by Grace, Hazel
“I just was.”
“You sure it wasn’t so Prince fuckhead saw us together,” I counter like a resentful prick with his pride hurt. I need to shut up, I need to fucking hit the road and get the hell out of here.
“I don’t care if he sees us together or in mid-fuck. I don’t feel like explaining myself nor dealing with any confrontations.” I wish I could study her eyes, but the room is back to the lucid darkness it just was.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“Paige can do it.”
“But I want to.”
Now I’m sounding like a whiny bitch.
So, this is a clear giveaway that I need to stay the hell away from Aurora. She has a clear idea of what this is when, apparently, I don’t because I don’t want to leave her just yet.
“Okay.”
She reaches for the door again, but I yank her toward me. “I need help.”
She pauses for a moment. “With what?”
“Putting my dick back in my pants. Or maybe it’s because I want you to touch it again.”
She punches me in the chest and laughs. “You’re an idiot.”
___
Me: One more day. I’m losing my patience.
Tasha: I’m really sorry. I tried to talk to another girl yesterday but one of the bodyguards shooed me away.
Me: One more day.
“Dude, you listening?” Lev asks me, hunched down to tape up another car with a cigarette in his mouth.
“Sorry man, I was textin’ that Tasha chick for information.” I place the phone on the tool bench next to me and give my brother my full attention. We’ll need to head up to New York again if Tasha doesn’t get any information and start back at square one. Something I really wasn’t looking forward to doing.
“Tasha, the girl at the club. Damn man, you’re getting more pussy than Colt these days,” Lev chuckles, pulling another piece of tape off the roll.
I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t need to know about Colt’s fuck life.”
“I don’t either, but the motherfucker sure loves to brag about it.”
“Because he’s a tool.”
“Who can race,” Lev reminds me.
“Most the time. When his head isn’t up that truck’s ass of his.”
Lev shakes his head. “Speaking of ass. That club we went to has a secret section downstairs, VIP shit. Only certain girls work down there, according to this bouncer, only the hot ones.”
“That Victoria chick work down there?”
Lev nods. “Yep, Victoria is pretty popular, I guess. Oh, by the way, I need a gram of coke.”
I raise a brow. “For….”
“That bodyguard said if I could bring him a gram, he’d give me an address for her.”
“And how would we know if this girl really is Victoria?”
Lev twirls on his feet to face me. “We don’t. But it’s the only lead we’re working on right now. We wanted to see if the addresses match the address to the broad who lives in Milford.”
I shrug. “Why don’t we just drive over to Milford and stake the house out?”
Lev raises a brow. “And do what? Trying to keep kidnapping off your rap sheet unnecessarily until we know if the Victoria from Milford and club Victoria are the same person.”
“Says the man who wanted to kill the bitch.”
“The right bitch,” Lev adds. “Not some innocent.”
I exhale. “You’ll have the bag in the morning. Bring Colt or Beast with you when you go. I have to get ready for that race in two days.”
Lev stands and starts taping the hood of the same Buick he’s been working on. “Car actin’ up?”
“No, just want to get the Chevelle tuned and dyno in. Talk of the Camaro is spreading, and I don’t want to scare away the business.”
Lev chortles. “Maybe you should start losing.”
My eyes widen. “On purpose?”
“Makes people think your rides aren’t so invisible.”
“Because that doesn’t sound fun at all,” I counter. Levin whirls back to the car he’s working on and chuckles.
“I got the bread,” he states.
“For what?”
“The garage.”
I walk toward him. “How did you get 20k?”
“Dealing when you were in prison,” he deadpans.
“Weed?”
“And pills. Then I sat on it for a special occasion.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I add. “I can make it with—”
“I got it.”
“Lev, listen man, pocket the money. I’ll get these tools to fork it over.” My brother turns around to face me again, his eyes narrowing at me for making him stop what he’s doing.
