She scowls in frustration, used to getting her way. “Jack, let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do! How can you see past all the cracks on your screen? And the pics you send are grainy and faded. Your phone is old.”
“Morgan—”
“Please! I want to help.”
My gut twists. Her words rub me the wrong way. Her church can help the center, but not me. She isn’t trying to help, anyway. It’s pity.
“I’m not accepting your fucking phone.”
She scoffs loudly. “Then no texting.”
“Come on, Morgan,” I growl.
“And I won’t talk to my dad about your brother.”
My skin burns hot. I grab the phone with death grip, anger buzzing under my skin. “If I accept this stupid thing, you’ll get the charges dropped?”
“And if you to take me to a street race. I want to go with someone who can explain everything to me.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Listen, you manipulative—,” I stop myself and rephrase. “You can’t use my brother to get what you want.”
She puts her hands on her hips, and her expression darkens. “Noel scared me. He was taking pictures of me through the kitchen window. I have every right to ask for a few little favors if you want me to forget the stress he caused.”
My heart sinks, and I gawk in disbelief.
“He took pictures of you?”
“Yep, and it was creepy. I get paranoid every time I am by a window.”
I sigh but hold up my index finger. “One drag race.”
For my brother.
“After that, you can’t use Noel to get your way.”
She claps excitedly, like I agreed to something far better than crowds of people watching cars race down streets.
“What do girls wear at these races?” she asks.
They dress like whores, but I’m not telling her that. The guys there will eat her up.
“The girls dress like nuns.”
She smirks and thumbs the cross on her gold necklace. “I can’t wait.” She leans over my thigh to grab her phone. Her wet bathing suit soaks through the denim of my jeans. Heat flares instantly, and her closeness makes my body ache to touch her.
She taps the screen. “Unblocked.” Then, she recedes into the water, keeping her eyes on me. “Pick me up when?”
I obviously cannot read this woman, but I know it isn’t a date, so I shake my head.
“We’ll meet there. Tonight. Eight o’clock. I’ll send the address.”
She frowns but nods. “I’ll bring my friend then.”
“Hey!” says a redheaded woman. Her assistant. She glances down at me. “What’s he doing here?”
