Rocky Road

by Anna Cove

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Author's Note

  Excerpt

  Rocky Road: A Lesbian Romance

  Anna Cove

  Copyright 2018 by Anna Cove

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Trademarked names may appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner's trademark.

  www.annacove.com

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  CHAPTER ONE

  KRYSTA

  Who let the dogs out, I thought as I fought through the crowd and stumbled on two grown men with beer bellies barking at one another. Clear plastic Budweiser cups wavered in their hands as they clapped them together. Their faces were coarse with stubble, sun, and some kind of… dirt maybe. I didn't know. This place was as foreign to me as Jupiter.

  I turned to Ty as I dragged him through a pair of women wearing child-sized T-shirts and into a bubble of empty space. "Remind me why we're here again?"

  "Because this is where all the hot guys are," he said.

  "Like those guys?" I pointed at the still-barking men.

  "Hell no." Ty slid them a sideways glance. He smoothed the collar of his sports jacket as if just looking at them would wrinkle his clothes. To others, he probably looked like he belonged about as much as I did.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. "Show me one guy you would even consider going out with."

  "It's not about dating, it's about looking. A feast for the eyes. And when I put it like that… then…" Ty surveyed the crowd. "That guy. That guy. And that guy."

  I waited for Ty to come down from what could only be a drug-induced haze. "So, you have a thing for straight, unattainable men."

  Ty dropped his mouth open, but he couldn't stop a grin from forming. "They're not unattainable. Not all of them, anyway. All it takes is one, darling. There's got to be at least one closeted man here." He winked, sliding his hands over his slicked hair.

  "I love you, Ty, but you have the weirdest taste. We could have gone to a beach with half-naked people. A beach."

  "We go to the beach all the time," he whined.

  "Are you sure you're not just pretending to be gay?"

  If I had any doubts, they were assuaged in the next moment as he jumped behind me and used my shoulders as a hideout. "That one just looked at me. Gay?"

  "His wife is right behind him. This is too much trouble, if you ask me."

  "Good thing I didn't. Now, let's find our seats." Ty snatched my hand, tugging me through the crowd. We were obviously overdressed for the occasion, even me in my romper. White lace had not been the greatest idea in the dirt and grime of this place, but it was a beautiful day and I had felt like wearing it, so I had. That's the kind of life I lived. I figured if you didn't do what you wanted to in life, what was the point?

  We stopped for some corn dogs and made our way toward the bleachers.

  "Explain to me how this is interesting?" I said, once we had worked our way through the worst of the crowd and I could hear myself think.

  "You'll see." Ty dropped my hand, squinting at his ticket. "I think our seats are over there."

  "They're just drivers going around and around in a circle, right?"

  "No," he said impatiently. "They're hot men putting their lives at risk by driving over two hundred miles per hour on the streets. This isn't an oval. Actually, I think our seats are over there."

  "And why did you want me to come?"

  "Because you're my best friend. Because I wanted to spend time with you."

  I loved Ty, but his antics would bore me after a while. He was all talk and no action. I needed some action. I took the last bite of my corn dog and threw the stick in a waste bucket nearby. We had passed most of the food trucks and food tents and were in a different area now. There was a large tent off to my right with people going in and out. A sign along the top read IndyCar Nation Meet and Greet.

  I wandered over to the tent to get a closer look at the sign. Scanning the list of drivers, I tried to find someone famous. James Hinchcliffe, Graham Rahal—nope, nope—Ryan Hunter-Reay—nope. None of the names sounded familiar to me. One caught my eye, though, Billie Page. Billie with an "ie." A woman? I took out my phone and entered the name into Google.

  Billie Page was a woman. She was thirty years old, and hot as fuck. And she was on the list. I sauntered back to Ty and plucked at his jacket lapel. "You didn't tell me there was a woman here."

  "There are a lot of women here," he said absently.

  "No shit. I mean a driver."

  "Oh, yeah. She's been around a long time. Kind of mediocre, in my opinion, and doesn't get near as much attention as Danica Patrick. It's because she refuses to play the game, you know. She's lead the race a couple times, but always seems to croak toward the end."

  "Ty." My eyes had started glazing over at this description, so I gripped both of his lapels to bring us back on track. "I don't care about all that. You know what I care about. Is she as hot as her picture?"

  "Hot as her tires."

  "Tires are hot?"

  "Yeah… they rub against the road, especially when the drivers are weaving and…"

  I stifled a yawn. "Are you sure you aren't secretly a straight man?"

  "Gay men can love racing, too, darling." Ty lowered his eyelids. "Speaking of gay, Rumor says Billie's a muff diver."

  I released his lapels and swatted his shoulder. "Why didn't you start with that? Damn, boy. What the hell?"

  "It's not like it matters."

  "To you. But she's doing a meet and greet right now." I pointed over at the tent.

  "You need a special pass for that," Ty said. "We don't have one."