“We’re a team. We’re doing all this shit together. The garage, the races, Isla’s shit. I just want to be done with all the bullshit. And if it costs 20 grand to get rid of some of it, I’ll gladly hand it over. Are we done now?”
I nod. “Sure.” Levin has been barely holding on by a thread, and I needed to swallow my pride and realize that he’s a grown man not the little kid I left behind.
Lev finger guns me. “Awesome.”
The sound of squealing tires resonates over my radio as I drive to Paige’s apartment for our girls’ night in. Approaching the blinking red light, I glance over to my right, where a crowd full of people gather and clouds of smoke linger down the street. No one is on the country roads this late or even during the day for that matter, so I can see why no one cares about standing in the middle of the street. Especially since this is the most crowded I’ve ever seen a road in Delpa County.
Another squawk of tires echoes through the night air, and instantly I’m intrigued as I turn down the road toward the sounds. Racing was nostalgic, the one strong thing I remember about my dad. I haven’t seen a race this close since he died, and every fiber in my being wants to experience one for old times’ sake.
Pulling my car over, people are cheering and holding money in the air to place bets. Women dressed in crop tops and Daisy Duke shorts giggle and flirt with dudes standing by. A line of souped-up cars line the other side of the street, some with popped hoods and others with their drivers leaned up against the doors. I can’t see the kind of cars that are at the line, due to the large crowd, but I inhale the smell of burning rubber and turbo blue.
Slamming my car door, a few people glance in my direction but continue on their conversation. I feel a tad under dressed in black leggings and a soft purple V-neck tee, but I saunter closer to the street where the cars line up. Squeezing through the crowd, it opens up, two cars are in either lane waiting for their cue to take off.
A curvy brunette holds a white handkerchief in front of the two cars, waiting to get the heads up from each driver. Both rev their engines in eagerness as she brings her arms down to start the race. The cars leave immediately off the line, the one on the right fish tails but finally hooks up to the road, attempting to catch up to the other.
The crowd cheers and yells, urging on their winning picks until the car on the left finishes first. The crowd settles then murmurs while others cuss at losing. Nestling on the side of the street, I lean against an oak tree, letting the scene unfold. Several other cars line up, drag down the street like a revolving door. I’m mesmerized by the cars, the smells, and the freedom from strife that when my eyes land on the next set of cars, my heart halts then sprints in my chest.
Wyatt is leaned up against a glossy black Chevelle with a blonde leaned up against him. He’s talking to another man, motioning for him to do something to the car while the blonde is clawing at his chest to grab his attention. It’s when his hands find her slim waist that makes me clench my hands into fists.
It’s the start, the emotion of jealousy that I need to rein in and pull back on. What we did was just screwing.
Plain and simple.
A great fuck.
This is what normal people do. They fuck, make out, and move to the next one until they find someone they can’
t live without.
And I, sure as shit, can live without Wyatt.
I’ve dealt with Jerry and his fucking crazy, every high school boyfriend screwing God knows who, a bitch of a mother, and five years of fear.
Yeah. Fuck this.
Wyatt was just a notch in my bedpost and, the way these other men are gawking at all these women in their shorts, lack of shirts, and skirts, I could pull one of these guys home if I wanted to. Problem is, that isn’t me. But what I can say is that I could get by fucking just one man. And that one seemed to be the most dangerous of all.
The blonde settles herself between his legs as he stretches them on the cement, still leaned up against the car. He grabs her ass, which sends a small squeal from her lips as he disappears between the crook of her neck.
A mechanic, racer, and a womanizer—cute.
Petty, stupid, and about to make some bad decisions—me.
Pushing off the tree, I rearrange my shirt, careful to not stumble down the small hill I’m on. The V-neck isn’t too deep, but I readjust it to show off a little of the black lacy bra that I’m wearing. Not too revealing but enough to leave to the imagine and the beckon that my tits are in some sort of sexy ensemble beneath this plain tee.
