Her lips quirk up when our eyes meet. Her brow lifts. And her shirt drops forward with her angle, giving me a delicious view of something that may belong to Jackson Price.
“What?” She fixes her hat – my hat – and rests her arms on the doorframe. “You need to forfeit or something?”
I shake my head. Nod toward my empty passenger seat. “Ride with me.”
“Ha!” She literally throws her head back on a barking laugh. “You’re kidding. You’re hilarious, Kincaid!” But then she brings her eyes back to mine and quietens. “Shit, you’re serious?”
I say nothing. I only stare into tawny eyes and wonder why it took twenty-two years to discover them.
“Holy shit, man.” She shakes her head. “You’re legit the most arrogant person I’ve ever met in my life.” She points toward the car behind mine. “And I’m riding with Jackson Price. I honestly thought he had the market share on arrogance, but I’ve been schooled.” She stands tall and chuckles under her breath. “Seriously. Douchebag.”
“Madilyn?” I lean a little to the side, duck lower, and wait for her eyes. “Hey, Madilyn?”
On a dramatic sigh, she lowers back down and lifts a brow. “I’m not riding with you. The fact you’d even suggest it baffles me.”
“When I win,” I counter. “When I beat Price and become the owner of a brand-new Challenger, ride with me then.”
Snickering, she shakes her head. “You’re insane. I’m not a conquest for you, okay? The fact I came with Jackson does not make me a challenge.”
“No, not a challenge,” I agree. “And not because you came with him.”
“So why?” she snaps. “Do you need me to reacquaint your balls with my knee, or…?”
“Because, despite my disgust with your chosen friends tonight, you’re really fuckin’ pretty. And fuck me sideways, but I wouldn’t mind getting two minutes alone with you.”
“You’re insane. Leave me be, Bryan.” She pushes away from my car and taps on Kallan’s, since she’s near. Then she leans a little lower when he rolls down his window. “Good luck. My money’s on you.” She pats his shoulder, like she thinks her open support of him will fuck with my head.
The irony, of course, is now that the pretty girl has touched him, he’s forgotten how to breathe.
She moves back to where Manda stands, faces us. I look to my rearview mirror to find Jackson standing at his open car door with pure rage in his eyes and a grinding jaw.
Taking Jackson’s girls, fucking up every single thing he wants, has been my only goal for so long. And his newest toy… well, hell, she’s tempting.
When she makes it clear she ain’t running back to me, I roll up my window and turn my music back up. Ludacris’ bass tears my eardrums apart, but it’s how I drive. Loud. Rhythm. Vibrations. I lock out the outside world and engross myself in the darkness, the orange backlight of my dash, the flashing lights coming from my speakers each time the bass thumps… and the spotlights of the track. The vibrations of a fast car beneath me.
“Focus.” I draw in a deep breath until my lungs fill and my chest expands, then I let it out again and nod.
Leaning across my passenger seat, I flip open the glove compartment and snatch out a spare cap. It’s not my favorite – she took that one – but it’s a decent alternative. I pull it down over my head, squish my dark hair in, and block out most of the glare coming from outside. Then I take another breath and prepare to win.
Being laid out by a girl is bad. Crying in front of her, worse. But losing to Kallan… unacceptable.
I slide my car into first gear when Madilyn lifts her bra into the sky. Clutch pressed to the floor, brake down, hand on the gear stick, and the other on the steering wheel, I blur her into my peripherals. Pretend she’s not here, pretend I don’t see her smooth belly, and the button on her jeans I wouldn’t mind undoing.
I blur Kallan out of my mind, ignore the way he revs his car, the way the bass from his stereo competes with mine. And when Madilyn drops her hand, I say a temporary goodbye, slam my foot to the gas, and take off like a shot.
Bryan
The Other Woman
Three races, a brand-new Dodge Challenger to call my own, my dignity intact after the ball-slamming debacle, and a single relaxing beer with Tuck before he pocketed his winnings and took his ass home. Then I got myself three solid hours of sleep. Now it’s Sunday, family time, and I have a breakfast date with the love of my life.
I let myself through her unlocked front door at nine a.m. after a fresh shower and a change of clothes – because apparently there’s a rule around here that I’m not allowed to visit while smelling like the track. A.k.a. dirt and other women.
When he comes galloping into the large entry room, I pat the overgrown Great Dane whose mother was a Cocker Spaniel. It’s a confusing concoction that basically ended with a litter of really stupid dogs – but underneath the floppy ears and slobbering tongues, they might actually be Mensa smart.
Twain is two years old, as tall as my hips, has longer legs than that woman from last night – we don’t say her name – and ears that dangle so low, he could almost use them to wipe his ass.
He bops his nose against my stomach in hello, then turns and trots toward the kitchen, like he knew where I was heading.
“How is she, Twain? Is she good today?” I scratch his ears, and move through the swinging door that leads from hall to the kitchen. When I get her in my sight, I stop for a moment and press a hand to my chest. “You got prettier overnight! What the hell is going on?”
Alyssa Walker sits at the kitchen counter with a half-empty bowl of cereal in front of her, a dripping spoon in her left hand, and a pen poised in the right while she makes notes in a book.
She’s an author – legit, published and all. She’s also seven years old, has the prettiest whiskey-colored eyes, and the biggest collection of stuffed teddies and dolls on this side of the equator.
“Uncle Bry!” Lyss tosses her pen down, dumps her spoon so milk splashes over the side, and, because her daddy isn’t in the room right now, she stands on the tall stool and throws herself into the air so fast that I have to sprint across the room and sweep her up before she slams to the tile and goes splat! “I thought you weren’t gonna make it!”
I press a kiss to her cheek. Her neck. Her cheek again, and her forehead. “I slept in. I’m sorry, baby.” I pull back, but only to set her on my hips properly and get a good look at her perfect face. “I missed the crap out of you, Lyss. You started eating without me?” I peek at the bowl she deserted.
She shakes her head. “That’s my second breakfast. You’re waaaay late, Uncle Bry. Twain ate with me the first time, and because you took so long, I wrote a book.”
“You wrote a book!” I throw my head back and laugh. “You make it sound so easy. Geez Louise, Lyss. Can you slow down so the rest of us don’t look so lazy?”
She shakes her head in fast, neck-breaking swipes. “No time, Uncle Bry. Miss Brooke says we have an empire to build. Dr. Seuss didn’t slow down.”