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He wilts with relief and pulls his shoes off to lie across the bed. “Thank you.”
His outer shirt is next, leaving him in a thin white t-shirt. The sheer material hints at the muscular frame underneath. I focus on his face, which only helps a little. “Do you want to tell me, or is it off-limits?”
“It’s business.” Jake hesitates and then glowers. “The hell with that rule. I will be a perfect gentleman tonight, and that’s plenty. Either I spill my bullshit, or I make a pass. Pick one.”
“Spill. Tell me everything,” I say. It sounds like the decision is easy, even though it isn’t.
His text wasn’t a trick, after all. Positivity and confidence usually radiate off Jake, with him unaware of it. None of that is present right now.
“I start second tomorrow. It puts me right up front.”
I nod, having also seen the starting lineup. Boone starts eleventh while Julian is further down. “You’ll do well tomorrow. This is a good track for you.”
Jake’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t respond to that slip. Forsomeone who claims not to care, I shouldn’t know his track performance. “I hope so,” is his only response. “My new rookie teammate is decent enough. We would never be soul mates, but he’s not normally a giant dick.”
Jake believes I’m trying to stay away from him, and while he’s correct, Joey Foster is the other reason I avoidBP Racingat every track. He wants to know why I’ve sworn off race car drivers. My first mistake failed out of motorsports. My second mistake weaseled himself into a contract withBP Racing.
I was naked in bed the last time we ever spoke. He compared me to Marilyn Monroe and then called me a bitch. The shame of it, my gullibility over the affair, is still raw.
No one, particularly Jake, will ever know.
“Typical rookie overconfidence,” I say. Jake relays their conversation, none of which shocks me. “He wants to be the next Jake Knowles. That’s my guess.”
“Well, he can’t.” Jake points at his chest, a bit of his usual bluster back on display. “There’s only one, and I’m not going anywhere.”
I smile sadly because it’s true. Motorsports is Jake’s life. “Tell me the rest.”
“The boss man had a heated argument with Pierce Boylan.”
“His partner? I’ve seen him once and know almost nothing about him. A business guy who dabbles in racing for fun. Do you know what about?”
“He wouldn’t say.” Jake tells me the rest of that conversation, along with the later one with his sister. His recall is impressive. “Is it weird? Nothing was said, and I wouldn't have noticed if my contract weren’t up. It’s weird, right?”
“Let me think.” An argument isn’t necessarily cause for concern. I’ve been around enough to know tempers flare and flicker right back out. One owner concerns himself withthe technical aspects of racing, while the other cares about the business side. Bert has a loud personality, which can be dismissed as mere swagger. An argument between them could be nothing at all. “His nostalgia concerns me.”
“You think he’s going to quit?” Jake asks. He doesn’t believe it’s a possibility.
“I always figured his funeral would be on a raceway. There’s still no action on your contract?”
Jake shakes his head and lifts a dismissive hand. “Not a thing. You think it won’t be renewed?” He looks down at his tiramisu like it turned rotten. “No way. I’m too awesome. It isn’t happening. Rainbows out of my ass.”
That last statement is confusing, but if that’s the type of pep talk he enjoys, we can work with it. “All the pretty colors of the rainbow.” He scowls, and I laugh. “You’re not wrong, Jake. They would be foolish to cut you. First, another team would scoop you up, and they know it. You’re famous, and you play well on camera.”
Jake fans himself. “This is good stuff. Keep it going.”
I roll my eyes but keep it up. “You’re talented and skilled. A few races at the beginning of one season don’t define a career. You’ll have several more.”
“I’m swooning over here. This is so sexy, I can barely stand it.” He pulls his white t-shirt up before I block him. “It’s hot in here,” he says with mock innocence but pulls his shirt back down.
“You’re adequate—perfectly acceptable,” I say, wanting to get a little of my own back. “You show up on time and never spilled your coffee during a company meeting—not even once.”
“Wow, that’s good,” Jake says, pointing at me. His cocky grin is back in place. “It doesn’t even work because you think I’m a legend. An absolute superstar.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I say and grow serious. “If they are talking, it isn’t about you. I promise. It’s something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Let me think,” I say, but I have no ideas except that I should have picked up extra tiramisu. Our plates are empty. If I were alone, it would be tempting to lick mine clean because I’m pathetic like that. I’m not aware of any rumors or media coverage. “I’ll ask Boone if he has heard anything. He’s plugged into some owner’s gossip. My dad, too.”