I inhale deeply, preparing my body to be gazed at and devoured by Wyatt’s blue eyes. The most clear and breathtaking ones I’ve ever seen on a man. My dad taught me to never touch another man’s car but, in this case…..
“Hey Rugged,” I announce, leaning against the side of his car. His head slowly comes out of hiding from the blonde’s neck and, with his chin tucked in to his chest, he peers over at me. A small smirk decorates his face as he pulls away from his arm candy.
“Rora,” he says in that deep, sexy-as-shit voice of his. His gaze lands on my shirt, and I know he can see my new wardrobe tweak of my tits.
Rora—1
Wyatt—zero
“What are you doing here?” he asks me.
I jerk my head behind me. “Came with a few friends.” Lies. “I noticed the car and didn’t know it was you until I got closer. Sorry to interrupt.”
Wyatt pushes off the car, forcing the blonde to take a step. “Not interrupting anything,” he states, closing the distance between us. His large frame towers over me, sending chills up my spine. His hair is pulled back in a bun, his black T-shirt disclosing every hidden muscle underneath it. Ones I’ve felt under my fingertips, ones that held me against him while he fucked me mercilessly.
“Excuse me,” a voice behind him snaps. I know it’s the blonde, and I give zero shits about intruding on her five seconds of heaven. Lips that were just on mine three nights ago, ones that said they wanted to see me while he undid every level-headed thought in my head. That night I felt alive, and all I can do is thank him for opening my secluded world up to living a full life. But I’d keep that thank you to myself because that cocky grin has too much ego in it already.
He extends his arm out to lean against the car, taking in every inch of me. “Friends, huh?”
“Yeah, I should get back,” I press, moving off the frame of his car. Wyatt rounds on me, placing his other arm along the door and caging me between him and the car.
“You got a friend right here,” he claims, getting a perfect view down my shirt. “Stay with me.”
I glance over at blondie. “I think your friend is getting a tad bit on the pissed side. I broke up your make out session.”
“These lips haven’t kissed another’s since yours, baby,” he whispers.
“Wyatt,” Blondie calls. “Let’s go.”
“Wanna change that?” he asks me.
I let out a choked laugh. “No.”
“Wyatt,” Blondie urges.
His head whips around to her. “What?”
“Let’s go.”
“I’m busy here,” he snaps.
Blondie places a hand on her curvy hips. “Yeah, and you were busy with me a few minutes ago too.”
Wyatt rolls his eyes and pushes off the Chevelle, turning on his heels. “Don’t act so butt hurt, Mia. Go find another asshole to entertain yourself.” Blondie cuts into him, but I don’t hear her. All I’m focused on is two people fighting over some unnecessary drama and, again my favorite word, bullshit.
Pivoting away, I begin for my car, hitting the cement with purpose to get the hell out of here. The nostalgia is gone, my patience vanished, and I’m bored with Wyatt and his ongoing crap. It was okay to be a little reckless now and again but not when you’d be getting burnt every time you dealt with it.
I dart through the crowd in the direction of my car. It isn’t too far away, and then I hear him.
“Rora,” Wyatt barks with irritation. If I continue to walk away, it’ll look like I care. And I don’t. So, I turn around.
“What’s up?”
“You leavin’?”
“Yeah, I got a text. I gotta head out.”
“From who?”
“Noah.”
Yep.
Go ahead and say it.
Petty.
As.
Shit.
“You’re not going to go see him.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m sorry?”
He steps toward me. “You’re not going to go hang out with Noah’s Arc after seeing me. Doesn’t work that way.”
“Color me confused because last time I checked—”
“Last time I checked,” he growls, stepping closer. “I fucked you. And when we’re together, you don’t go running off to your boyfriend. Unless you just wanted a taste of the bad boy to satisfy some need.”
My eyes widen then I chuckle. “Oh, I see. I’m some stupid chick who has a bucket list to fuck a bad boy and moves on to the next. Not a bad idea actually. Noah is a food freak, loves trying new restaurants. Maybe I can have him lick food off me while we—”
Wyatt wags a finger at me with a dangerous grin. “Watch your next words, unless you want an angry fuck.”
