Stop thinking about her tongue. She’s your rival.
“Don’t come for my Modelo. It’s delicious every time.”
“Fair,” I agree. “I enjoy the risk of getting something different.”
The waiter returns with our drinks and takes our food orders. Once we are alone again, I’m not sure what else to talk about, so I ask the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you ready for Richmond?”
The look on her face says it all.
Way to blow it.
“Um—yeah. We still have some time to finalize things before race weekend.” She sips her beer, not wanting to talk about racing.
Then a laugh bubbles out of me, and she looks at me, confused. “Do we really have nothing else to talk aboutbesides racing?” I continue to laugh and she joins in. It’s not funny in a ha-ha way, but in a sad way.
“I guess not,” she says, still chuckling. “Outside of our ride to the Glen, we never had to.”
I mostly talked about my life on that trip. She just kept asking me questions and some kind of force kept allowing me to answer. I don’t know too much about her and who she is.
“Did you always want to race, or did your dad push you into it?”
“I’ve always wanted to race. I came to the track a lot when I was little. When my mom was still alive and not sick, we stayed at home while he traveled. After she was diagnosed, we all went on the road together, and after she passed away,” she pauses, “it was just me and my dad after that. That’s when I really dove into it.”
I take note of her eyes going glassy, like she’s holding back tears. “I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sure that was hard at such a young age.” I fight the urge to go to her and pull her into my chest and just let her cry, but we aren’t at that place yet.
“What was your brother like?” she asks before I can respond. The question takes me a bit by surprise. I guess it shows on my face, as she follows with, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to. Usually people ask about how he died or how I’m doing. Not who he was.” She nods, allowing me to continue. “Daniel was an amazing person and an even better racer. Probably better than me.” She grins wide and lets loose a small laugh, knowing it must be true if I admitted it.
“He was more into Sprint cars than anything else. He wasn’t interested in racing in SCORS. He never wanted fame or money. He just loved racing and wanted to have fun.”
My mind starts to swim with memories of Daniel and how much I wish he was still here. Now I’m the one fighting back tears. I blink to keep them back.
Regan reaches across the table, grabbing my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. The look she gives me isn’t pity like I usually see when anyone finds out about Daniel. It’s genuine sadness, sadness for me, for my loss, because she knows what it’s like.
“Thank you for telling me about him. He sounds like he was an amazing person.”
I nod, looking at our joined hands, not wanting her to pull away from me yet. “You’re the first person in a while I’ve talked about him to. He’s why I’m pushing myself so hard this season. He always wanted me to achieve all my dreams.” I squeeze her hand back and we just look at each other. Her hazel eyes shine in understanding. No one has ever looked at me like that before.
When our meal arrives, the conversation seems to flow naturally. We talk about everything and nothing at the same time. It’s the most relaxed I’ve been with someone in a long time. Maybe it’s because for once, I’m not stressing about the next race, or that I was able to open up about something so personal to me. Even Chase and Taylor don’t know as much about Daniel as I've told Regan.
The check arrives and the waiter places it in the middle of the table, so as to not assume who’s picking up the tab.
I reach into my back pocket for my wallet, but Regan stops me. “No, no. I got it. You paid for all those parts. It’s my treat. No arguments about it,” she says, placing her card into the bill holder.
I want to fight her on it, but the glare she’s giving me tells me I shouldn’t, so I don’t.
“Thanks. I could have gotten it, though.”
“You can get the next one.”The next one? So she wants to do this again?I didn’t screw up whatever this is? I think Iwouldlike to do this again.
We leave the restaurant, and I take her back to her place. Ipull up into the driveway and park. There’s a beat of silence before she says, “I had a good time tonight, actually.”
“Actually?” I chuckle. “You didn’t think you would?”
She shrugs. “Could’ve gone either way.”
“Fair enough. I’ll see you around. And thanks again for your help today.”
