Chapter 22
Bailey
I crammed half a slice of gooey cheese, Canadian bacon, and pineapple into my mouth with a half-starved groan.
“Ew,” Iris said, wrinkling her nose.
I hummed happily while I chewed and swallowed. “You’ve got no taste. If my girl Nova were here, she’d tell you that the tang of the pineapple complements the saltiness of the Canadian bacon, and—”
“Makes your spunk taste better?” Sebastian cut in.
“Ew again,” Iris said.
She sat on a workbench in Owen’s storage unit, combat boots swinging under a schoolgirl-style plaid skirt. Seb prowled the space restlessly. He picked up a wrench from the toolbox and examined it before dropping it back in with a clang.
I’d been here for hours, working to finish the nitrous oxide injection install. Between Flynn’s visit, classes, and lab work I was already late on, I’d been behind schedule.
When Iris and Seb heard why I couldn’t meet up for dinner, they’d brought the pizza to me. By then, I was done except for some cleanup, but I was happy to kick back and feed the gnawing hole in my stomach.
I smirked. “At least I have a good reason to be eating pineapple these days.”
Iris chuckled. “Good for you, boo.”
This time, Sebastian was the one to grimace. Probably remembering the moment he returned to a room that smelled like sex last Friday.
“Wait, who’s Nova?” he asked. “I thought you were gay.”
“I am. She’s my girlfriend from high school.”
“Wait, what?”
He looked adorably confused, his forehead all creased. I glanced at Iris. “You want to explain this one to him?”
She grinned sharply. “Seb, honey, dear sweet child. Not everyone knows their sexuality immediately. Or sometimes, they do, but they’re not ready to share it with the world.
Sometimes, they date someone of the opposite sex because it’s expected or because it’s easier than explaining why they won’t.
There’s many, many reasons Bailey might have dated Nova. ”
“She mostly knew it wasn’t real,” I said. “It was convenient for both of us, and we were best friends anyway, so…” I shrugged. “If I could have loved that girl, I would have. She had great taste in pizza.”
“You keep in touch with her?” Iris asked.
“We text and stuff, but we’re both in school. She’s nearly done with an associate’s degree in Riverton, and next year, she’s transferring to Mizzou, so we don’t see each other a lot.”
“Too bad,” she murmured.
“Yeah, I miss her. Miss everyone from back home.”
“I don’t,” Iris said. “I couldn’t wait to escape my mother. She was always hovering, wanting to know everything I did every minute.”
“You had parents who loved you,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m a privileged brat,” she said with a guilty expression.
I’d told her about my upbringing, so she knew my mom—a high school girl who had a baby at sixteen—had tried to raise me but given it up as a bad job while I was still in diapers. She’d dumped me into the system, and I got placed with the Forresters.
I’d tried to track her down when I was eighteen.
Found out she’d married a rich guy, moved to California, and popped out three more kids.
She’d never thought I was worth coming back for, so I’d let go of my childish fantasy that my mother had wanted me and just couldn’t find a way to be there for me.
Maybe she thought giving me up was for the best, but she hadn’t looked back.
If she’d made that decision when I was a newborn, I’d have been adopted easily.
But as a toddler, I went into foster care instead.
It probably didn’t help that I was a little hellion for a while, acting out because I didn’t understand where my mom had gone.
I got lucky, really. My foster mom was great, and she showered me with love. She endured my tantrums and stayed patient until I began to forget the woman who’d left me behind.
The Forresters were the only parents I knew, and my foster bros were the only family I needed.
I checked my phone, but I had no new notifications after letting Owen know I’d finished the job. “I guess we can go. Owen hasn’t hit me back.”
“I don’t get why you’re helping this asshole,” Seb burst out. “He tried to jump us.”
I wiped my hands on a napkin. I’d washed them before eating, but I didn’t have the industrial cleaner we had at home, so grease still stained my nails.
“My helping him is what convinced the guy not to jump us.”
“Sure, the first time,” Seb said. “But not now. So what’s your deal? I know it can’t be a crush because you’ve got that giant badass for a boyfriend.”
Iris snorted with amusement. “Owen better hope he doesn’t get jealous.”
Seb grinned. “I’d pay to see that punk knocked on his ass.”
Owen stepped through the open roll-up door. “This punk is wondering why there’s a pizza party happening in his storage unit.”
“Bailey was hungry,” Iris said. “If you’re gonna make him work his ass off for you, the least you could do is feed him.”
“I’m not a pet,” I protested. “I can feed myself.”
Owen grabbed up Seb’s plate, containing a slice of meat lovers pizza, from his trunk. “This car is not a fucking table.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want to take a break because I know the drag race is tonight.”
