Now
CHAPTER
FOUR
Evangeline
“Evie, I can’t take this,” Jax protests.
“Of course you can.”
“You’ve worked all summer for this money.”
“Exactly. And now I get to spend it however I like. Well, I gave some of it to my mom to pay for my part of the rent, but I want everything else to go to you.”
“Your mom makes you pay rent?”
“Yeah, seventy-five dollars a month.”
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“It’s not that much,” I dismissively say. “I gave her enough for six months, and the rest is for you.”
He looks down at the small bundle of rolled-up money in my hand, then at our surroundings.
We’re at the garage his older brother works at, where they let him work on his car two afternoons a week.
School is about to start again, which means I won’t get to hang out with him as much.
But he promised we would see each other every weekend and have our lunches together as well.
“I’m not taking your money, Evie.”
“You’re not taking it. It’s an investment.”
“An investment in what?”
“In you, silly. Your career. You can pay me back when you’re a Formula One driver.”
Once again, he hesitates, staring down at the money. He scratches his head over the silk durag protecting his freshly braided hair. “You said you needed to change the exhaustion or something, right?” I ask.
“The intake and exhaust. To help with the airflow.”
“Well, there should be enough here, right? Or at least it can help. I’ll try to babysit more so I can make more money and keep helping.”
One last time, he stares at the money. “If I take this,” he reluctantly starts. “You’ll have to let me buy you your dream house when the time comes.”
My entire body practically vibrates with excitement at the thought. “A house?!”
“Yes. As a repayment.”
“Where?”
“Most Formula One drivers live in Europe, so somewhere there, I guess.”
“Could it be Italy? I’ve always wanted to go. I love pasta and pizza so much.”
“It can be anywhere you want, princess.”
“Then Italy. Will it have a pool?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
It’s my turn to look at the money I’m still holding. “I worked hard all summer for this. I deserve a pool.”
He chortles. “Then you’ll get a pool. I promise.”
Elated by the prospect, I excitedly smack the bundle in his hand and jump up to wrap my arms around his neck for a tight hug. “Thank you, Jax. I can’t wait to see the house you’ll buy for me.”
He kisses the tip of my nose and then says, “Let’s get this lady race-ready first, yeah?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
For about an hour, I assist him as he works on Winnie.
I don’t understand much of what he’s doing, but he taught me the names of the different tools he uses.
So, whenever he needs one, all he has to do is ask, and I provide.
I’m starting to understand more and more how cars work, though, because he explains everything as he goes.
I’m not sure if it’s for me or for himself—to make sure he isn’t messing it up—but I enjoy the sound of his voice, and I like learning new things, so I don’t mind either way.
Whenever he isn’t sure about something, he asks his brother, Isaiah, for some help. That rarely happens, though.
After some time, though, when Jax is covered in patches of dark grease and his sweaty T-shirt sticks to his skin as his long sleeve overalls hang at his hips, I’m pretty much done with all this.
“Are we almost done?” I wonder in a way that I hope sounds innocent, toying with my locket.
“Yeah, why?”
I lower my voice to say, “Because I can’t wait for you to go shower so we can leave and then make out in the backseat of your car for the rest of the afternoon.”
That doesn’t fail to immediately refocus his attention on me.
Something dark and hungry passes in his unique eyes, and I feel the effects of it in my lower stomach.
We’ve been making out a bunch since that first kiss in the school’s empty parking lot several weeks ago.
I understand now why some people are so lip-locked all the time.
Kissing is incredible, and I think I could pretty much do it all day long.
“Are you sure I need to shower? I’m ready to go now if you are.”
“Yes, you’re disgusting. And you stink.”
“Really? You wouldn’t kiss me right now?”
When he steps closer, I let myself down from the rolling cabinet I was on to evade him. “Stay away from me, Mr. McStinky.”
This wasn’t supposed to turn into much more than that, but Jax chases me around the garage until he grabs hold of me, which attracts the attention of several workers.
I don’t care, though, as I squeal with a mix of disgust and amusement as Jackson squeezes me into his arms. When I look down, I see I’m not as dirty as he is, but I’ll definitely need to put this dress in the washer.
“There, you’re as dirty as I am now, Mrs. McStinky, so you can kiss me.”
After a quick look around, which confirms all the mechanics have returned to their work, I lean in to accept his invitation and press my lips on his.
