes later, he released my arm. I felt oddly empty without his touch.
I didn’t look at him again or say another word. I hightailed it for the bedroom like the chicken I was.
“I’m not up for hooking up with anyone tonight either.” His quiet words caught up to me.
I stopped in my tracks.
I liked those words. I liked them so goddamn much.
I didn’t turn back, though I wanted to.
I was scared.
“Goodnight, T,” Drew said a few minutes later.
I didn’t remember walking into the bedroom or pulling back the covers or getting into bed. I just remembered suddenly coming back to reality once I was there.
The faint sounds of Drew moving around in the next room made my skin prickle. I rolled over and put a pillow over my head to block the sound.
I didn’t need to hear him.
I knew he was there.
Drew
The disruptive sound of a banging door cut into my sleep. Still heavy lidded, I cracked one eye open, mustering all the alarm I could, not even awake enough to be startled.
“Sorry.” Trent winced, walking farther into the room. “Tried to catch it before it could slam.”
I rubbed a hand over my sleepy face, trying to wake up even just a fraction.
“What time is it?” I asked, propping myself up on one elbow to look at my cell.
“Seven,” he replied.
I groaned and dropped the phone back where it was. I wasn’t much of a morning person, even though I had to get up early every day for work.
It was the weekend. Shouldn’t a man be allowed to sleep in on a Saturday?
Not when he had meetings with men who had enough money to sponsor a racecar.
“Coffee.” Trent’s voice was close by, but he spoke low and amused. He clearly saw my resistance to having to get up.
A tall cup with a black lid appeared on the table in front of me. Right beside it, he set a plate piled with eggs, bacon, and an English muffin drenched in butter. My stomach rumbled appreciatively.
It was a traitor. So willing to get up this early just for some bacon.
His warm, muffled laugh brushed over me. It only made me want to burrow farther into the blankets. He stepped back, toward the table on the other side of the room, and suddenly I felt more awake.
“Here,” I said, my voice less sleepy now. I swung my feet over the side of the couch and sat up, pulling the blankets around my waist to make room for him to sit.
His plate, which was almost identical to mine (almost = less butter + more fruit), joined mine on the tabletop along with the same kind of coffee cup.
I flipped on the TV and pulled up the news so I could watch the weather report—get the conditions I might be driving in today.
The cushion on the sofa was one large, long one and it dipped a little when he sat. I was still reclined lazily against the back, staring at the moving screen on the TV, still waiting to fully wake up.
“Coffee.” The cup appeared right in front of my face. Trent was leaning close, holding it out like a beacon. He smelled like soap, the kind the hotel stocked. It was some fancy shit, and it actually was a good scent.
But it didn’t smell exactly as I recalled from my shower last night. It was slightly different, slightly more familiar. I realized it wasn’t the soap I was noticing, but Trent’s natural scent.
I glanced over, taking in his fully awake, clean-shaven face and washed hair. His hazel eyes bore flecks of gold that seemed brighter this morning, and his full lips looked slightly shiny, like they were wet.
I wondered if they would taste like coffee if I leaned forward and—
I jerked upright.
What. The. Fuck?
“Whoa.” He pulled my cup back a little and frowned. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I hurried to say. “I’m fine.” I took the coffee, carefully avoiding his fingers, and put it up to my lips. The first sip was always the best. Always the most rewarding.
This coffee was made exactly the way I liked it. Heavy on the cream, lighter on the sugar. I knew exactly how Trent drank his brew, too. Less cream and less sugar, which gave it a slightly stronger flavor.
“We still have an hour or so if you want to catch a few more minutes of sleep.” He sounded concerned.
Who could blame him? I was being a weird ass.
He’d been worse last night, though.
Fuck, I’d tossed and turned on this stupid couch for a few hours, going over the way he acted toward the employee who brought the sheets. I’d replayed his words in my mind as if the more I did, the easier they’d be to understand.
In the end, all I got was a shitty night’s sleep.
“No, I need to wake up and get ready. I want to be there early,” I replied.
“Thought so. That’s why I went down and grabbed breakfast.”
I held out my fist between us, and we pounded it out. “Thanks, man.”
“You get any sleep last night?” he asked casually, setting aside his coffee and diving into his food. “Or were you too nervous about his morning?”
It wasn’t this morning that was on my mind last night.
“Took a while for me to fall asleep.”
He made a sound and shoved an entire piece of bacon into his mouth.
