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Another chime, but this time, it blasts through Jake’s speakers. He swerves into the far-left lane and shifts into the next gear before he punches a button on his steering wheel. “Curtiss,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Where’d you go, man?”
“Something…came up.”
“Something came up? Jake, you have a commercial shoot in fifteen minutes and then we leave for Vegas.”
Oh, right. Vegas. He has a race tomorrow. At least, he’s supposed to. Pretty much every Sunday through November.
“Something came up, man.”
Curtiss pulls the phone away from his mouth. Spouts off some orders. Some rustling around and then a door shuts. He says quietly, “What is it? What’d you get yourself into?”
His jaw flexes with irritation. “Nothing. I’m just…headed home.”
“Home?”
“To Mom and Dad’s.”
A sigh. “What happened? Does it have to do with that journalist that came to see you?”
My stomach jumps.
Jake thinks about it for a long minute. “Nah. Just missing Mom.”
“Now I know you’re full of shit.”
He relaxes into the seat. “I don’t need you to believe me, Curtiss. I just need you to do your job.”
“Kind of hard when you leave without telling me.”
“Sorry about that.” He doesn’t sound sorry.
His voice inches lower. “It’s something that bitch said, isn’t it?”
I bristle.
“Watch your mouth,” Jake warns. He leans forward. Shifts angrily into the next gear. Weaves around a car.
I grab the side of the seat.
“It has nothing to do with her,” Jake lies.
I don’t know if he buys it because when he replies, he sounds defeated. “Okay fine. Just…I’ll take care of the shoot. Will you at least be making your flight?”
He chews over it. “No.”
“What?”
“I won’t be making it. I need the weekend off.”
“A weekend off, Jake?”
“Like I’ve ever asked for that before.”
“You realize that means we have to come up with a reason for your sponsors. And for your owner. You know, your uncle?”
“Tell him I need a mental health weekend or something.”
