38. Dane
38
DANE
I don’t do small talk, so I stand far away from the security cop posted outside the entrance, hands shoved into my pockets as I wait. And wait. And wait.
Checking the time on my phone, I refrain from sighing. I don’t know what’s taking so long. Just as I’m about to pace around the building, I spot a purple car pulling into the lot.
With a brief thanks for not subjecting me to fucking small talk nod, I make my way over just as she gives me a tiny wave and ducks inside the DMV with her evaluator. It’s a good sign. She’s probably getting her photo taken since we get our license in the mail, but I wait until she returns and get my confirmation the moment I see her face.
Her eyes brim with excitement as she shrieks, “I passed!”
“Fuck yeah, you passed!” I snort when she high-fives me. “I’m a good teacher, huh?”
“The best, Mr. Self-Taught.” Her excitement is immeasurable. Her beam is brighter than the summer sun and elicits a stupid grin from me in response. She’s so ecstatic that she bounces on her feet and captures the attention of the man exiting the building just then. Her tight sweater leaves nothing to the imagination, and the dumbass has the audacity to ogle her instead of walking off the curb and straight into oncoming traffic.
I level him with a hard glare, and he has the smarts to divert his gaze to his wristwatch when he notices my expression. I’d rather he look directly into the sun until his retinas burn out, but at least he’s not perving on my girl anymore.
Reese touches my arm, snagging my focus. I glance sideways to catch the delicate frown forming between her brows.
Abruptly, I clear my throat and steer her toward the convertible. “Ready for your victory celebration?”
“You don’t have to spoil me,” she grumbles.
“You deserve all the onion rings and root beer in the world.”
With a sigh, her mouth tips up at the corner. “Well, at least my fiesta will have new material.”
“Then let’s look for the best onion rings in the county.”
Soon, the car’s barreling down the street at the posted speed. The top is down, the stereo is blasting cheesy bubblegum pop from her playlist, and Reese is singing along to the track.
Out of nowhere, she hits me with a pleading look. I immediately shake my head.
“I have to clear out my unread messages,” I hedge, and she snorts.
“One day, you’re gonna sing a Hollandale song with me,” she says, and I make a face while I unlock my phone. “You’ll become their biggest fan.”
A chuckle slips from me. My brow lifts a beat later. There’s a voicemail from Giancarlo, which I delete without hesitation because no fucking thanks. I’ve been tempting fate by risking my neck whenever I show my face at a meet.
I know I have. I’ve been playing with fire when I should have called it quits long ago. Walking away now before I’m inevitably dragged back into the life of street racing is the correct choice. The only way forward where I don’t get fucked over by Giancarlo at some point.
With money always on the line, Giancarlo wouldn’t hesitate to double-cross me. Not just him. There’s got to be a list of people trying to screw me over for a quick buck. Like Wally.
Definitely Wally.
I can easily picture that boot-ass motherfucker hitting his breaking point and taking out all that pent-up rage on me. Especially if he loses another race to me. His pathetic ego wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Look, it’s not my fault he’s done a shit job maintaining his vehicle. It’s as if his obnoxious car is assembled with stolen, incorrect parts welded together. You can hear how fucked up his engine belt is. A novice mechanic could do better than him.
Truth be told, he might have a chance of winning these races if he took better care of his coupe. Not that I’ll ever point that out. It’s been fun watching him fuck himself over. And he’s one of those whiny dickheads who can’t receive any advice without taking it personally. So I’ll keep my trap shut, even if it pains me deeply to see a car in that state.
Just then, a coded text pops onto my screen. I delete it, and a sense of ease dulls the restless itch ebbing within. This is a good thing , I remind myself. My girl wouldn’t be thrilled if I came back from a meet with a busted mug.
Hell, I got a bruise on my elbow the other day, and she wouldn’t stop fretting over me. Even when I swore up and down it was a dumbass move on my part. The hood of my fastback swung down on me, and I tried to block it instead of getting out of harm’s way.
So, there’s one very good reason why I have to end this now. It’s not like I need the money. Nor do I owe Giancarlo anything.
He just misses me because I was his best driver. A sure bet.
Most of the people he’s collected over the years for his races are either in jail or dead. There are rarely any in-betweens. Nobody lasts long in this world, especially those whose track records carry more L’s than W’s.
And I’ve got a girl who—for reasons that make me count my blessings—cares about me. I’d like to live long enough to enjoy every waking second with her before she comes to her senses and moves on.
Abruptly, my train of thought derails. Wally returns to mind as I recall his idiot friends trying to cut me off in their piss-poor attempt to help him win. Could that fucking tool be the reason why I got the crap kicked out of me in the alleyway that night?
Were they trying to rob me? Swipe my keys to get complete access to my cars?
