Chapter 15
Kipp
I – honest to the car gods – don’t know what’s more distracting.
Watching her tongue ring anxiously whip back and forth while she dangerously whisks around the mushed potatoes in what was once my mother’s favorite cooking bowl or looking out the glass patio door to watch him slowly press his lips to that fucking beer bottle while he grills our steaks.
ForFerrarisake, I want them both on my cock.
Right.
Now.
Her using that weapon of mass destruction around the tip, licking up the precum I know is soaking my boxers, and him letting his scruff scrape my thighs as he presses his mouth to my sack, lapping up any of her spit that manages to escape.
I’d probably cross the finish line a little too fast, but fuck me, would it be worth it.
Frustrated groans not so quietly seeping free are swiftly followed by me adjusting my thickening dick that doesn’t understand why it’s really not the time for that shit.
Not when this much unknown shit is just hanging in the air like a cheap air freshener.
That shit drives me fucking insane.
You can spend all that money to get your girl waxed and detailed and waxed again but your ass can’t spring for something a little better than that palm tree shaped piece of shit you grabbed when you stopped to buy yourself smokes?
Come on.
Have some self-respect.
Do better.
I mean if you’re not willing to spring for one of the fancy auto rotators at least get a fucking vent clip.
Finally finished with her hard stirring, Bunny turns around to face me and blows the loose strands of hair out of her sparkling brown eyes. “Done.”
It’s impossible not to smirk at her defeated demeanor. “Did you win?”
“You won’t if you don’t get your ass up and set the table.”
“Don’t be pissy at me.” Light chuckles escape at the same time I rise to my feet to cross into the kitchen space, beer still in hand. “You’re the one who insisted on making whipped potatoes from scratch.”
“You said they were your favorite!”
“They are,” I promptly reassure after putting my bottle down on our table. “But they’re a bitch and half to make which is why I learned to love the art of the instant potato.”
“Is that really an art?” She sassily counters, tossing me her own teasing smile. “Or is that an art the same way fingerpainting is?”
“That is art.”
“Just because Mutt puts your pictures on the fridge doesn’t make you Picasso.”
This time her snark receives her a playful slap on the ass that not only has her squeaking in surprise but giggling.
Man, do I love having a woman who enjoys a good spank.
And can give one too.
Anytime she sees me bent over underneath a hood, she makes sure to deliver one herself.
The lesson I’ve learned?
Announce when I’ve got spillable shit in my possession.
“I just…” her stare attaches itself to my table setting movements, “wanted to do something special for you today because you did something special for me.”
“Really?” Putting the plates in place precedes shooting her another arrogant grin. “You sure it has nothing to do with a certain shop girl wanting to look under my hood and you being pissed off that she didn’t realize from the starting line that we’re together?”
Bunny’s gorgeous glare narrows in my direction just as Nolan steps back inside with two full plates. “Mutt?”
“Hm?” He hums in return during his plate balancing act.
“Don’t put anymore of The Kid’s pictures on the fridge.”
Without missing a beat my best friend asks, “What about his finger paintings?”
“Especially not his finger paintings.”
Laughter freely travels around the small space while we work in tandem to finish setting everything up.
That’s another thing I love about this whole sitch.
Shifting gears is just so goddamn easy.
Doesn’t matter that Nolan was outside and had no idea what the conversation was really about, he simply added to it. Accepted his place and went for it. Same for when Bunny wakes up in the mornings – typically last – and inserts herself into coffee conversations about customers. Or when they get into it about old jingles leaving me no choice but to win the debate by singing a classic car one.
It’s almost like we’re always on the same track.
Like we’re a team at 24 Hours of Le Mans picking up right where one stops.
We’re somehow simultaneously the drivers and the pit crew and the sponsors, all prepared to take on whatever the wild weather conditions may be for the event.
Unfortunately…I know a storm is coming.
The dark clouds.
The faint thunder in the distance.