The caffeine started working into my bloodstream, giving me a little more energy, so I too tucked into my plate and starting eating.
The weather looked clear for the day, cloudy and cold, but no chance of any kind of precipitation. I was hoping most of
that shit was done for and spring weather would soon be headed our way. Sometimes Maryland was tricky like that. Winter could drag itself out, or spring could roll in to stay.
Either way, we still had a couple weeks of cold weather. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any more snow to go with it.
As we finished our food and coffee, we talked strategy and basically threw out a bunch of scenarios Gamble might toss at me today at the meeting. I knew he’d want to see me drive. We were meeting at the big track here in town. Hopefully, he’d like what he saw and want to talk as well.
I didn’t bother taking another shower, but I did brush my teeth, splash my face with cold water, and trim up the scruff on my jawline. I didn’t keep a clean shave as much anymore. I knew my boss at the software place would probably like me to, but I didn’t care. I liked the way the scruff felt. It kept my face warm. And truth be told, the ladies thought it was sexy.
Who was I to disappoint?
I did keep it trimmed and neat, though. I combed my hair, too—well, with my fingers. Swept it up and over to the side using some of the wax shit Ivy told me I needed. I didn’t argue when she handed me the jar a while back. I only argued with my sister over shit I cared about.
For a long time, it sat on my dresser, until one day she marched in my room, uncapped it, and styled my hair, all the while giving me a “class” on how to look “hot.”
I laughed the entire time, and she stomped on my foot, which hurt like hell, but when I looked in the mirror when she was done, I liked the way it looked. It definitely was a lot less rumpled than the way I usually did it.
So I compromised. I wore it like this half the time, and the other half, I just sort of let it do its thing.
Some hair can’t be contained. Like Rimmel’s. Ivy tried to give her classes, too.
Once I was sure my hair would pass the sister test, I left the bathroom for my duffle. I was dressed in a pair of low-rise jeans that looked more grey than blue and a plain white T-shirt. Trent was on the couch with his phone to his ear, listening to whoever was on the other end.
My hand closed over a baseball-style T-shirt with dark-yellow sleeves and a white torso. I pulled it on and tucked just the front behind the buckle on my black belt. My black leather jacket was by the door, and I’d throw that on before we left.
Beneath my two shirts, I was wearing my lucky necklace. I wore it all the time. It was a long silver chain with a speedometer pendant. Ivy gave it to me years ago before I’d driven in a race. I’d won that day, thus making it lucky.
No, I wasn’t dressed up for the meeting. Going to see Gamble dressed in a suit would be a lie. He needed to see exactly who he was getting as a driver, because a sponsor put down a lot of money and they needed to know where and who it was going into.
Besides, I drove better when I dressed like myself.
Trent tossed the phone on the couch, and I looked over. “Something wrong?”
“Nah, just checking in with the frat, making sure no one did anything stupid last night.”
I made a sound. “Jack still kissing your ass?”
He laughed. “Not too bad. Apparently, Con’s not too happy about my decision, though.”
“Shocker.” I dropped down on the couch and picked up my coffee, which was almost gone.
“Your phone’s been going off.” Trent gestured to my cell lying on the table.
I grabbed it and lit up the screen. I had a bunch of texts.
I smiled. “Rome told everyone about the meeting.”
I thumbed through the messages. One from each of our family members.
Romeo: Own the road today.
Ivy: I love you! Be safe!
Rimmel: Should I tell you to break a leg? That’s not very nice. Drive fast!
Braeden: Don’t come home without a deal.
I laughed when I read B’s. My brother-in-law was a piece of work.
Trent leaned toward me, and I held the phone between us and scrolled through again so he could read them. He laughed, too.
My phone beeped again. I called up the newest text. It was a picture of my almost six-month-old niece, Nova, dressed in a T-shirt with a hot-pink racecar on the front.
Ivy: Nova loves you, too!
It meant a lot to have the support of everyone for this. I’d always had a big family. I grew up in one. But family seemed to take on a new meaning when I moved here to be closer to my sister. There was something special about family by choice.
It wasn’t blood that held us all together.
It was loyalty.
Love.
I typed out a quick text to my sister. Thanks for all the messages. Give Nova a kiss for me. I’ll call you later.
Trent jumped up from the couch, stretched his long arms out at his sides, and tucked his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. “You ready for this?”
“I was born ready.”
Holy hot damn!
That was my thought when we pulled up to the Gamble Motor Speedway. The place was a bona fide track that made what I was doing here today even more surreal and exciting.