I need to ask around and see if anybody knows something I could work with. My best bet is to reach out to Eddie. Shyla’s got her ears everywhere, but I don’t want to chance it and accidentally get dragged into whatever game she has going on with him.
Releasing a sigh, I craft a short message, then glance sideways at my girl. She’s still beaming, and her mouth curves into something bashful when she catches me staring.
She bats her lashes as she sings along to the current pop track, and I sigh. Then she hits me with that sweet smile of hers. A groan escapes me, and after several, several seconds, I halfheartedly mumble the chorus.
“Yes!” she squeals, shimmying in her seat. “You’re the best.”
Two excruciatingly slow ballads later, we find ourselves in the parking lot. As she pulls into a spot, her expression is all sorts of shy when she realizes people are gawking at the car. I mean, it’s a purple muscle car. With a pair of fuzzy dice hanging on the rearview mirror. And the V8 engine is loud as hell.
Even so, I glower at them. They all have the self-preservation to mind their own business.
“I can take you someplace else if you’re not feeling it,” comes a soft voice, and I look over to see a startling expression of apprehension across her features.
My glare melts into a soothing grin. “I’ve already had plenty of pet store sushi for you. You know I’m down for anything else you wanna throw my way.”
She playfully swats my shoulder. “Even mozzarella sticks?”
My stomach roils at the thought, and I grimace. She breaks into giggles as she hops out of the convertible.
Inside, a wall of red roses greets us. Among the plastic flowers, gaudy neon signs blink the restaurant’s name in different cursive scripts. It’s not my scene at all.
“I can see why you like the place,” I observe, and she spares me a bright beam.
“Lili and I went here a couple of times,” she says offhandedly, and her smile falters. A note of sadness clings to her voice. “The last time we were here was for my birthday in August.”
I give her a sidelong glance. “You two still haven’t gotten over your fight yet?”
She hesitates and shakes her head, her expression turning forlorn. She hasn’t told me much about what’s going on—just mentioned that her sister wasn’t talking to her—but I figured they’d patch things up by now given how close the two are.
As it is, I want nothing more than to see her visibly vibrating with excitement again. To see that sun-bright smile overtaking her face once more.
The thing is, she won’t tell me what’s causing their riff, but I’m no fucking moron. “Is it me?”
“No!” she blurts. A little too quickly, I might add, and I bite my tongue before I call bullshit. “She still doesn’t know about you. About us . It’s… about the guy she’s seeing.”
I want to pry, but our hostess appears just then and shows us to our booth. The moment we’re seated and she’s out of earshot, I ask, “Who’s she seeing?”
Reese huffs through her nose. Her lips curl into a deep scowl as she levels an adorably menacing glare at the menu in her grasp. “An actual jerk.”
A beat skips. I prop my chin on the heel of my palm, gradually tipping my head to the side. “Now hear me out, Snack Size. I think you could find some common ground there with your sister?—”
“You’re not a jerk,” she grumbles. “My sister assumes I believe all frat guys are sleazy?—”
“Aren’t they all?”
“Caleb isn’t,” she insists, and I open my mouth only to catch myself in the nick of time. Shit. My dumbass almost revealed what the sorority girls had done.
“I don’t know, Reese’s Pieces,” I hedge. “He gives off a sleazy energy to me.” Personally, I consider him to be the fucking jerkoff extraordinaire. Tricking a sweet, harmless girl into thinking he’s into her for money is the sleaziest thing I can think of, but it’s not like I can say that out loud.
“You don’t have to be jealous of him.” Reese’s words snag my attention, and she leans over the table and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I don’t like him that way anymore.”
“I’m not threatened by him at all.” For emphasis, I scoff. “Why would I be jealous of his unremarkable ass?”
“ Dane ,” she chides. “That’s not nice. I picked you; not him. You . I wouldn’t be dating you if I were still into him.”
“I know.” I can’t help the smug half-smile at the edge of my lips. “But he’s still a sleaze.”
She heaves out a quiet sigh and settles back in her seat. When she tugs at the collar of her turtleneck sweater, my gaze flies up to the ceiling. The A/C doesn’t seem to reach us.
After a moment’s hesitation, she peers at me and nibbles on her bottom lip. “Can you help me with my shirt?”
“Off?” I tease, bringing an infinitesimal twitch to her mouth.
“Hold it down while I take my sweater off,” she clarifies as she comes over to my end.
“Offer’s always on the table,” I say slyly, allowing my hands to skim her hips for a lingering beat before I rein it in and behave. My smirk broadens at the sight of staticky hair the moment she shrugs her turtleneck off.
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you ,” I behaved long enough. Running my thumb along the lacy hem of her top, my fingers flirt with the strip of soft skin revealed. “Do you always wear something like this?”
