by Emilia Finn
DMX turns to Eminem, and Eminem turns to Hush. The spotlights fuck with my eyes, they make me squint when I don’t normally have to. But I ignore that; instead I listen, bob my head just a little, and prepare to push my car to its limits.
Tomorrow, I have plans with my family. Then I have a week of not having to see Jackson fucking Price, unless we run into each other in the street. Thankfully, that rarely happens.
Manda makes a note on her clipboard that declares Tuck victor of his race, then she steps onto the track and waves me and Kallan forward.
Releasing the clutch, I roll forward and ignore Kallan’s boasting rev.
He can make noise, that’s fine by me.
My music is so loud that I don’t hear the crowd outside. I don’t hear whatever Manda is shouting, I don’t hear Kallan when he talks shit.
I remain in my bubble, not letting them touch me.
Jackson rolls up behind me, close, too close, just to be a prick, but I keep my eyes forward. I don’t give him what he wants – attention, my distraction – but when I glance forward and find Manda waving someone over, I look back in my rearview mirror to find Jackson’s passenger door open.
Out she climbs, long legs, long torso, long everything. And that inch of belly… just seeing it makes my hands itch.
She saunters around between Jackson’s car and mine, purposely walks up my side of my car so she passes within only a foot of my door. If I opened my window, I could hook an arm around her stomach and pull her in, just to see what happens when you mix fire and ice.
Her long hair hangs all the way down to the middle of her back. Soft, salon-type waves – no chick in the history of the world has those waves without products and a salon.
Resting on top of her head… my hat.
I watch her move to Manda, chat for a moment – nods, smiles, words – only for Madilyn to turn and face me and Kallan. She looks straight into my fucking eyes, testing me, taunting me, and brings phantom pains to my balls when I look down her legs and stop on that knee.
My eyes narrow, and my hands tighten on the wheel. Then she reaches into her shirt and begins fussing with her bra. Without removing her shirt, without showing a single scrap of skin except for that sinful inch of stomach above her jeans – damn that sneak of belly – she unclasps that fucker, pulls it through her sleeve, and grins when it comes free.
Black lace, see-through. It’s fucking see-through – which means her panties are too.
I turn to my right and study Kallan’s profile as he watches her like a starving dog. She’s his steak, and he’s caught in her web. In his mind, he’s thinking filthy things, despite the fact he has a girl waiting thirty feet from where he sits. He’s mesmerized by Madilyn, unable to look away, unable to fucking breathe because she’s so pretty.
Turning back, I study her eyes hidden beneath my hat. Her jeans as they cover her like a second skin. And after a moment when our eyes refuse to part, her puckered nipples that push against the fabric of her shirt.
I move in my seat, rearrange my zipper away from my hardening cock, and groan when her tongue comes out to wet her plump bottom lip. Does she know she’s a fuckin’ siren? Or is she naïve like Hayley, and has no clue that everyone can see her nipples now?
Revving my car, I lift my chin when she tilts her head to the side in question. Hands on the wheel, I turn one, crook my finger, and welcome the pulse in my cock when she drops her sex kitten act and meanders in my direction.
She’s beautiful. Elegant. She might have anger issues, what with the way she knees dudes in the balls for no reason, but still, I can’t not touch my cock as she walks to my passenger door and bends down when I lower the window.
Her lips quirk up when our eyes meet. Her brow lifts. And her shirt drops forward with her angle, giving me a delicious view of something that may belong to Jackson Price.
“What?” She fixes her hat – my hat – and rests her arms on the doorframe. “You need to forfeit or something?”
I shake my head. Nod toward my empty passenger seat. “Ride with me.”
“Ha!” She literally throws her head back on a barking laugh. “You’re kidding. You’re hilarious, Kincaid!” But then she brings her eyes back to mine and quietens. “Shit, you’re serious?”
I say nothing. I only stare into tawny eyes and wonder why it took twenty-two years to discover them.
“Holy shit, man.” She shakes her head. “You’re legit the most arrogant person I’ve ever met in my life.” She points toward the car behind mine. “And I’m riding with Jackson Price. I honestly thought he had the market share on arrogance, but I’ve been schooled.” She stands tall and chuckles under her breath. “Seriously. Douchebag.”