I linger there, always wanting more, but when the warm lick of his tongue grazes my lips, I pull away.
We can’t do this here, where anyone can see us.
In his car, though, parked in the middle of nowhere …
“Go shower,” I order.
This time, he doesn’t try to negotiate and walks away with a wink, tugging his durag off.
I can’t help but shake my head with an irrepressible smile. I’m obsessed with this boy. And it seems he’s just as obsessed with me.
“Did you know he grew up in our county?” Cynthia asks our group.
“Yes, I heard! Right over in Florence,” Veronique replies.
I stare at the large screen above the bar, where a camera follows Jackson getting into his open-wheel car. His team’s livery is black with gold accents and linings, and I still remember the mossy green it was meant to be until he stepped in and negotiated that instead.
If anything, that man is consistent in his taste. The gold detailing was his cockiness coming in the way, but it now seems right, given how many trophies he’s won for his team.
Unsurprisingly, the bright orange Lamborghini didn’t go unnoticed in town. People not only saw it, some of them even recognized the driver—especially when he stopped to buy those donuts.
Of course, word spread like wildfire. In fact, it was one of the most discussed topics in our office building that day. The world-famous driver who was visiting our little town in the middle of Colorado, somehow.
Some people saw the Lambo, but thankfully, there’s been no mention of me exiting it. That means I’ve been spared the thousand questions I’d likely get otherwise.
But the whole frenzy has sparked a sudden interest in Formula One in town. Cynthia, who has been a fan of the sport for over two decades, is beyond delighted by this turn of events. Thanks to the general interest, it’s the first time our friend group has agreed to gather and watch a race.
That’s why we’re at a local sports bar, about to watch the Melbourne Grand Prix—the opener of the season. Because of the time difference, it’s already much later than any of us would normally be comfortable with. But it’s Saturday, so we can indulge.
“Evie actually went to school with him,” Nathan lets out with some unmasked amount of pride.
I nearly choke on my virgin mojito as I give him an alarmed look. Oh no! I didn’t want anyone to know that.
“Really!?” our friends ask in unison, their round eyes already questioning why I never mentioned that, even though we’ve been talking about Jackson Reyes the whole week.
“Actually, she was even—”
“Refill, anyone?” I quickly offer, interrupting my oversharing fiancé.
When our gazes meet, I firmly shake my head, silently ordering him not to say more. Once everyone has decided what they want, I stand up from the booth to walk to the bar.
I’ve just gotten the orders in when Cynthia appears by my side. “So … why did you never mention him?” she wonders.
“Who?”
“Reyes.”
“The opportunity never came.”
She quirks up a dubious eyebrow. “How long have you worked for me?”
“Five years.”
“And in five years of me blabbering about Formula One, you never, at any point, thought you’d mention the fact that you knew the best driver of our generation? If not the best driver there’s ever been—no diss to my man Schumacher.”
I shrug. “Me and about six hundred people went to high school with him. We weren’t even in the same grade. It’s not a big deal.”
“Feels like one. Do you remember how he was?”
Sweet. Gentle. Patient. Tender …
“Not really,” I lie.
“Hmm …” Her attention is on the screen, where pre-race statistics are displayed. “I don’t swing that way, and I’m almost fifteen years older than him, but I’d have his children if he asked. Look at those eyes. And on a Black man? With that little scar? Sign me up.”
Giving up, I turn around and stare at the photo of Jax displayed alongside his stats from last season.
“He’s latino too, no?” she then wonders. “Given his name.”
“His great grandfather was Puerto Rican.” Remembering I probably shouldn’t know that much about an old schoolmate, I quickly add, “I think.”
“Oh, I see. Was he always that attractive?”
“Uh, yes. And he was already pretty popular.”
The bartender returns with the drinks, and Cynthia helps me carry them to our table.
Of course, I get a few questions they’ve all been thinking about, and I answer truthfully but minimally. Then, the race starts, offering me some sweet mercy.
A ball of stress sits heavily on my stomach the whole time, watching the cars practically fly on the track at a speed that should be reserved for aircraft only.
At over two hundred miles per hour, one slight mistake and it could all be over.
My eyes remain glued to the screen almost the entire time, and I’m thrown back to what it used to be like—watching Jax give everything on a track and take risks that brought him one step closer to his dream.