“Hmm?” She peeks down and smooths out a wrinkle on the thin fabric. “I guess? Most of my clothes are from high school?—”
“Good thing we didn’t know each other back then,” I comment. “One look at you, and I would have followed you around?—”
Her snort is anything but dignified. “One, I’m from New Mexico. We weren’t even in the same state, let alone the same zip code. Two, I wear them under a jacket or a sweater. Three, you wouldn’t have noticed me.”
“That’s like saying a flower wouldn’t notice the damn ass sun.” When she rolls her eyes, I tack on, “I’m not blind, baby. I would have noticed the hot babe on campus.”
With a tittering laugh, she returns to her seat. It doesn’t last, though. Trepidation forms in her eyes as her gaze flits around the restaurant. Her hand toys with her necklace. It’s not hard to miss her trying to shield her scar from plain sight.
“My girlfriend’s a smoke show,” I say, and her focus snaps to me. “Goddamn, I could look at you all day like a painting in one of those museums you like.”
A slow-breaking smile takes to her face, and she ducks behind her menu. “You are so cheesy.”
“Like those awful, greasy cheese sticks, baby.” I toss her a wink when she peeks over the cardstock, and she giggles.
“Which they do not have.”
“Pity. Guess we’ll have to settle with pet store sushi,” I tease, and she snorts again. Soon enough, her body no longer appears stiff. The tension subsides from her shoulders and is long gone by the time our waitress arrives.
After ordering a bunch of appetizers, I pretend not to notice her sneaking a picture of me. She can take hundreds of them if it’ll keep that smile on her face. Unfortunately, it dims far too quickly.
“You thinking about your sister again?” I ask, and she nods. “If she’s anything like you?—”
“She’s not.”
“Because she’s a social butterfly?”
“She is, but…” Her fingers drum on the counter as she considers her words. “Lili’s kind of… a hothead. Very headstrong. A bit temperamental. She can really hold a grudge, so you never want to get on her bad side.”
“And you two are related?” I deadpan, earning a disapproving frown.
“She can be sweet, in her own way,” Reese says, coming to her defense like the nice girl she is. “She’s always been a mama bear, but it’s been so much worse since…” Her hand touches her neck. “I don’t like how she flips out over everything I’ve done. It’s just… I can’t even blame her. I know she’s just worried about me. It doesn’t help that she thinks I’m too trusting and na?ve.”
“Yeah, you are a little too trusting and na?ve,” I say bluntly, and a flash of hurt etches across her features. “Do you make it a habit of letting strangers crash on your springy futon?”
With a sniff, she looks me dead in the eye. “Would you have rather I called the cops?”
Well, damn. “Touché.”
“My sister would have if she were the one who found you that night…” Her sentence dwindles. “But I… I guess… I figured the moment I dialed 911, you would have bolted or something and gotten more hurt…” She swallows thickly and picks at her nails. “You could barely stand. And… I… took your keys as insurance so that you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Maybe I was acting?” I counter. “What would you have done then?”
“You were bleeding pretty badly. I don’t think anyone can act out a bunch of flesh wounds,” she says flatly, and a look of genuine worry makes a reappearance and goes straight to my heart. “I wish you went to the hospital?—”
“I know a guy.” I offer her a casual shrug, but her expression doesn’t let up.
With a slow intake of breath, she fixes me with an inscrutable stare. “Be honest with me,” she whispers, taking hold of my gaze.
Something prickles along my neck as she says nothing. It feels like I’m under a spotlight with how inquisitive her eyes become as they search mine. My spine straightens the longer the silence swells between us, and I don’t know if I should be worried she might ask something I can’t answer truthfully.
Swallowing audibly, she drops her voice to the lowest register. “Are you in a gang?”
I blink out of my thoughts, and she winces. Then I let loose a roughened laugh as my relief almost tears me in half. “Fuck. You think I’m in a gang?”
A hint of red splashes onto her cheeks. “I just need to know if I’m dating?—”
“Baby, you’re hilarious.” I wipe away an imaginary tear. “You really thought I was in one? I can barely stand to be around people. What makes you think I would want to work with them?”
Her flush darkens. Leaning forward, she clears her throat. “Then why are you afraid of the police?”
“I’m not afraid of the police.” She raises a brow, and I hesitate, then sigh. “My father. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Is he a cop?”
“Nah. Lawyer.”
“For criminals?”
“For anyone who can afford him,” I say blandly, flashing her a wry grimace. “He knows a lot of law enforcement through his line of work.”
“Oh.” She wears a thoughtful frown. “What about your mom?”
“Are you asking if she was a criminal lawyer?”
“What was she like?” Reese clarifies.
“Like any mom.” I lift a shoulder. I want to redirect the conversation, but it’s clear from her expression that she wants me to continue. “She was a good mom. She went to all of my hockey games and volunteered for plenty of bake sales. Sometimes, she’d take me on late-night drives to get chocolates when she thought I was having a bad day. Every summer, we’d go to London to visit family.”