“Madilyn?” I lean a little to the side, duck lower, and wait for her eyes. “Hey, Madilyn?”
On a dramatic sigh, she lowers back down and lifts a brow. “I’m not riding with you. The fact you’d even suggest it baffles me.”
“When I win,” I counter. “When I beat Price and become the owner of a brand-new Challenger, ride with me then.”
Snickering, she shakes her head. “You’re insane. I’m not a conquest for you, okay? The fact I came with Jackson does not make me a challenge.”
“No, not a challenge,” I agree. “And not because you came with him.”
“So why?” she snaps. “Do you need me to reacquaint your balls with my knee, or…?”
“Because, despite my disgust with your chosen friends tonight, you’re really fuckin’ pretty. And fuck me sideways, but I wouldn’t mind getting two minutes alone with you.”
“You’re insane. Leave me be, Bryan.” She pushes away from my car and taps on Kallan’s, since she’s near. Then she leans a little lower when he rolls down his window. “Good luck. My money’s on you.” She pats his shoulder, like she thinks her open support of him will fuck with my head.
The irony, of course, is now that the pretty girl has touched him, he’s forgotten how to breathe.
She moves back to where Manda stands, faces us. I look to my rearview mirror to find Jackson standing at his open car door with pure rage in his eyes and a grinding jaw.
Taking Jackson’s girls, fucking up every single thing he wants, has been my only goal for so long. And his newest toy… well, hell, she’s tempting.
When she makes it clear she ain’t running back to me, I roll up my window and turn my music back up. Ludacris’ bass tears my eardrums apart, but it’s how I drive. Loud. Rhythm. Vibrations. I lock out the outside world and engross myself in the darkness, the orange backlight of my dash, the flashing lights coming from my speakers each time the bass thumps… and the spotlights of the track. The vibrations of a fast car beneath me.
“Focus.” I draw in a deep breath until my lungs fill and my chest expands, then I let it out again and nod.
Leaning across my passenger seat, I flip open the glove compartment and snatch out a spare cap. It’s not my favorite – she took that one – but it’s a decent alternative. I pull it down over my head, squish my dark hair in, and block out most of the glare coming from outside. Then I take another breath and prepare to win.
Being laid out by a girl is bad. Crying in front of her, worse. But losing to Kallan… unacceptable.
I slide my car into first gear when Madilyn lifts her bra into the sky. Clutch pressed to the floor, brake down, hand on the gear stick, and the other on the steering wheel, I blur her into my peripherals. Pretend she’s not here, pretend I don’t see her smooth belly, and the button on her jeans I wouldn’t mind undoing.
I blur Kallan out of my mind, ignore the way he revs his car, the way the bass from his stereo competes with mine. And when Madilyn drops her hand, I say a temporary goodbye, slam my foot to the gas, and take off like a shot.
Bryan
The Other Woman
Three races, a brand-new Dodge Challenger to call my own, my dignity intact after the ball-slamming debacle, and a single relaxing beer with Tuck before he pocketed his winnings and took
his ass home. Then I got myself three solid hours of sleep. Now it’s Sunday, family time, and I have a breakfast date with the love of my life.
I let myself through her unlocked front door at nine a.m. after a fresh shower and a change of clothes – because apparently there’s a rule around here that I’m not allowed to visit while smelling like the track. A.k.a. dirt and other women.
When he comes galloping into the large entry room, I pat the overgrown Great Dane whose mother was a Cocker Spaniel. It’s a confusing concoction that basically ended with a litter of really stupid dogs – but underneath the floppy ears and slobbering tongues, they might actually be Mensa smart.
Twain is two years old, as tall as my hips, has longer legs than that woman from last night – we don’t say her name – and ears that dangle so low, he could almost use them to wipe his ass.
He bops his nose against my stomach in hello, then turns and trots toward the kitchen, like he knew where I was heading.
