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“Sander,” she says, begrudgingly. This woman… it’s as if she thinks sharing any actual information with me about her life is going to somehow give me a leg up.
“Right, Sander… do you honestly think that he wouldn’t cut you a break?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“He’s a cop,” she states plainly.
“Yeah, you mentioned that.”
“He can’t just cut me slack when I’m breaking the law. It doesn’t work like that,” she says.
She’s clearly frustrated by this, but I’m not sure if it’s because she thinks he should give her a break, or if it’s over the topic in general. She is so hard to read.
“He must suspect, though, right?”
“Why would you assume that?” She asks.
“Because, as your best friend, he’s supposed to know these things. Like, he knew you were into racing and shit before everything with your brother went down, right?”
“Yeah, but to be fair, I wasn’t into it the way I am now. I only went because Eli did,” she explains.
“Still, he can’t honestly think that you’re taking care of everything at home, by yourself, off of a minimum wage salary brewing coffee in the middle of Sancte Alto, of all places.”
She sits there, silently contemplating, and I see it in her eyes. He doesn’t know a damn thing about what she’s dealing with. Not really.
“Look, it’s not my business, and I didn’t mean anything by it. I just feel like that’s something a friend would already know about you,” I say, turning back in my seat and watching the rest of the cars on the highway pass us by.
When she speaks again, her voice is small.
“After what happened with my brother, Sander doesn’t think I’d ever be stupid enough to make the same mistakes as him. He’d never suspect that I was racing to make ends meet.”
“Well, you aren’t stupid. You’re doing what you have to do to ensure your family is taken care of, and that’s admirable,” I say, and I’m pretty sure it might actually be the first nice thing I’ve said about her. “Though I’d hardly call this racing,” I say, resting my elbow along the window and leaning into my fist.
We sit there in silence for all of five seconds before she shifts gears, pulls out around the sedan in front of us, and floors it.
I brace my hand on the door in surprise and turn to watch her careful expression morph into something entirely different.
She weaves in and out of traffic flawlessly, without an ounce of hesitation. It’s like she’s one with the road. It pulls when she pushes and moves when she needs the space to fly. And man, does she fly.
Milo was right; Keaton has something you don’t see many drivers with these days. Heart.
I can’t fight the laughter that bubbles up out of my chest as I reach up and grab the handle near my head to just enjoy the ride.
I crow out an excitement, slapping my hand on the dashboard. “Hell yeah, this is what I’m talking about.”
I’m in awe. She drives with zero reservations. Like no one else is on the road except the two of us. No hesitation, no fear. Just pure joy and talent.
She may only be racing to pay the bills, but something tells me that this chick could go all the way if she really wanted to, and suddenly, I’m determined to help her do just that.
Chapter 16
Pure adrenaline was pumping through my veins by the time we pulled up to the location of the race on the south side. While I may be partial to the Camaro, this car handles absolutely beautifully. With Bodhi whooping and hollering encouraging sentiments from the passenger seat, I’d almost admit that we were getting along and having a good time. Almost.
Bodhi unhooks his seat belt and turns to me. “Here, give me your cash and I’ll go check you in, and you can go get ready,” he says, hooking his thumb toward the starting line.
I give him a wary look, not thrilled with the idea of handing over two grand to this guy who I really don’t know all that well.
“Really?” His face falls an annoyance, “Where am I going to go? You have my car.”
I know I have no reason to worry, and that he didn’t bring me out here and loan me a thirty-thousand-dollar car just to rip me off, but I have obvious issues where money is concerned.
