Chapter 12
“Tally! We have to go!”Hayes yelled from the doorway to the house. I’d only just washed the paint from my hair and my hands, but at least the primer coat of the plasterboard was done. I was enjoying renovating the house; there was something satisfying about it. It also gave me something to focus on in the long, lonely evenings, like Googling how to use a nail gun without piercing vital body parts, or studying how to recess lights. Between that and reading about all the shit I was probably going to fuck up once the baby was born, I was distracted from the past that haunted me.
Right now, though, I was trying on ten different dresses to decide which one made me look less pregnant. If everything went right, I could converge my old life with my new one, and create something better for me and the baby.
Huffing a frustrated sigh, I threw on a floral dress and pinned my hair up. Realistically, they’d either want me for my driving skills, or not at all. Slipping my feet into sandals, I grabbed a denim jacket and rushed out of the house.
Locking up, I met Hayes on the front porch. He was grinning, as if he hadn’t just hollered at me like a fisherman’s wife. “You look beautiful,” he said, his eyes sliding over me quickly before meeting mine again. “Are you ready? Because if you aren’t, I’m stuffing you into the car anyway. We’re running behind schedule.”
Pit crew mechanics, man. They were all about being on time. I held up my hands. “No need for stuffing anyone anywhere. I’m ready. Lead the way.”
Hayes turned, and I took a moment to really take him in. He was so fucking handsome and kept himself in great shape. His ass was the kind you wanted to sink your nails into, while you held on for dear life as he dicked you right into the mattress. He was wearing classic blue jeans that looked well loved but still neat, and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up as a concession to the summer heat. He looked like the kind of boy you took home to your mama, and she’d tell you what a sweet man he was.
And after you finished your Georgia peach pie, he’d take you home and eat your pie.
Something low in my body clenched, and I groaned. He looked over his shoulder, but I quickly schooled my features. I had to get my head in the game, right now, or I was going to fuck up this chance.
As if to bamboozle my libido in a tandem attack, Jesse appeared. He was dressed in all black. Black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black boots. The only colorful things about him were the tattoos running across his exposed skin. He was holding a bottle of wine, and Norton was looking at him pitifully from the front window.
While Hayes’s eyes had taken me in quickly, Jesse’s gaze was like a caress as it slid down my body, taking in my curves, the spot where my hem brushed the middle of my thighs, even my feet, before traveling back to my face. “You look nice.”
I snorted at the faint praise. “Thanks, Jesse. You both look good too. Now let’s go, so I don’t make a terrible first impression.”
“Your first impression was at an illegal street race. I’m not sure you can change that now,” Hayes teased. “But we can get you there for a good second impression.”
We slid into his car, though I had to insist I sat in the back seat. I couldn’t even imagine Jesse trying to fold his legs into the space in the back. These muscle cars weren’t really made to be people movers.
Antony Barbieri and his family lived in an area that was so rich, we went through two security checks, got ticked off a list, and had to hand over our ID before we were let in. It would probably have been easier to get into Fort Knox.
The houses were few and far between, all surrounded by high fences and sprawling lawns. Honestly, there was rich, and there was whatever the hell the VANT owners were. Obscenely wealthy. I assumed that was why Antony Barbieri could just wake up one morning and decide he wanted to start a very costly racing team from scratch.
We pulled up to a small camera, which I think scanned Hayes’s face, before letting us in. “Welcome, Hayes Davis,” it said in a robotic voice, and I gaped as Hayes rolled down the driveway.
“Sometimes, I forget they made their money in tech,” Jesse grumbled. “That’s some science-fiction bullshit.” I couldn’t agree more.
As we pulled up to a spot, a valet came over and collected the keys from Hayes, who eyed him warily. The guest parking was a mish-mash between pick-ups and SUVs, though there was one shiny red Ferrari parked amongst them, like a diamond in a pig pen.
We walked up the beautiful steps to a house that was far more earthy than I’d expected, especially compared to the other houses in the area. Wood, glass and concrete sat together in architectural chaos, but somehow managed to work.
Vanessa Sumich, Antony’s partner, answered the door barefoot, in a beautiful dress that flowed behind her. Her hair was beginning to gray, and somehow, it only added to her beauty. She was gorgeous.
“Hayes! It’s good to see you again.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, like they were old friends and not employer-employee. Then she stepped back, reaching out a hand toward me. “And you must be Tally. I’ve heard a lot about you over the past few weeks, and I saw you race. Very impressive.”
I wasn’t sure if she meant she’d seen race footage of me, or she was referring to the recent, slightly illegal street racing, but I didn’t press. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Sumich.”
Waving a hand, she turned to Jesse last. “Mr. Banks, thank you for coming also.”
Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Thank you for inviting me, Ms. Sumich, though I’m not sure why you did. Hayes and I aren’t a couple.”
I looked over at Jesse like he’d lost his goddamn mind, and Hayes’s eyes were almost as wide as his mouth.
The elegant woman in front of us threw back her head and snort-laughed. “Oh my goodness. Well, you know what they say—never say never.” She gave us an outrageous wink. “You’re still very welcome. Please, come in, all of you.” She was still chuckling, and I gave Jesse a what the fuck look.
He shrugged unapologetically, and Hayes elbowed him in the ribs, but we pulled it together as we were led through the house.
And holy shit, what a house. It had vaulted ceilings and huge windows, with so much light, it was like being bathed in sunshine. There was gentle art on the walls, in a color palette that was earthy and neutral. The place was like a warm hug; you could do cartwheels across the kitchen floor, but also snuggle down in front of the fireplace—which was kind of unnecessary in California, aside for aesthetics.