“How is she, Twain? Is she good today?” I scratch his ears, and move through the swinging door that leads from hall to the kitchen. When I get her in my sight, I stop for a moment and press a hand to my chest. “You got prettier overnight! What the hell is going on?”
Alyssa Walker sits at the kitchen counter with a half-empty bowl of cereal in front of her, a dripping spoon in her left hand, and a pen poised in the right while she makes notes in a book.
She’s an author – legit, published and all. She’s also seven years old, has the prettiest whiskey-colored eyes, and the biggest collection of stuffed teddies and dolls on this side of the equator.
“Uncle Bry!” Lyss tosses her pen down, dumps her spoon so milk splashes over the side, and, because her daddy isn’t in the room right now, she stands on the tall stool and throws herself into the air so fast that I have to sprint across the room and sweep her up before she slams to the tile and goes splat! “I thought you weren’t gonna make it!”
I press a kiss to her cheek. Her neck. Her cheek again, and her forehead. “I slept in. I’m sorry, baby.” I pull back, but only to set her on my hips properly and get a good look at her perfect face. “I missed the crap out of you, Lyss. You started eating without me?” I peek at the bowl she deserted.
She shakes her head. “That’s my second breakfast. You’re waaaay late, Uncle Bry. Twain ate with me the first time, and because you took so long, I wrote a book.”
“You wrote a book!” I throw my head back and laugh. “You make it sound so easy. Geez Louise, Lyss. Can you slow down so the rest of us don’t look so lazy?”
She shakes her head in fast, neck-breaking swipes. “No time, Uncle Bry. Miss Brooke says we have an empire to build. Dr. Seuss didn’t slow down.”
“You wanna be like Dr. Seuss?” I cross the room and lean back against the counter so I get to study those whiskey eyes. “He’s pretty awesome. His rhyming books are fun.”
She nods and reaches up to push my inch-long hair back off my brow. “Except I’m going to be better than him. There’s no point being only the same. He already did that.”
“You’re so smart.” I pull her in for another noisy kiss. “Do you wanna move in with me, baby? I miss you like hell when I have to go home without you.”
Her lips drop into a pout. “I can’t move out yet. Daddy wouldn’t like that.”
I bark out a laugh. “Where is your daddy, anyway? And where’s Miss Brooke?”
She shrugs. Then, because she’s not silly, she blushes. “They went upstairs for a second.”
I purse my lips and try my damnedest not to think of what Miles “Iowa” Walker might be doing to my sister right now.
“Gross.” I bounce my shoulders and make Lyss giggle. “Here, sit down.” I place her back on the stool, then head across to the pantry and swing it wide to find boxes of cereal.
I should be eating something nutritious, something full of protein and vitamins. Instead, I take out a box of Lucky Charms, snatch a bowl from the open, clean dishwasher, and, swinging by the fridge, I snatch out the carton of coconut milk, since my girl is allergic to six billion things, and if I want to continue to snuggle with her, I have to toe the line.
Dropping my things on the counter, and snatching a spoon from the drawer, I slide it across the smooth marble surface until it hits Lyss’ elbow and she giggles, then I run around the massive counter and slide onto the stool beside hers so her shoulder rests against my arm.
“Uncle Bry?”
I pour my cereal until it overflows and drops onto the counter. “Yes, beautiful?”
“Did you know that this,” she lifts a hand, raises her pointer finger, pinky finger, and thumb, “means I love you in sign language?” She grins, and flashes that hand in front of me that translates to the fact she loves the shit out of me. “Did you know? I learned it at school on Friday and forgot to tell you.”
“I did know.” I take her hand, flip it open to reveal her palm, and when her curiosity almost sends her vibrating through the roof, I rush forward and press a kiss to the palm. “When I was in middle school, there was this boy who was deaf.”
Her eyes widen. “For real?”
“Uh huh. His name was Caden, and because he was deaf, our whole grade learned how to sign.”
“No way!”
“Way!” I laugh. “We learned all the basics. We learned how to communicate with him so he wouldn’t be all alone. And when we had to do concerts or whatever, we often signed our songs.”
“No way.” Her voice takes on an air of awe, instead of “get the fuck out!” “So you know how to do it?”
