He nods.
“The Campus Drivers are hiring, you know. You’d be starting in September. Interested?”
His eyes widen. “Wow. I mean, that’s insane. I’d be down, but I’d need to get my class schedule first…”
Organized, too. He’s perfect.
“For sure. It’s all about that work-life balance.” I nod. “How about this—I drop you where you need to be, and on the way, I’ll tell you a little about how we roll. You can tell me about yourself and then just go and think things through.” I smile at him encouragingly. “Then, once you’ve got your car back in January, we can talk business.”
“Sounds great!”
I spend a solid fifteen minutes chatting to Amir, and he feels like the right fit. He’d make an amazing driver.Plus, the guy drives a Dodge. We’re basically made for each other.He speaks three languages and doesn’t drink. Daddy Don is going to fall hard for him. Don’t get me wrong, Firebird is cool and everything. But if there’s one thing I hate, it’s being told what to do.
Once I’ve walked my new trainee through the details and dropped him off, I head to the gym. I’d been planning on squeezing in another couple of rides but decide against it—I definitely can’t roll up late for practice.
MY FAVORITE TEAMMATE CORNERS MEin the locker room, frowning as he peels off his T-shirt. “What’s with the good mood?”
“It’s a surprise,” I singsong. “I’ll tell you tonight.”
Don shoots me a suspicious look, but he knows better than to push it—he knows I won’t crack. I get changed and trot over to the court, where our assistant coach is waiting for us, whistle clenched between his teeth.
“Just a month to go until Dad’s back out on the streets.” Don sighs.
His dad would normally be here coaching us, but ever since his heart attack in June, he’s been on bed rest—or bed arrest, more like.
I grab a ball and toss it to my roomie.
“I can’t wait. There’s no one like Coach Wolinski. I mean, Williams is great, but he’s got zero sense of humor. Absolute disgrace, dude.”
“I heard that, Conley!” the coach yells over.
“Just joshing, Coach!” I laugh, before dropping my voice. “Like I said… Zero sense of humor.”
“We’re playing Iowa on Sunday,” Coach Williams growls. “Shit is about to get very real for you guys.”
“Andhe’s got a potty mouth—”
“Ten laps around the court, Conley.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, come on!”
“Make that twenty,” he snaps.
“I’m—”
“Thirty.”
I start to run. Williams was a prison warden in a past life, I’m sure of it. I can feel his eyes burning into my back, and when I try to slope back to the team after my twenty-first lap, he’s straight on my case.
A million drills later, and Don and I head back home to collapse onto the couch. Lois is already elbow-deep in blender blitzing.
The girl needs help.
“Make it stop, Lane!” I call over. “I literally can’t hear myself think!”
“I didn’t realize that was something you did,” Lois screeches over the grinding.
Don nudges me. “So, what was that surprise you mentioned?”
