“You tolerate me.”
He barks out a loud laugh. “I fix your car. You pay me well for ten minutes’ work. Hell yeah, I tolerate you. You got me into a race circuit that wouldn’t accept me until you vouched. Now I’m in, I win, I get side business, and I get to watch hot chicks put you on your ass. This has been the best night of my life.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I throw my head back and breathe through the last zings of pain that one trim woman with luscious hair and biteable lips was able to inflict on me.
Twenty-two years of learning how to fight. Perfecting the armbar. Practicing the triangle. Finding the exact pressure points in someone’s neck, so I can put them out in a second and disable them from taking a swing at me. Tens of thousands of hours spent in a gym learning how to defend myself, all to be put down by one chick and her sneaky knee.
I can never tell my family. They’ll never let me forget the humiliation.
“It’s almost your turn,” Tuck murmurs. He studies the cars lining up for their race. “You got two more.”
“You’re in front of me?”
“Mm,” he grunts. “I gotta go.” He sets his Coke on the roof of the van and turns back to me. “You coming out, or you still crying about being beaten up by a girl?”
“I’ll come.” I drag the dripping bag of ice from my pants, and set it on the roof of some poor dude’s van, then I look down and groan at the wet patch on my crotch. “Looks like I pissed myself.”
“It was inevitable.”
He starts walking when I come around the van and join him. We move toward the crowd, toward my car as it sits exactly where I left it earlier. In the way, but I had zero fucks to give as I tried my damnedest not to cry in front of a few hundred people.
“What are you betting?” I ask my friend. “Slips?”
“Nah.” He pushes through the crowds and approaches his beat-up bike.
Most of the folks around here have money enough to bring something shiny to the tracks. Not that our town is full of rich people, but there are a few families with enough to flash around that most everyone benefits somehow. But Tuck doesn’t follow those unspoken rules. His bike looks like he pulled it off the road – after a dump truck reversed over it a few times. It’s ugly as sin, and looks like it might fall apart in a stiff wind, but beneath the aesthetics is the best engine that slides over these tracks.
Tucker Morris is a gifted mechanic, and his humility allows him to ride something that looks like shit, because he knows he’ll almost always walk away with the win.
“Cash?” I watch as he throws his leg over the narrow frame.
His opponent rides a slick-ass Honda CBR, which, in theory should easily wipe out Tuck’s KTM, but Tuck has magic in his blood. He slides onto his bike, and he commands the tracks. He doesn’t seem to give a fuck about physics or what’s right.
“How much?” I ask.
“Five grand.” He reaches up and pulls his red helmet on. He leaves the front visor open, and flashes a wicked grin as he fastens the clasps. “Easiest five-k I’ll make this week.”
“So fucking cocky.” I clap him on the back and step away with a laugh as he starts his engine and revs it so loud that I’m almost tempted to cover my ears. But considering a girl already took me out tonight, covering my ears might be too much weakness to show in one hour.
I back away as he releases the clutch, and lean on my hood as others mill around; half of them are watching the bikes, and the other half are watching me.
“What?” I throw my hands up and grin when most of them spin away to do the ‘I’m just minding my business’ dance. “Don’t fuckin’ look at me,” I grumble. I fold my arms, and watch as Manda leads Tuck and the Honda toward the starting line.
“Hey, Bry.” Blonde, blue, and quite pretty in the traditional sense, this chick sidles closer to me while most other eyes are on Tuck and the pending race.
Shyly, she comes closer, closer, closer, and wrings her hands together until she stands between my open legs, and her voluptuous push-up bra is in my face.
Slowly, I run my gaze along her clavicle, over a pretty necklace with Hayley written in gold script, and up to eyes that look uncomfortably similar to my sister’s.
Hard nope.
Instead of speaking, I only raise my brows and wait.
“Um…” She thrusts a hand forward, lets it dangle a little, and smiles when I shake it. “I’m Hayley.”
I release her hand, and finger the delicate necklace. “I know. Says so right here.”
“Oh!” Chittering – is that the word a guy would use when a nervous girl can’t decide between giggling and dissolving into a panic attack? – well, that’s the word that comes to mind. Her laughter is nervous, crackling, and awkward. “I forgot about that.” She takes the necklace, and squeaks when her hand brushes over mine. “My best friend got this for my last birthday.”
“Yeah?” I look around. Act like I might know who her best friend is if I saw her. Then I bring my eyes back to hers. “And how old were you at your last birthday, Hayley?”
Her cheeks flush hot red. “Seventeen, but—”
“Nope.” I push away from my car and gently move her back at least ten paces.
Hands on her shoulders, I keep us going until we run out of space, then I look down into her eyes and wait for her to stop fidgeting.
“You need to go the fuck home, Hayley. You need to not sneak out to Piper’s Lane on the weekends, you need to not hit on men much older than you. You’re gonna get yourself into trouble, and believe it or not, you’ll get him in trouble too.”
“Oh… I… well…”
“Did you know that on average, three babies are conceived at Piper’s Lane every single Friday and Saturday night?”
Her eyes pop wide. “What?”
“Uh huh. They did research on it. Three babies per night, and that’s an average, which means sometimes it’s way more.” I’m such a fuckin’ liar. “On top of that, they say that of the three hundred and seventy-three couples that casually hook up, seven guys are arrested because they fucked an underage chick, and twenty-three end up with chlamydia.”
“Is that…” Her hands shake. “Seriously?”
“Yup. Are you a statistic, Hayley? Or are you too smart for that stupid shit?”
“I’m not stupid,” she murmurs. “Swear.”
“Good. Get your ass home. Take your girlfriends, don’t let a single guy talk you into his car, and maybe you can try this again in a couple years.” I look around. Then back to her. “You got a ride?”
She nods. “My best friend’s brother brought us. He’s driving tonight.”
“He’s a shitty brother,” I snap. “I have a little sister too, Hayley. And I can assure you, if I brought her here to hang out, which I never would, by the way, but if I did, she and her friend would be on my arm the whole damn time, not being given freedom to hit on men they have no business hitting on.”
“I just…” Her eyes literally water.
I made her cry! This is why I have a bad reputation. Because word spreads that I make chicks cry.