“Fuck yes, it’s tonight,” Owen said, eyes hot. “You promised me you’d have this fucker ready by yesterday.”
“Well, it’s ready now,” I said.
“What if there’s a problem with it working?” he challenged.
“There won’t be. I stand by my work.”
“There better not be,” he said flatly, turning to look at his car. “But just in case there is, you’re coming to this fucking drag race with me.”
“That’s not really my scene,” I said carefully.
He turned with a feral grin. “It is tonight. You’ll be my pit crew. Grab your tools. If anything, and I mean anything, is off, you’re going to fix the problem for me.”
“This is a bad idea, Bailey,” Iris said.
“I’m with her,” Seb answered. “You’ve more than paid this douche back.”
Owen cast him an unimpressed look. “Nobody asked the peanut gallery.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. I knew it was a bad idea, but I had put a lot of work into this car, and I wouldn’t hate seeing how it performed.
Call it curiosity or ego, but I couldn’t resist the idea of this car winning, my skill setting it apart from all the others out there. It would be almost as good as being in the driver’s seat myself.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
“Yes!” Owen crowed.
“Bailey,” Iris said, a warning in her tone. “This guy is just using you. You need to be careful. Drag racing is illegal.”
“I know.” I shot a look at Owen. “I’ll come because I blew my deadline, and you want some reassurance there won’t be any problems. But there won’t be because I’m a badass.”
Owen laughed. “You sure as fuck are. Come on. Grab what you need and let’s go. You can ride with me.”
“My car is right outside.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t want extra vehicles drawing attention to the festivities, so you’re with me.”
I tossed my keys to Iris. “Can you?”
“Sure. I rode over with Seb.”
“Maybe we should come to this drag race too,” Seb suggested.
“You’re not invited,” Owen said. “But feel free to clean up this place for Bailey. We gotta go.”
I packed up my toolbox and put it in the trunk. Owen slid behind the steering wheel and started up the car, his headlights lighting up Iris and Seb in front of it.
He revved the engine, making Seb jump.
I yanked open the passenger door and dropped into the bucket seat. “Don’t be an asshole.”
“Don’t know any other way to be,” he said. “It’s my burden to bear.”
“Yeah, right, you’re really suffering,” I said as he shifted the car into reverse and shot out of the storage unit. He whipped the wheel to the right, barely missing Monarch’s fender, making me cringe, and shifted gears to speed toward the exit.
“Once we’re on the highway, I’m gonna open this fucker up and make sure that nitrous oxide injector worked.”
I placed a hand on the dash as he accelerated well beyond the speed limit, even on residential streets.
“Slow the fuck down before you kill a pedestrian,” I said. “It’s risky to use the nitrous oxide too many times. It’ll put strain on the engine.”
He eased up on the gas pedal a smidge but shot me a glare. “Are you telling me I can’t even test it?”
Ideally, I’d want to test any repair I made. I’d cut this one too close to the wire, though.
“If you use it now, you risk damaging your car before you ever race.”
He swore and slapped the steering wheel. “What the fuck, man?”
“The system requires a precise fuel-to-nitrous mixture. Even if you’ve got enough fuel to manage that, your engine generates extra heat during a nitrous oxide run.”
“So I could overheat,” he said.
“Yep. Plus, it’s going to strain your engine. You don’t want to prolong that. I did a tune-up to be sure your car could handle the stress, but you don’t want to overdo it.”
“Great,” he said sarcastically.
Owen couldn’t use the nitrous oxide, but that didn’t stop him from flooring the floor pedal on the highway. There was very little traffic on a Thursday night, and he let out a whoop as the needle hit 100 miles per hour.
I laughed, exhilarated by the speed and the wind whipping through the rolled-down windows.
“This is just a taste of what racing is like!” Owen called over the wind noise.
Adrenaline shot through me, and there was no denying I liked the thrill of all that speed. But it wasn’t about controlling the machine for me; it was about creating it.
“This baby is driving smooth as hell,” Owen said as he finally slowed down. “What did you do?”
I grinned. “Just a few tweaks to enhance performance.”
“Fuck, I wish I was gay so I could kiss you,” he joked.
“Then I’d have to kick your ass.”
“You?” Owen chuckled. “Not your boyfriend?”
“He could break you without trying,” I said. “But I’d save him the trouble.”
Owen laughed. “Harsh, man! Harsh.”
It was true, though. I’d never put Flynn in the position of using violence for my sake again. Not after what he’d been through. Not knowing the guilt he still carried.
But I’d happily smack the smirk off Owen’s face if he gave me reason to.