I gesture with my hand for her to have at it. “Bobby, c’mere.”
He’s tall, built, red hair, and has something different than what she’s used to. If she wants to replace me with him, she can test the shit out.
I’m not her bitch anymore.
“Kiss her,” I order, not bothering to look athis expression or lack of enthusiasm.
I don’t get the latter.
Bobby, the fucking prick, closes the distance between them, but he doesn’t make the move.
Nor does Bay.
Until something must pass between my eyes before she smirks and rises onto her toes to reach Bobby’s mouth.
The kiss—if you want to call it that—is slow, just like a normal first kiss. I watch them explore each other before he slides his tongue between her lips, and Bay immediately opens for him.
I fully expect my cock to soften, but it doesn’t. I immediately want to punch Bobby in the face and sink my dick so deep into Bay she’ll never think of waltzing in here and threatening me again.
Clenching my fists, I impatiently wait for their shit to end, but it doesn’t before I clear my throat and regain Bobby’s fucking loyalty.
I’m going to have this prick killed if he ever listens to me again.
Bay’s tongue darts out to taste the rest of Bobby, and I realize he just removed me off her lips.
That she doesn’t taste me anymore.
“Anything else?” I counter haughtily because she’s not going to do that again.
“Nah,” she replies, almost hypnotically. “I think I’m good now. Thanks, Reevie.”
And then she roundshisbody and sees herself out of the room.
I need better security.
And a new fucking obsession.
FIFTY
bay
Home.
It’s full of burning rubber, squealing tires, rice burners, and the roar of small-blocked engines with their throaty exhausts.
South Shore is in full swing tonight.
Anyone who strictly rides or dies with us is here tonight. From our OG townsfolk, who have lived, worked, and were raised here to the kids who will do the same.
Tonight was supposed to be my official coronation.
However, since I handed the shit to Torin, it ended up being a few races and money I needed to use to pay for Marshall’s poor Roadrunner.
I’m behind Dad’s Nova with my fingers strumming along the steering wheel, patiently waiting for my race to start. Levi’s Malibu is cooling down because I decided to be extra tonight and bring both cars.
In honor of both men who have meant so much in my life.
Juice replaced our race initiator with some redhead whose name I can’t remember, but he comes up and talks to her every half hour. I’d use the word smitten if I hadn’t seen him with a brunette yesterday.