It wasn’t the biggest raceway I’d ever seen, but it wasn’t the smallest. Clearly, Gamble put money into this place, and he also paid to keep it up to date. Everything was pretty industrial looking. All concrete, steel, and grey. The area around the building was clear of trees and flat, and a large parking lot stretched out around us.
There was a man standing at the entrance that would allow us through and into the track area. When I slid up beside him and rolled the window down, he handed over two lanyards with a pass clipped to the front and had me sign in. Once that was done, we were given a thumbs-up, and he waved us through.
I drove slowly, taking in the moment. When we cleared the tunnel and rolled out onto the inside of the track, I wanted to cry.
It was a damn beautiful sight.
The track itself was oval shaped, and I estimated it to be about a mile and a half. There was a lot of seating capacity around it—more than enough for NASCAR races if one were ever hosted here. From what I read, only a few NASCAR races had taken place here, and that was years ago. Mostly, this track was used for local and statewide events. It also served as a headquarters for Gamble’s racing “team.”
I use the term team loosely because the drivers Gamble sponsored weren’t necessarily on a team, per se. They all drove in their own races. They all had different sponsors besides Gamble himself. What made them his “team” was he was the highest contributing sponsor they had and most of the car itself was paid for by him. They were all based here. They practiced here.
I’m sure all the drivers knew each other. Hell, they probably practiced together, which sounded like a fucking privilege to me. Sure, I guessed in many ways these guys were competitors, but I didn’t like to look at it that way.
I liked to think of them as people to learn from, people to push me and motivate me to be better.
On the northwestern side, it appeared there were several condominiums built over the track, and I figured that’s where the drivers and probably some of the staff and managers lived when they weren’t on the road.
In the center of the track was where the pit stops sat. It was a long, straight road down the center, known as pit row. Each driver could pull off the track and down the row to their designated pit stop, where their crew was stationed.
It seemed calm here today, quiet and empty. But when the place was full and a race was going on, quiet was the last word used to described this place.
It was usually chaos at a track like this: fans going crazy, loud music, the sound of engines revving, the smell of gasoline and burned rubber filling the air. The energy was unmatched. It filled the space with a dull roar that could only be found at a racetrack. Race fans were among the most devoted and loyal of all sports.
I wasn’t really sure where to park or where Gamble was going to meet us, so I pulled to the side and parked in plain sight.
“It’s a nice view,” I mused, glancing out over t
he track. “I’ve been to races at places like this, but I’ve never been part of one before.”
“Your time’s coming,” Trent said. His voice didn’t have the same hopeful quality. His was more definite. Like he knew for sure.
I liked his confidence in me. It felt real.
“Today might not go the way I want it to,” I spoke, reminding myself not to get ahead of myself.
“Might not.” He agreed. “Even if it doesn’t, this is just one step further.”
“Thanks for coming with.”
“Anytime, Drew.”
Silence fell over the car, but it wasn’t awkward; it was the kind of silence true friends could have without the need for a lot of words. I was glad he was here. Something about his presence grounded me, made me feel a little bit stronger.
A few minutes later, a black Cadillac pulled up alongside the Fastback. The windows were tinted, but I knew it was Gamble.
“This is it.” I spoke out loud, but I was talking to myself. The nerves were real.
“I’ll sit on that wall over there”—he motioned toward a nearby concrete barrier—“and watch. You need anything, just signal.”
I nodded.
The passenger door of the Cadillac opened, and a man in a tailored navy suit stepped out. He wasn’t wearing a tie. Instead, the shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. He was an older man, but not so old I would consider him out of his prime. I’d put him in his fifties somewhere, with dark hair that was predominantly gray at the temples and peppered through the rest.
I left the keys in the ignition and got out, swallowing down my nerves to smile.
“Mr. Gamble,” I said and offered my hand.
“Ron,” he corrected as we shook. “It’s a pleasure to put a face to the name I’ve been hearing so much.”
“A pleasure, sir. And I’ll only admit to the good things you’ve heard. The rest I’ll swear is blasphemy.”
He laughed. “Romeo Anderson certainly hasn’t said a bad word against you.”
“Romeo is a good man and a damn fine quarterback.”
“That he is.” Ron inclined his head. “Haven’t regretted it one bit since we signed him to the Knights. And then again when he wouldn’t stop singing the praises of Braeden Walker.”
#Junkie (GearShark #1) Page 8