“London?” Shock colors her tone as she gasps.
“Yeah. Hammersmith,” I confirm. “My mom’s English.”
“Your mom?” she echoes. “Not mum ?” Her grin is heavy with a tease.
“Forgive me, Reese, you’re right,” I reply, slipping into an English accent, and her eyes glitter with delight. “Nah. Mom. I’m, first and foremost, an American. Besides, she lived in the States for quite some time before I was even in the picture.”
“When was the last time you went to London?”
“It’s… been a while,” I admit. “I haven’t been there since she…”
“Oh.” She reaches over and grabs my hand. “I’m sorry. Your dad never took you back?”
“Nah.” I watch her stroke my knuckle and try not to clench my jaw. “He never went with us—even back when she was still alive. My father was always too busy with work. I don’t think it ever occurred to him we weren’t home for weeks until we called him for a ride home from the airport. Even then, he’d send someone else to fetch us.”
“I’m sorry.” She links our fingers together and offers me a remorseful smile.
“It didn’t bother me as much as it bothered my mom. You know, she gave up her career for my father. Ignored her family’s warnings and stayed here for him. She did everything for him, and he—” A dry laugh escapes me. Something bitter worms its way through my chest when I remember all the countless nights my mom would drink her sorrows away. “Reese’s Pieces, don’t you ever settle for someone who won’t make the fucking time for you.”
“I don’t think?—”
“Promise me that. Never fucking settle for anyone unworthy of your presence.”
Finding my gaze, she taps her ankle against mine. “As I was trying to say, I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.” Her lips curve into something sweet. “I’m all in with you.”
My throat closes up tight as I take in the gentle flush spreading across her cheekbones. The way her eyes crinkle. The tendril of hair that always needs to be clipped back or else it falls into her face.
“That’s fair.” My voice is low when I find it. “You could have settled for Blue Balls and his whiny music.”
With a long-suffering groan, she unhooks her ankle from mine. “He has a name.”
I flash her an innocent smile. “Blue?—”
“I’ve seen your mom’s movies before,” she interjects, and my brow raises. “Um… I recognized her face at the bougie shop you took me to.”
Huh. I forgot they had a picture of her on the wall. I guess I should be surprised, but I’m also not shocked by her confession. My girl likes to watch the most random movies. She once gave me a detailed recap of a historical lesbian drama she watched, only to then follow it up with an essay-worthy amount of information about some zany Western comedy she wanted me to see.
“You have?”
“Yeah. She was in a couple of these period films I watched multiple times growing up,” she explains. “I always wondered what happened to her— before she passed away. I was sort of bummed when I found out she stopped making movies.”
“Gave up her career for a man who couldn’t even wait to marry someone else the moment her ashes were scattered,” I supply flatly.
Sympathy etches into her features. “How long did he wait?”
“A year,” I grit out. “Fucking disrespectful.” My gaze cuts to the ceiling as a wave of bitterness ripples through me, and I pull in a sharp breath when she squeezes my fingers. My line of sight shifts to her face as the pad of her thumb circles my knuckles.
“You really do love her,” she begins, her attention raptly focused on our joined hands. “I think your mom would be so happy to know what a great guy you turned out to be.”
“I thought I was dangerous,” I mutter, my words rough. It feels as though the inside of my throat has been sandpapered dry.
Her head shakes. “You’re many things, Dane Kingsley. Dangerous isn’t one of them. You’re supportive. Protective. Selfless?—”
“I’m selfish as fuck.”
“Dane, you let your friend crash at your apartment,” she points out. “You let him come and go as he pleases.”
“Like a cat,” I deadpan, and the corner of her lips tilts up.
“You watch movies I know you don’t like for me,” she continues. “You willingly enter an art museum without complaining?—”
“So, I’m nice to the two people I care about.” My shoulder hitches. “Marco and I go way back. You’re my girl. Of course, I’m gonna treat you two better than everyone else.”
“You’re a great guy,” she says softly, her unwavering gaze chipping away my resolve. “If I have to spend the rest of my life proving to you how great you are and how lucky I am to have met you? I can think of worse things than that.”
My chest coils tighter than a rubber band. My heart gives a little thump. As I take in her sincere expression, I can’t think of anything to say or do to alleviate the tension. I can’t think of anything but how much her words mean to me. How much she means to me.
The last time I saw my father, he told me not to take for granted how lucky I am to not be dead right now. That I have more in life to be thankful for. Grateful of.
He’s right. As much as it pains me to admit, I’m looking directly at it. At her . Until she wises up and leaves me for someone better, I’ll never take any moment with the girl who saved my fucking life for granted.