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“I’m coming up with a whole lot of nothing,” Rhode grumbled. “Give me a bit and I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks, Rhode.” Jack pressed the button on the steering wheel then asked, “Ready to have some fun?”
I glanced over at Jack. He was smiling like a little kid on Christmas morning.
“Make another left at the light up ahead. Then have at it, Speed Racer.”
Jack stopped at the light.
Revved the engine.
The light turned green, he popped the clutch, smoked the tires, and drifted around the turn in a move that would make Mario Andretti proud.
Boys.
They never grew up.
EIGHTEEN
“Say that again.”
I couldn’t stop the anger from bathing my question.
“The BMW’s burned,” Jack told me. “It’s in the employee lot at the Boulevard.”
I didn’t give a fuck about the car or what Joan or Tyree were going to say about Jack needing a new one.
No.
I cared that Atlee had been in danger and instead of calling me, Jack had called Rhode.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Jack eyed me like I’d gone insane.
“I needed Rhode to run the plate and your woman handled the rest.”
My woman.
I was beyond arguing the point she wasn’t my anything.
Not only because that wasn’t the actual point of the conversation but it was becoming glaringly obvious she was just that—mine.
Speaking of my woman…
Atlee pranced out of my bedroom and smiled at Jack.
“I’m ready when you are,” she chirped like she hadn’t been involved in a car chase.
“I think you need to calm the beast before I take you to work,” Jack rightly noted. “I’ll just be in my room. Shout when you’re ready.”
Atlee looked at me and frowned.
Jack gets the smile.
I get scowled at.
What the fuck?
