Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
That was what I was afraid of. She needed to take it seriously.
“It’s still a real racetrack, August. The first day you’ve got more than a hundred cars going over a hundred miles an hour. Some of the vehicles are decorated more for show than speed. Debris can and will come flying at you, possibly obstructing your vision as you navigate every sharp turn. Half of the cars are shit, by design, and parts have been known to fall off right in the middle of the track. You’ll have to keep an eye out for those too. There are always new drivers, and there are always accidents, from simple bumper taps to actual wrecks. Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is easy.”
She’d gone pale as my words sank in. “You said my experience would help.”
“It will, but I can give you more.”
Her eyes flickered to my mouth and I swallowed a groan.
“I don’t race,” I managed after clearing my throat, “but I know experienced drivers that could help give you the edge you need. And I’ll be familiarizing you with what’s under the hood. I assume you know that Jiminy’s engine is in the back end instead of the front?”
“I did know that, thanks,” she said sarcastically, before narrowing her eyes again. “Wait, you want me to work on the car? I said I could drive, not rebuild a carburetor.”
“Nothing in that car needs to be repaired. The last time I was allowed to work on it, it was in exceptional condition.” I eyed her, so she’d know I was aware that she’d been taking it to a competitor since she’d owned it. “I don’t need you to fix or touch anything. I only need you to be able to point it out.”
“Did you make Gene do this?”
“I did. No one gets behind the wheel until I’m sure they know enough about what they’re doing to not get themselves killed or destroy all my hard work.”
She grinned suddenly. “You sound like you’re about to make me stay after shop class if I get caught not paying attention.” When I gave her a stern look, she chuckled. “I’m listening. You’re the boss, Motor Daddy.”
The challenging look in her eye told me she was doing that on purpose. My mouth went dry and my pulse revved up at the images flitting across my mind’s eye, most of them having to do with my desk and that skirt tossed over her head. But now wasn’t the time. Damn it.
“This is serious, August,” I said severely.
She stuck out her tongue and then sighed. “Are you really upset about me selling Jiminy to the team?”
“Not anymore,” I said carefully. She didn’t need to know how much I dreaded tearing out the interior. “I have some good memories attached, that’s all.”
“I do too,” she admitted. “But a car that has driven from sea to shining sea multiple times now sits in my driveway collecting dust. I take him around the block occasionally, but Jiminy deserves better than that. A second life as an endurance race car sounds pretty good to me.”
“You make a decent point,” I conceded.
“I hope so. I’m also hoping this race and that car aren’t why we haven’t said more than two words to each other since the other night. Even though you said we needed to talk,” she added with a pointed look.
This was the conversation I’d been expecting since Bernie told me she was coming.
I sat back and pulled off my cap, scratching the back of my head with a sigh. “I had some considering to do,”
“I knew you’d have second thoughts after the pool—”
“Nope. No second thoughts,” I corrected quickly.
She stared at me. “Then what? Do you think I’ll instantly expect a serious, committed relationship if we revisit that…conversation? Because I can tell you right now that I won’t.”
Her lack of expectations was not the selling point she thought it was, though I had no idea how to convey that without scaring her off. I didn’t want to trip over my tongue and say the wrong thing again.
“That’s not even on my radar,” she continued obliviously. “I don’t want or need romance. In fact, the only person I might demand a romantic proposal from is Professor Todd.”
What the hell? “Why would Phoebe’s boyfriend be getting romantic with you?”
She rolled her eyes. “I want Todd to propose to Phoebe, not me, you goofball. And not by mansplaining their finances or getting his judgmental grandmother to vouch for his better qualities. Both of which he’s already tried to do.”
I was aware of the man’s failings in that area—he was an art professor that had won her over with poetry, then lost his mind as soon as he learned about the baby—but something August said caught up with me. “You don’t want or need romance? Are you sure about that, Gus? Remember, I’ve read your books. The mate marks and the soul bonds. For fantasy, there’s a lot of romantic notions in there.”