“Wasn’t that what I got the other night? You getting all pissy about grinding my ass on another guy’s—” Wyatt clasps my wrists, tugging me toward him and slamming into his body.
“Wanna know something, Rora?” he breathes into my space. “If I kissed you right now, in front of all these assholes, you wouldn’t be able to find a boy toy to even finger you for the next ten years. And even then, it might be longer.”
I give him a lopsided grin. “Thank God for vibrators and my fingers then.” Wyatt’s mouth twitches, then he's knocked into a man showing up at his side.
“You’re up man,” he tells Wyatt, not bothering a glance in my direction. Wyatt nods and the man runs off.
“Come watch the race,” Wyatt says, intertwining his fingers with mine.
“I’ve seen enough, and I gotta go,” I counter, taking a step away from him, but his fingers stay locked between mine.
“One race.”
I nod. “Fine one.”
His face turns into a scowl. “You’ll be gone by the time I get back, won’t you?”
“Probably.” Wyatt bends down and lifts me in the air. I stop my legs from going around his waist, but not his lips when they latch onto mine. This kiss is nothing like at the club. It was ravenous and hungry, this one is soft and calculated. His tongue touches mine, and my body starts to react to him, squeezing his shoulders with my hands and—
Dude, he was just about to kiss another chick.
Breaking our contact, I lean back. “Stop.”
“Come with me, Rora.”
“Nope.”
His green eyes pierce mine as he looks up at me. “What will it take to make you stay?”
“Are you begging me?” Wyatt turns his head away and looks onward. Seconds later, he peers back up at me.
“Do you want me to?” I’m speechless because I wasn’t expecting anything but a smart-ass comment to come out of his mouth. His face softens, and it makes me want to be different than anyone else he’s ever had contact with. And I have a feeling he’s never begg
ed in his life.
“Yes,” I utter, curious to see how far this perilous man will go just for me to stay. Wyatt cups his hands around the nape of my neck and presses his lips to mine again.
“I’m begging you to stay, Rora. I’ll even let you drive.”
“Drive?”
“My Chevelle.”
A nervous chuckle leaves my lips. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll wreck it.”
“How about I teach you to drive,” he offers. I study his features for any hints, no smirk, no teasing, no sarcasm.
“I don’t know,” I ease in. Driving a souped-up car was one of my favorite dreams. I wanted to be like Dad, drive like him, race like him, be the mini me version of him.
“Think about it,” Wyatt replies, slowly letting me drift to the ground. “In the meantime, though, you’ll come sit in the front seat with me during the race.”
My feet hit the ground, and I readjust my shirt. “Is that allowed?”
“This is illegal streetcar racing, Rora,” Wyatt chortles. “We can do whatever the fuck we want.” Adrenaline courses through me as another take off of cars sound behind Wyatt.
“One race,” I agree.
Wyatt smiles. “There are those balls I was talking about.”
We won the race. And then another. And then a third. Nova had racing in her blood, or she was an adrenaline junkie, but she said she wasn’t planning on jumping out a plane anytime soon to find out.
I found myself glancing in her direction during the races, rule number one is to never take your eyes off the road, but I couldn’t help it. No one else has been inside this car beside Isla. I wouldn’t even let another man or woman touch this thing without breaking something valuable. But seeing Rora leaned up alongside it, her sexy black bra peeking from her shirt, I couldn’t help but smile at the woman who was breaking down all the boundaries I’ve built and defying them.
Then there was that insistent moment. The one where I threw my ego and pride aside to beg her to stay. I wouldn’t call it begging really, just asking in a way that she wanted to hear it. Do I regret it—no. Would I say it again—depends. Because when Rora was near, my world didn’t feel so hopeless. A reminder that it was just a tough time, but there was a light at the end of it. And I’m praying to God she doesn’t get dragged into my shit.
