Chapter Nineteen
Revel
By the time I get home from the track, shower, and stand in front of my closet trying to figure out what the fuck a man wears to dinner with the mother of the woman he’s sleeping with, obsessed with, and apparently wants to put a baby in someday, I’m already running behind.
Not late.
Just close enough to late that Cece will absolutely weaponize it if I give her the chance.
My phone is sitting on the dresser beside my wallet, showing 6:11 p.m.
Twenty minutes to the address Cece texted me.
Her mom’s house.
Plenty of time.
Except showing up empty-handed feels like a terrible fucking move, and somehow I’ve gone from a man who willingly throws himself around a racetrack at stupid speeds to standing here wondering whether Cece’s mom prefers red or white wine.
This is fucked.
I settle on black jeans and a fitted black shirt because anything more formal feels like I'm attending court, then run a hand over the short hair at the back of my head and check myself in the mirror.
Respectable enough, at least. I hope.
The tattoos on my neck aren’t exactly screaming your daughter is making excellent choices, but those aren't going anywhere.
Cece knows what she signed up for.
Well.
She’s still pretending she hasn’t signed anything, but details.
I grab my phone, helmet, and keys.
Before I make it out the door, Cece texts.
Cece: My mom made enough food to feed the entire team so come hungry.
My mouth pulls into a grin.
Me: Was planning on eating you after. Does that count?
The typing bubble appears immediately.
Cece: I am revoking your invitation.
Me: Too late mama. Already dressed.
Cece: Seven. Pendejo.