The school had only been open for six months, but Dante and Tate already thought we needed to open another location. Not only had Roman bailed on me today, but so had Tate and Dante to go look at a space two towns over for a new studio.
I was in the minority when I said we should just focus on the Falls City school. Dante and Tate had decided between themselves that if we were doing so well here, another studio would be a goldmine. I didn’t think they were wrong, I just wanted them to slow down, and wait for all of us to agree.
I threw my phone on top of a pile of new student paperwork and propped my arms on my head. I pushed off on the floor and spun around in the chair. Most days, it was hard to believe this was my life, and today was another one of those days. Dante, Tate, and Roman were my closest friends, but sometimes it felt like everything rested on my shoulders, while they were off somewhere enjoying life, and spending all the money we were making.
The days we didn’t have classes, I was giving private lessons, or working on lesson plans for each class. Most of the time, the Kinder-kicker class was like herding a pack of cats that were all hyped up on catnip, and the Little Ninja class wasn’t much better. Although, I still tried to teach them forms and basic karate to help them get to white belt. Once the kids hit white belt, things became more serious, and I buckled down on the curriculum.
The highest belt level we had right now was an orange belt, but in the stack of paper on the desk, there were three kids wanting to transfer over to Powerhouse. One of them was a purple belt, and the other two were red belts. I was rather shocked the two red belts wanted to transfer schools when they were close to being black belts, but I knew it was because in the short time we had been open, we already had a reputation of being the best.
If you were even a little bit into karate, you would have at least heard of one of us. We were the best, and we had the trophies and medals to prove it. That reputation was bringing in students left and right, but I couldn’t keep doing this on my own anymore.
But, I wasn’t going to stress about that right now, because a knock on the front door made me jump, and I turned to see my next private lesson through the glass.
My five-minute break was up, and it was back to the grind.
Someone had to make Powerhouse a success, and that someone was going to be me.
******
Get your engine running with the first book in the
Nitro Crew Series!
Burndown
Nitro Crew Series
Book 1
Chapter 1
Remy
“You need to call your mother.”
“I talked to her last week.”
Lo cleared his throat. “We are talking about the same woman, right?”
“The woman who treats me like I’m thirteen and not twenty-six.” I sighed and dropped the wrench on the workbench.
“Okay, we’re talking about the same woman. So, you should know you need to call her, because if you don’t call her, then I have to deal with her, and while I love the hell out of your mother, I don’t want to deal with her like that.”
“I’m well aware of the ways you like to handle my mother.” I shook my head, still trying to remove the image of what I had walked in on the last time I had been home. Thank God I had only seen Lo’s ass and my mom’s hand waving frantically. “You guys really shouldn’t do that on the kitchen table. People eat there.”
“And most people knock before they walk into someone's house.”
I ducked out the side door of the shop and leaned against the brick wall. “This is what you called to talk to me about?”
“When did you become such an asshole?”
“Got that from you,” I mumbled.
“Humph. You might wanna tone that down when you’re talking to me. I could kick your ass.”
“I always do enjoy these talks, Lo.” He was an ass half of the time, but he was a good guy. Plus, he kept my mom happy, so I couldn’t really find any fault with him.
His deep chuckle traveled through the phone. “Just call your mom when you get the chance. And by that, I mean call her today.”
He disconnected the call before I could say any more. That was his way. He said what he needed to, and that was it.
“Don’t you think you should be working on the car instead of gabbing on the phone?”
I shoved my phone into my pocket and twisted around to see Roc walking across the parking lot with a cup of coffee in his hand. From talking to one asshole to another.
“Just talking to Lo.”
“Should I care who Lo is?” He stood in front of me with his hand in his pocket, looking like the asshole he was—ripped and tattered jeans, black boots, and a tight shirt stretched across his chest. I don’t think I have ever seen him in anything other than what he was wearing today other than the color of the shirt varying. Today, he had on the same blue as the main sponsor for the Brooks Cummings Racing Team. Also known as the race team I was finally part of.
I shook my head. “Probably not. Just my mom’s husband.”
“Well, you can chit-chat on your own time. Right now, I need that new engine dropped into the car before five. We have time at the track tomorrow afternoon to see if it’ll run well enough for the first race of the season.” Roc nodded to the shop. “Once the engine is dropped, you can help with the clutch.”
Roc wandered off around the building, leaving me stewing.
This was my dream job, but I fucking hated it because it wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined my dream job. I was working for a top five NHRA team, but all I did was assist the clutch and driveline specialist. That was the job I really wanted. A specialist.
I needed to be grateful for the job I had since I was one of the youngest pit crew guys out there, but damn if I didn’t want more. I could do the job. I just needed to put in my time and prove that I was here to stay.
“Get to work, Grain,” Roc called.
Son of a bitch. That guy was on me like white on rice. I looked around but didn’t even see Roc. How the hell did he know I was still standing here if I couldn’t even see him?
“You need me to talk to him? Ask him to go easy on you?”
Fucking Frankie. “Still think you showed him your tits to get on his good side.”
She stuck her head out the side door and laughed. “He’s too old for me. I’m more into guys who couldn’t pass for being my dad.”
“That picky attitude is what’s keeping you from finding a guy, Frank.”
She shook her head. “Probably has to do with the fact people call me Frank, and I always have grease under my nails.”
I grabbed the rag out of my back pocket and tossed it at her. “That’ll help.”
She rolled her eyes. “A dirty shop towel sure is going to fix all of my problems.” She held open the door. “You helping me get the computer hooked up would actually help me more.”
“You really think they are going to let me help you? Roc thinks the only thing I’m good for is standing over Ronald and handing him a wrench now and then.” I hadn’t been as lucky as Frankie. We had both gone through High Performance Engine Building in school, along with ten other courses that had prepared us to be on the Cummings Racing Team, but Frankie had stood out with her natural ability with computers and her eye for detail.
“If Roc wants to get out of here before nine, he won’t mind you helping me.”
I rolled my eyes and slid past her into the shop. “You can argue with him over me helping you.” My eyes fell on Ronald, who was bent over the engine. “I’m sure ol’ Ronald is almost done, anyway. He even thinks it’s dumb for me to watch him.”
Frankie clapped me on the shoulder. “Ronald is old. Ronald will not be doing this job two years from now. When Ronald races off into the sunset, you and I both know this job is as good as yours.”
“Two years, Frank? I don’t wanna have to wait that long to do a job I can do right now.”
We watched Ronald slowly stand up from the engine
with his hand on his back. “I’m thinking you might just have to wait one season.” She laughed and headed to the other side of the garage.
“Grain, you wanna come over here? I want you to make sure I got those nuts on tight enough,” Roland called.
I sighed and hung my head. This is what I was getting paid for—tightening nuts. Not like I was making some grand salary, but I had hoped to be doing more than this.
Patience.
The only problem with being patient was, I wasn’t.
*
Sweet Burn Page 7
