Page 26 of Austin

When the Camaro is in front of my building, I open the door and get in. My seat belt isn’t even securely buckled before Austin is pulling away from the curb.

“I’m not buckled yet,” I scold as I snap myself secure.

“You’re late,” his deep voice bellows inside the car.

The clock reads 11:11, which makes me grimace.

“I dare you to find another woman who goes from being fresh out the shower to ready and on the curb in eleven minutes.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You were in your towel?” The way he says it has a little hint of playfulness. It’s different from how we left off the other day.

And it’s unnerving as hell.

I don’t know how to respond, so I say the first thing that comes to my head, “Nice hoodie.”

“Well played, Pyle.” Austin smirks as he reaches for the volume on his radio and blasts it, playing “You Want a Battle? (Here’s a War)” by Bullet for My Valentine.

Well played, Austin. Tonight is going to be very interesting.

7

AUSTIN

I’m trying to keep my eyes on the road, but her fuck me boots are distracting as sin. What girl wears an old lady sweater with boots that are made to make you picture them wearing those boots with nothing else on?

She crosses her legs, and it has me shifting my own legs and grabbing the gearshift tightly. Plus, she smells like peaches, and it has my mind running straight into the gutter.

This was a bad idea. I have a pre-race ritual, and it doesn’t include having a girl in my car, giving me a hard-on.

I look at the angel charm and say my silent prayer in my head.

“That’s pretty,” Jalynn says, breaking me out of my mantra.

I look over to see her gesturing toward the angel. I nod and go back to my inner thoughts.

“Did you get it from a girl?” she asks.

I let out a loud grunt.

She falls back into her seat and crosses her arms. “Jeez. Sorry for asking questions.”

She’s looking down at her knees, a sulk on her face. I try to utter my prayer in my head, but the way she’s sitting there, biting her lip, has me looking at the angel and hearing my mother’s voice in my head, telling me to stop being such a jerk.

I bang my head against the seat and let out a deep breath. “It was my mother’s.”

Her head pops up at my words.

“It was her favorite ornament on our Christmas tree. I don’t race without it.”

Jalynn takes a moment to reply. Her brows are pinched in as she stares at me. Makes me wonder if she plans on looking at me in astonishment the rest of the way to the race. She heard my speech in the conference room last week. She knows my mother died, and now, she knows I keep an ornament in my car in her memory.

It can’t be that big of a deal.

“How did she die?” she asks.

And I immediately regret telling her anything.

“Car accident. Don’t you remember me shouting the other day that she drove herself off a cliff? When I said that, I meant, literally.”