I shake my head and shovel a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. “Not anymore. Middle school was a long time ago, baby. Uncle forgot most of it. But some, I remember.” I flash her sign back at her. I love you. “I remember this one. I remember the alphabet and how to count. I remember a couple little things, but I couldn’t have a conversation anymore. It was too long ago.”
“Can you teach me?” she whispers. I’m not gonna lie, impressing this seven-year-old is the coolest shit I get to do these days. “Can you teach me the alphabet?”
I lift my right hand, closed fisted, then move it in a nodding motion. “Sure, baby. I can teach you what I remember. Why are you learning ASL at school now?”
“There’s a girl in my class!” she squeaks. “She’s new, and she can’t hear us.”
“No way!” I ham up my excitement, and soak up her beautiful smile. “That’s the same as me!”
“I know!” She giggles. “Her name is Alannah.”
“That’s nearly the same as your name.”
She excitedly nods. “Uh huh. She has yellow hair, though.”
“Blonde,” I laugh. “That’s called blonde.”
She goes back to her cereal when Twain taps his nose against the outside of her bowl. The crazy thing is, I don’t think he’s threatening he’ll eat her food. He’s mothering her, reminding her to eat, unlike her immature and irresponsible Uncle Bry.
“So, you have a new girl, she’s deaf, and now your class is learning how to speak to her?”
She chews her cereal with an open mouth, and spits pieces out when she smiles. “Uh huh. I’m going to ask her to be my best friend. Because she’s really nice, and her name is nearly the same as mine.”
“You’re the kindest, sweetest girl in the world.” I press a kiss to the top of her head and go back to my cereal. “I wish I could be your best friend.”
She giggles and shakes her head. “You are my best friend, Uncle Bry. And Daddy is too. And Miss Brooke. And Charlie, too.”
“Charlie needs to sit his ass down,” I snap. “And not get up again until you’re twenty-five.” Charlie is my nine-year-old cousin. “I don’t like how he looks at you.”
“How he looks at me?” She turns to me and tilts her head. “Like with his eyes?”
“Don’t answer that.” Brooke comes bustling into the kitchen wearing a bathrobe, with her hair tied up in a high bun. Her face is bare, when she normal
ly wears dark makeup around her eyes; her lips bare, when she normally enjoys wearing lip gloss. “You’re going to confuse her, Bry.” She swings around to our side of the counter and presses a noisy kiss to the back of my head, then she moves to Lyss and does the same, but longer, noisier, until Lyss bounces in her seat and cackles.
“I’m going to confuse her?” I turn to my sister. Lift a brow. “Really, Brooklyn?”
The kitchen door opens again, this time Iowa walks through with wet hair.
I turn back to Brooke. “Really?”
“Shut up.” She pushes away from Lyss and makes her way to the fridge, but not before she smacks the back of my head. “Mind your own business.”
“Lyss?” I lean a little closer to my niece and faux-whisper, “Why is Daddy’s hair wet?”
She shrugs. “Must’ve had a shower.”
“Hmm…” I bring a hand up to cup my cheek. A finger to my lip in thought.
“Bryan… Quit it.”
“Lyss…?” I push. “Why is Miss Brooke’s hair wet?”
Her sweet, chubby cheeks pinken. “Must’ve had a shower too.”
Then I look to Iowa and glare. “At the same time? That’s crazy talk, Lyss. He wouldn’t dare.”
“He would,” he ignores my expression and laughs when Brooke walks by with a filled coffee mug. He snatches it from her hand, places it on the counter, then he dips my sister back and makes out with her right in front of me like he’s not afraid of dying. Releasing her with a gasp, he smacks her ass when she only stands in dazed shock. “Trust me, Kincaid. He would dare.”
I use my rusty sign language and threaten him with death.
He stares at me. “I don’t know what that was. What did you just say?”
“Come find me at the gym later,” I glower. “I’ll show you.”
I snag my sister when she tries to walk by to sit with her coffee, swing her into a side hug, and growl by her ear. “Filth. Where’s your self-respect?”