  I surveyed the tent situation. This could be just the entertainment I was looking for. Certainly more interesting than the bros nearby debating who would win this little race. Butterflies flooded my stomach in anticipation of the impending adventure. "What do you want to bet I can get a date with Billie Page?"

  Ty looked up from the map and the tickets he held in his hand. He pushed out a hip. "Never gonna happen, my friend."

  I laughed. "Why not? I'm perfectly respectable."

  "Darling, not even your mother would believe that little lie."

  "You know very well," I said, poking his chest, "my mother wouldn't believe anything that came out of my mouth."

  I said it with a smile, but Ty got serious, sucking the fun out of the moment. His face fell. "Sorry."

  "C'mon." I punched his shoulder. "You know I was just kidding. What d
o you want to bet?"

  Ty folded up the map and tucked it under his arm. A smirk pulled up one side of his lips. "I bet you a week's worth of hedgehog-sitting that you won't be able to get a date with Billie Page."

  I wrinkled my nose at the wager. "I don't know why you bought that thing."

  "Because he's cute."

  "He hates humans."

  "He hates you. He can sense you don't like him."

  The feeling was mutual. After my first visit with him, I got one of his spines lodged in my heel and he ended up on my shit list. Forever. Which made it the perfect wager. I would do anything to avoid a week scooping his surprisingly large poops. "You're on. And what do I get if I succeed?"

  "A date with a hot racer chick. Duh."

  "That's valid."

  "You've got half an hour before the race starts. Tick tock."

  Would the date be worth it? It didn't matter. For now, the threat of the hedgehog was enough to get my blood pumping.

  The people streaming from the tent had badges around their necks. This was the pass inside. I watched for my chance. After a few people passed who didn't look easily corruptible, a couple walked out. They were young, in their twenties or so, and strolled arm-in-arm. They made eye contact with me, both of them, and smiled.

  Their mistake.

  I waited for them to walk beyond the sight of the guard and intercepted them at the edge of the tent. "Hey, hi," I said, pressing my hands together and smiling to seem as non-threatening as possible.

  "Hi," the woman said shyly.

  "Do you mind if I borrow your pass for a minute?" I pointed at the pass.

  The woman glanced at her partner. "I'm sorry, I—"

  "I really, really want to meet Billie Page."

  The woman's freckled cheeks crinkled with a smile. "Oh man, she was amazing, wasn't she, hun?" the woman said, turning to her partner.

  "Yeah, babe," he answered, twisting his head toward the grandstand. He was obviously uncomfortable, but I still had them there which meant I had a chance.

  I clasped my hands behind my back. "It's really been a dream of mine to meet her. I just—she's so…"

  "Brilliant?" the girl supplied. "Sweet?"

  "Is she? Oh, my God. Babe," I said, dragging Ty close. "Tell them how long I've been dreaming of meeting her."

  Ty eyed me. "She won't stop talking about it," he said blandly, not bothering to look up from his phone.

  "Please can I borrow your pass? I just need five minutes. Ty will stay with you," I said. "So you'll know I'll give it back. I promise I'm not scamming you or anything."

  "It has my picture on it." The girl picked up the badge hanging on the lanyard.

  "That's okay."

  "What if you get caught?" she asked.

  "I won't. I promise."

  The woman gave her partner another dubious look.

  "What if I left my purse with you?" I pulled out my wallet and showed her its contents. "See. You'll have my license, credit cards, everything. Then you know I have to come back. Please, please, please, please?"

  "Oh, what the heck. Here you go." The girl shrugged and lifted the lanyard off her neck.

  "Thank you," I said, taking the lanyard from her and handing her my purse. "Stay here, Ty. I'll be back in five."

  As I walked away, I chuckled to myself. Life was easy when you asked for what you wanted. It got easier as I rounded the corner to find the security guy talking to a built blond man. The guard paused a moment, until I gave him a little wave and flashed my badge, walking in like I belonged there.

  That was the key. If you looked like you knew what you were doing, you could go just about anywhere.

  The tent was crowded with people in long lines, the air hot and stuffy, heavy with moisture and sweat. I craned my neck, too short to see the drivers at the front. Then I caught a glance of a jumpsuited man. He looked official. Sponsor names covered the surface of the outfit. The man stood next to a sign that read Ryan Hunter-Reay. His line was longest.

  I tapped the shoulder of the beer-clutching guy in front of me. "Is there a line for Billie Page?"

  "She just announced she was leaving in two minutes, but she was over there before."

  "Thanks," I said.

  I ran over to where he had pointed and saw a small woman with two men. She was facing away from me, near the back exit of the tent. She had coffee-colored layered hair that hit just below her shoulders and wore one of those jumpsuits that the Ryan dude had been wearing. "Billie," I shouted, like a friend might.

  She turned around, searching the crowd for whoever called her name.

  I shot my hand in the air, squeezing my way through a clutch of people. "Billie, over here."