Finally, we stepped through the open back doors, onto a deck that was humming with people. Vanessa disappeared to get us some drinks, and we made our way further into the crowd. Some faces I recognized from my time in the sport, like Ari Rome, who was surrounded by people like he was holding court. A few other faces I recognized from my time coming up in NASCAR, but honestly, the progression of both sports was vastly different.
One face I hadn’t expected to see was that of the bassist from my favorite masked rock band. I nudged Hayes. “Holy shit, it’s Poet, from The Daymakers.” It wasn’t like he was wearing the mask right now, but they’d recently revealed their identities, because of doxxing or some shit. This was why the world couldn’t have nice things.
It was also how I knew that Poet was Moss Aguilar, son of one of the biggest names in Formula One driving history. He was making conversation with someone I couldn’t see, his arm around a girl I knew was his partner, Charlotte. If their interviews were true, she was the girlfriend of the entire band. Lucky bitch.
Actually, I’d recently discovered that the VANT owners were also known polyamorists. Maybe that was why Vanessa had assumed that me, Hayes and Jesse were all one big love triangle. Boy, they couldn’t be more wrong, but I let myself imagine for a moment, a world where I could have them both without ruining our burgeoning friendship.
Then I snorted. I couldn’t maintain a relationship with one man, let alone two.
“Want to go introduce yourself?” Hayes murmured to me.
Fuck no. But Hayes was already dragging me along, stepping to the outside of their little group. I cast a panicked look over at Jesse, who was leaning back against the railing, looking amused.
“...it would mean a lot to the foundation if you could just come to one session. No pressure, though,” Moss Aguilar was saying to someone in the group.
When I saw who they were talking to, my feet stopped dead, like I was knee-deep in quicksand. They were talking to freaking Rocco Passero. The Rocco Passero was right here, right in front of me, next to one of my favorite music artists of all time.
“Breathe,” a soft voice said to me, and I looked up into the beautiful face of Charlotte. Or Dreamer, as the fans knew her. “If you pass out at their feet, you’ll give them even bigger egos than they already have.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I looked everywhere but at the two men in front of me. The ground needed to open up and drop me into the abysmal pits of mortification forever. I continued to stare at Charlotte. “Do you think I can blame it on the pregnancy brain?”
She laughed, giving me a conspiratorial nod. “I think so, yes.” Her eyes dropped briefly to my stomach, then back up again.
A hand appeared in my peripheral vision. “Hi, I’m Moss. It’s nice to meet you…?”
Sucking in another deep breath, I shook his hand and forced a smile that I hoped wasn’t as awkward as it felt. “Tally Palmer.”
Hayes stuck out his hand too. “Hayes Davis. A mechanical engineer over at VANT Racing. Nice to meet you. And you too, Mr. Passero.”
“I bet it is,” Rocco Passero crooned, like he was talking to a child.
Hmm.I frowned, doing my best dumb blonde look. “Rocco Passero. Your name sounds familiar. Are you in the music industry too?” I fluttered my lashes in slow swoops. “What’s your band’s name?”
Hayes was looking at me like I’d lost my mind now, but I didn’t like the snarky way Rocco had replied to him. My Hayes, who was kindness personified. Nuh-uh.
Charlotte made a noise, but when I looked over at her, she was keeping it together. However, her eyes were sparkling, like she was about to explode with laughter.
Rocco frowned. “I’m not in a band.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Well, keep at it. You never know when you’ll make it.”
That was too much for Charlotte, who choked out a laugh halfway through sipping her champagne, and spat it back into her glass like a small fountain.
Moss looked amused. “Rocco here is in Formula One. Well, formerly in Formula One. I don’t believe he has any musical talent whatsoever.”
“Oh, wow. I used to race karts when I was a kid. My dad was a NASCAR fan,” I said to Moss, and he must have caught on to Charlotte’s amusement, because he decided to play along.
“Really? I run a foundation that gives kids in low socioeconomic areas the opportunity to learn racing skills and achieve sponsorships.”
This time, I didn’t have to feign my interest. “Your father was a racer, right?” I could feel Rocco’s eyes on the side of my face. Oops, might have just given away my hand, but whatever.
Moss nodded, smiling sadly. I felt like a dick, but it was a pain I could relate to. The pain didn’t go away just because you didn’t say their name.
Hayes gave him a sympathetic look. “Arguably one of the best of all time.” He flicked his eyes quickly at Rocco, who definitely fit into that category but didn’t need any further inflating of his ego.
“You run your foundation here in California?” I asked, but Moss shook his head again.
“No, over on the East Coast, but I’m working with VANT to set up a satellite foundation on this side. I was just asking this guy if he wanted to get on board, help out a little.”
What I would’ve given to have had a foundation like Moss’s when I was a kid, rather than my father working himself into an early grave to pay for all the things I needed. “Let me know if you need any help. I’m happy to get out there with the kids and give them pointers.”
Rocco raised a perfect, dark eyebrow. Goddamn, he was handsome. “And why would he want the girlfriend of a mechanic to help teach children to kart?”
What a pompous ass.I gave him a tight smile. “Sorry, maybe I didn’t introduce myself properly. Tally Palmer, NASCAR driver.” I leaned forward. “That’s the one where you actually have to be a better driver than the person next to you, not just have the best car.”
The corners of his lips quirked. He reached out and gripped my hand, lifting it to his lips. “I didn’t introduce myself properly either. Rocco Passero, the best Formula One driver in history.” He brushed barely a whisper of a kiss across my knuckles. “But I assume you knew that already.”
I shrugged. “You know what they say about assuming.”
Charlotte was belly-laughing now, looking up at Moss. “Poet, can we keep her?” She hooked an arm in mine. “Come on, let’s leave the testosterone behind and go get some of those fancy little pastry puff things.”