‘Do you trust me?’
I fight an eye roll. ‘Of course I trust you.’
‘Well …’ He presses his palm forward.
I look down at my artwork, my breathing turning shallow as I chew on my bottom lip. I want to go. If I don’t, I’ll just wait until Monique is free for lunch, then come back afterward. At the end of the day, I’ll go home, avoid Ma, shower and then lock myself in my room to do more drawing. Maybe eat. Maybe sneak into the kitchen after Ma’s asleep to make a sandwich. Then later, in bed, I’ll lie awake only to dream about all the things I wished had happened in the day. And then I’ll do the same thing tomorrow.
The same routine. Every. Single. Day.
I look at where Ryker stands patiently. So full of life, curiosity and fun. What does he do that makes him love life so much?
Screw it.
Energy buzzes underneath my skin and I’m sure my face will crack from the smile that stretches across it. I use the same cloth Ryker did and wipe my fingers of glue before placing my hand in his, letting him lift me from my seat. With his free hand, he reaches down to pick up my backpack, then he’s leading me out the doors, fingers interlaced in mine.
‘Hell yeah, Little Suspect.’
Chapter 5
Gianna
PRESENT
It’s been seven days since The Lost Tropics race when Ryker came blazing back into my life, and I can’t get him out of my mind.
After I stumbled out of his grasp, I hauled my ass into the Mustang and raced out of his vicinity. I’m pretty sure the speed I hit was a new personal best.
He licked me. Of all things, that assholelickedme. I don’t know what’s worse, that he invaded, consumed and totally owned my space … or that I liked it.
Right now, I’m in the Fernando Garage. My phone shrieks, and even though I should just ignore the call, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for a grilling.
‘I’m so mad at you.’ Monique’s voice comes through the speaker before the video chat even finishes loading. I prop my phone against the sanding block on the workbench just before her face fills the screen.
My camera catches some glare from the overhead lights before it adjusts. The Fernando Garage is fitted with warm and slightly dim LEDs, but in the painting booth, I need clear, white light so the colour shines true. Right now, that’snot the only glare I’m getting. Monique’s scarlet hair frames her scowling face.
I let out an agitated laugh, and my breath ricochets off the respirator mask I’m still wearing, warming my skin. ‘Really? Why?’
She waves a hand in front of her mouth. ‘Can you take that shit off your face? I can’t hear you.’
I pull on the elastic straps and whip the mask off my face before hitting the switch to turn the ventilation ducts off. The whirring simmers down until the fans shut off completely.
‘That’s better.’
‘Why are you mad?’ I repeat. My voice comes out a gravelly rasp, heavy from the fumes.
‘You really have to ask?’
I stare at her for a second before side-eyeing the Chevelle SS chassis perched on the dyno ramp in front of me, brought in for full paint restoration. I’d pre-mixed the perfect shade of garnet as soon as I’d stepped through the door, and almost had the chassis fully sanded – before my phone rang. Seventeen times in succession.
I look back at my phone. ‘Well, are you going to tell me or just stare a hole into my face?’
‘I haven’t heard from you in a week!’ She levels me with a look. ‘You left The Tropics without saying goodbye and you’ve been ghosting me. For. A. Week!’
‘Well,’ I mutter, grabbing a shop cloth to wipe the fine dust from my fingers, ‘you can see I’m at work. On a Monday morning. Imagine that?’
She gives a resigned huff before propping her own phone up and lazing back on a familiar sofa with a bowl of cereal.
‘Are you in my house?’
