Chapter 3
Chapter Three
TESSA
“Should we get a shot to celebrate?” Quinn wiggles her eyebrows up and down with a glimmer of rebellion in her eyes.
I grin. “Just one?”
Quinn flips her auburn hair from her shoulder and turns toward the flirty bartender. “Three lemon drops please.”
She peeks back at me. “Each.”
“You’ve got it, beautiful.” He winks at Quinn and makes our drinks, despite the long line of men waiting to order.
I move off to the side and gaze around our favorite bar.
It’s not on the strip, so instead of the vast space being filled with tourists going wild while on vacation, it's packed full of UNLV students. I’ve lived in Vegas the majority of my life, unlike most of those on the strip and in the F1 world.
It’s unusual for an F1 team to reside in the United States, but leave it to my father to be the first.
As soon as he made the break from Pierce, off to the US we went.
We’ve been here ever since. He’s built Vanstone Racing from the bottom up, and as of yesterday, it’s all up to Van, Noah, Graham, Beck, and me to keep things steady within.
My brothers’ positions remain the same, but I’ve gotten an upgrade.
A promotion, if you will.
Tessa Halston, Vanstone Race Engineer.
It has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?
Beck nearly had an aneurysm at the table with my father’s announcement, but I think that had more to do with him than it did with me.
My brothers and I know the racing world inside and out. People say it’s in our DNA, but that’s because it’s truly all we’ve ever known.
The five of us are a walking encyclopedia of all things F1 related, but each with our own niche.
Van is the main race engineer for Noah, who is one of the best drivers of his time–minus Rome Pierce, who I like to pretend doesn’t exist. Beck is our reserve driver, and in his terms, that means he’s not good enough.
In reality, it means he’s who will drive for Vanstone if Noah ever gets injured.
Then you have Graham, who is an absolute wizard in the garage.
And last but not least, there’s me.
Vanstone’s Princess, as the media likes to reference me as.
I shouldn’t complain.
It’s a helluva lot better than what the other teams call me, which is Pit Porn.
Disgusting pigs.
But now, I have the opportunity to prove myself.
The only thing missing is a second driver, one more seasoned than Beck—something he is incredibly bitter about.
“Congrats, bestie.” A lemon drop appears in front of my face, and I greedily take it.
The kick of liquor hits the back of my throat after the tangy lemon, and I finish it off by licking the sugar from the rim.
“And another.” Quinn tips her head back and takes her second shot, and I follow suit.
By the third one, I’m wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, the burn of vodka settling in my lower stomach.
“To you, my little overachiever.” Quinn bumps shoulders with me, and I laugh.
“I’m not an overachiever. Just the same ol’ Tessa who spends her days picking through data and tweaking sims.”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “You are too. In high school, you wrote your senior thesis arguing that women have just as much right to be on the racetrack as men do, and I recall you ending your presentation with a promise of being there one day.”
I pause. Okay, fine. Maybe she’s right.
“I prefer the term go-getter.”
Quinn’s mouth turns up. “A powerhouse.”
“A prodigy.”
A laugh-like snort leaves us both, but then she turns somber.
“How’s Beck?” she asks.
I lift a brow. “You’re concerned about Beck?”
My brother and Quinn have been neck and neck since the moment she and I became best friends. He constantly picks on her, even now that we’re adults, and she religiously tells him to fuck off.
Their friendship, or non-friendship, has turned from childish pranks to Beck banning the entire senior class from pursuing her. Now, he constantly hits on her just to piss her off.
Beck is only nineteen months older than me, but he acts years younger.
I’m honestly surprised he isn’t here, bouncing around from uni girl to uni girl. They’re obsessed with him, especially when he tells them that he drives an F1 car for a living.
I have a hunch that he uses them to fulfill his need for adrenaline.
Beck makes reckless decisions, both on and off the track.
“I’m not concerned about Beck,” Quinn argues. “I’m just wondering if we’re going to have to drag him out of here as he drowns his sorrows from remaining the reserve driver.”
I sigh. “There’s a good chance.”
Quinn grabs onto my hand and drags me onto the dance floor. “Enough about Beck,” she shouts. “Let’s dance!”
The alcohol sloshes in my lower belly, loosening me up just enough to follow after my best friend. She’s always been the fun one of our duo, never hesitating to toe the line of rebellion, and on nights like tonight, I have a commitment to do the same.
After all, I am celebrating.
“Say it louder, Quinnnnnn. Enough about Beck.”
Quinn and I turn abruptly toward the instigator himself. His pale-green eyes are glassy, and half of his drink sloshes over the rim of his cup, landing on the floor between us.
My shoulders drop. “Beck, you’re wasted.”
He scoffs. “You’re the one who just downed three shots.”
I narrow my gaze. “Are you spying on me?”
Beck’s lazy gaze shifts to Quinn.
She crosses her arms. “He’s probably spying on me. Did you already threaten all the men in here not to touch me with a six-foot pole? Making up some excuse that I have herpes or something?”
Beck’s lip twists before he puts the cup of liquor up to his mouth.
“I hate you,” she mutters before ramming her shoulder into his on her way past.
He stumbles and follows it with a chuckle, longingly watching her go.
I step closer to him and snap my fingers in his face.
He turns back toward me. “I’m not spying on you. I was here first.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” I laugh sarcastically. “How much have you had to drink?”
He hums. “None of your business.” Then he bops me on the nose and grabs a random girl to dance with.
Ugh.
I weave in and out of the crowd and head for a quiet corner. I pull my phone out of my pocket and start a new group chat with my other brothers, sans Beck.
Me
911
As soon as I fire off the message, I change the group chat name to clue them in.
Sober Siblings Only
Van
No.
I quickly text back with my location, and a yes.
Noah leaves the group.
No sooner does a huff leave me than Noah texts me separately.
Noah
I’m not sober, so I can’t be in that group.
Me
I switch back to the group text and see that the name was changed.
Another One Bites the Dust
Graham
Do I have to? Can’t you handle it?
I skip my eyes past my phone screen to search for Beck in the crowd. The last I saw, he was nuzzling some blonde’s neck with his hands on her hips.
Come out, come out wherever you are.
After I come up empty-handed, I go back to my phone.
Me
If I have to go search for him and find him in the bathroom with some girl, I’m going to throw up the three celebratory shots I had.
Graham adds Noah to the group
Noah changes the name of the group
Two Drunk Siblings and Two Responsible Siblings
I look to the ceiling and sigh.
Me
Stop changing the name of the group text and get here to help me before Beck makes a fool of himself or worse…gets arrested!
The last thing our family needs right now is extra stress. Why can’t Beck understand that?
Graham
Fine. I’m on my way.
I sag with relief.
Thank you.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and look for Quinn.
I find her, but I also find Beck, and his hands aren’t around that blonde’s waist any longer.
Instead, they’re around some guy’s throat.