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“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t recall you winning Rookie of the Year last year.”
His eyes narrow to slits, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he glares at me. I can see his jaw clenching and unclenching in the streetlight nearby.
“How about you don’t pretend like you actually know anything real about me?” His voice is so low now that I have to fight the shiver that runs down my spine.
“Oh, but I do. See, you may not remember me, Bodhi, but I remember you.”
The quizzical expression in his eyes tells me that I’m right and he doesn’t remember me.
“My brother took me along to almost every race he drove in, so yeah, I’ve seen you around.”
“Okay, well, just because you saw me around a few times doesn’t mean you know shit about me.”
Something tells me I’ve hit a nerve, but I don’t really care how much I’m pissing him off right now. This rich asshole has no idea how much this is likely to set me back. I’m afraid to even think about what the repercussions of losing tonight are going to be.
Not only does this mean I’m out two grand, but now I have no way of making it back. This sets me behind a lot more than I’d anticipated this month. The thought of not making a payment on time has a chill racing over my skin. I do not need those goons showing back up at my mom’s house.
I shake my head. I am so far up shit creek right now.
The rumble of an engine approaching pulls me back to the matter at hand. I recognize the car and the driver. Milo has helped me with the Camaro a few times in the past.
“Dude, what the hell?” Milo says, hanging his arm out the window as he inspects the scene.
“Eh,” Bodhi waves off Milo’s concern, “just a scratch, really.”
“A… scratch? Are you kidding me?” I hiss, teeth clenched so tight my jaw hurts.
“Calm your tits, Princess.” He rolls his eyes at me again and turns back to Milo.
“My… what?” I yell.
“Jesus, woman.”
“Don’t you woman me. Is he serious right now?” I ask Milo, thrusting my hand in Bodhi’s direction.
“Yes, I am,” He interjects. “Go grab the GPS.”
“Fuck you, don’t tell me what to do,” I spit the words with as much venom as I can muster. I will not take orders from these assholes.
“No thanks, I’m good,” he curls his lip back in disdain. “And if you were smart, you wouldn’t have to be told what to do.”
“What?” I throw my hands out at my sides before curling my fingers into fists.
“Your GPS. Go grab it,” he repeats, talking to be like I’m fucking stupid or something. It annoys the shit out of me, and I want nothing more than to deck this guy right in the face.
“Why? What does that have to do with anything?” I ask. I have no idea what is going on, but I know that I have only ever wanted to smack the shit out of one other racer in my life, and Bodhi is about to fulfill his dream of taking first place in something.
“You ask a hell of a lot of questions,” he says, reaching through the passenger-side window for his GPS.
“Yeah, I tend to like to know what the hell is going on. Sue me,” I sneer.
“You want me to?” Bodhi asks, eyebrows raised like he might consider doing it.
“Dude,” Milo warns, taking the GPS from him and tossing it in his passenger seat.
My heart beats a little heavier at the thought of this asshole suing me for an accident he caused. I mean, he’s a fucking professional racer; who are people really going to believe caused the wreck? Especially if he spun it like it was my fault.
“You wouldn’t,” I challenge, but I’m honestly not so sure.