  Though one of the older men with her grabbed her elbow, Billie pulled out of his grasp and said something to him. She waited for me as I spilled from the crowd.

  "Hi, my name is Krysta Ekert. It's nice to meet you." I stuck out my hand.

  Billie took it, raising an eyebrow. "What's up, Krysta?"

  Her eyes were like sea glass, green, clear. While the suit did nothing for her, those eyes and her face and her hair and the little swoop of the end of her nose made up for it. She was so stunning, so much more stunning than her photo that I almost forgot why I came through. Right. A date.

  Problem was, I was flustered. And I never got flustered. As soon as the words came to mind, they flew right out of my head. My cheeks heated. All I could come up with was, "Do you have any plans tonight?"

  "Yes." Billie placed a hand on her hip.

  "I mean, do you want to go out for a drink or something?"

  "I'm sorry, I really can't."

  "Right, but maybe just a few minutes."

  Billie's lips parted. Pink, perfect, parted lips. The three p's. "I've got a tight schedule and… maybe some other time."

  Right. Some other time. Come on, Krysta. You can do better. This was not the first time I'd played this game, though you wouldn't know it by how I was performing. As I felt the butterflies turn themselves into knots, I remembered something. Be yourself. Be cool. Have fun. "Of course. I'm an idiot, I'm sorry. I thought you might want to see St. Petersburg is all."

  Billie took in a long breath and let out an almost audible sigh, smiling a tight smile. "Thanks for the offer, but I really have to go."

  "Wait," I said, with no idea what I was going to say next. I held her gaze for a few seconds longer than was normal in an interaction. Still, I could think of nothing to say. My usual arsenal didn't fit as Billie didn't seem like a party girl. And she was so damn serious. No amount of good looks would cover a date with someone who had no personality. I had to figure out if she had a sense of humor or I might as well let her go. Better to have a hedgehog for a week than to sit through a seriously awkward date. "What's the difference between a dirty bus stop and a lobster with breast implants?"

  Billie glanced behind her. "I don't know, what?"

  "One's a crusty bus station and the other's a busty crustacean."

  Her face remained serious until it broke open. Like a shattering vase, her smile cascaded down through her belly until she let out this surprisingly child-like laugh. It made me laugh, too, which apparently made her laugh more and then we were laughing together, me peeking through my hands at her as she clutched her stomach, as her laugh diminished to a trickle.

  After the laugh, I felt more like myself. All I knew was that I wanted more. Of Billie. Of the laugh. She wasn't a dud after all. "Are you sure you don't want to go out tonight?" I asked.

  "Billie," a short bald man said, touching her shoulder. "We've really gotta go."

  "I'm coming."

  No.

  She turned back to me, her gaze dropping down to the silver pendant between my breasts. "It was nice to meet you, Krysta."

  How could she just leave after that? "If you change your mind… Wait, let me give you—crap. I forgot my card back there."

  By the time I turned around, Billie was pushing through the flap of the tent. She p
robably had already forgotten me and was preparing for her race.

  Defeated, I slid through the loud crowd in the tent.

  The couple looked relieved as I emerged. Ty looked annoyed. As soon as we were out of the security guard's sight I returned my pass and thanked them. Then I slung my arm through Ty's.

  "How did it go?" he asked.

  I pressed my lips together.

  "Ha. Looks like I have a sitter for hedgie."

  The musty smell of rodent tickled my nose. If it was this bad in my imagination, then it could only be worse in person. Ty only bathed the thing every couple of months.

  It wasn't only this thought that disappointed me. It sounded stupid, even in my head, but Billie and I had shared a connection. Sure, it was only a laugh, but it had surprised me, and anyone who surprised me intrigued me. Anyone who intrigued me, well, I just had to spend more time with them.

  This wasn't over. I would find a way to get Billie Page to go out with me before she left town for good.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BILLIE

  In racing, the straightaways are a piece of cake. It's the turns that are a true test of endurance. At those speeds, the g-forces press on your body until it weighs three times its normal weight. With every turn, you play a game with yourself. How long can I hold out before braking? How fast can I take this turn without losing control? All this while dealing with an aching neck, legs that feel like they'll give out at any moment, shattered abs, and twenty pound weights in your fists.

  At my best races, I dropped into the zone where I didn't think so much about driving, I just did it. I'd been racing since I was twelve. My body knew what to do. I knew the right angles to take. I knew when I could push my car to its limits. I just had to trust myself.

  But trusting yourself wasn't as easy as it sounded, especially the first race back after the off-season. Especially when your contract was on the line. When every race counted. And when you had a painful hard pit in your stomach you couldn't quite figure out that messed with your focus.

  The race at St. Pete's that day went okay. I finished solidly middle-of-the pack. As I lifted myself from my car, I was too racked to feel much of anything other than the pounding of my head and the excessive heat of my fire suit and helmet. The sun streamed down relentlessly from a cloudless sky. I unbuttoned my top button and pulled off my helmet. The exhaust-laden air burned my lungs.