The threat to slow down our unmistakable lead in one of the hardest races there is on the fucking planet.
We need to talk about it.
And we need to do that shit before there’s a downpour.
Once all food is in the center of the table, the three of us take our respective seats.
Rather than simply pass the plate of steaks around, Nolan goes through the effort of serving each of us, saving himself for last. He repeats the polite gesture with the grilled corn yet when he begins to do the same with the asparagus, Bunny sweetly teases, “Why all the fancy food, Mutt? That shop slut get under your skin too?”
“Knew it,” I mirthfully mumble into my beer bottle.
“This shit ain’t fancy,” my best friend argues while putting the half empty plate of vegetables back in the middle of the table. “It’s just steak.”
“Wagyu,” leaves my mouth loudly before I can think twice.
Bunny casually gestures a finger to the next object in question. “And the asparagus-”
“Which are just fancy green beans.”
“No, those are French beans,” our girl offhandedly corrects. “Asparagus are just one of the typical bougie restaurant options given at high dollar steakhouses.”
Quirking an eyebrow his direction can’t be helped. “Is that why you got Bunny that expensive wine too? Tryin’ to give her the steakhouse ambiance.”
“You shouldn’t use words you can’t spell,” she impishly pokes prior to reaching for the aforementioned beverage. “And twenty bucks for a bottle of Moscato isn’t really expensive, Kid.”
“Alright, so, I wanted us to eat fucking better.” Nolan removes the bottle out of Bunny’s possession to pour her a glass himself. “Is that a crime?”
“Calm down, Gordon Ramsey,” our woman good naturedly giggles. “We’re not about to turn this amazing meal you slaved over into a reenactment of Kitchen Nightmares.”
He playfully tips the bottle in her direction after he’s finished serving. “You wanna bang that British prick, don’t you?”
“He’s British,” she sassily snips at the same time she swipes up her glass. “Of course, I wanna bang him.”
Grumbles of disapproval from me and Nolan aren’t hard to hear around her snickers.
Another rule that needs to be established.
Don’t ever talk about fucking other people in front of us.
The thought of things that actually need to be discussed revs back to the front of my mind causing me to clear my throat and announce. “We need to talk.”
“Wow,” Bunny airily chortles between sips, “it’s not that big of a deal to have celebrity crushes, boys. Everyone does. Even celebrities themselves.”
“Not about that.” Swapping my beer for my fork occurs next. “We need to discuss how much tread is left on our tires. What warning lights are blaring about mechanical failures. How we’re gonna spend less time in the pits and more time on the roads. What’s our plan to survive the shitty ventilation of the heat at these speeds and velocity and our underprepared endurance?!” I stab the air with the utensil. “Because I’m gonna be real honest. I’ve never had to go this long or do this much or deal with these rapidly changing conditions! I want us to win but…I feel like I’m being set up to be the leg that fails this shit because my team isn’t including me in the plans!”
One blank stare is somewhat expected.
Our real-life pinup girl isn’t exactly that versed in cars.
But two?
No.
I fucked something up.
Somewhere.
What wasn’t clear?
A word?
Pretty sure I used all of them correctly.
“Kid,” Nolan defeatedly sighs, “you’re goin’ back and forth worse than when you learned to fuckin’ parallel park.”
Amusement immediately appears in Bunny’s expression. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ford Motor Company, you had trouble learning to parallel park?”
“I was twelve!”
Snickers get swallowed by gulps of their respective beverages prompting me to push away my own urge to smile.
“You can do it, Kid,” Nolan encourages and reaches for his knife to begin cutting his steak. “Just put the shit in park.”
Several nods are delivered before demanding, “Tell me about what those detectives wanted.”
A long, agonizingly slow suck of his teeth is executed yet instead of answering me afterward, he shifts his attention to Bunny and commands, “Tell me about your ex-boyfriend.”
The beautiful brown skinned face we both love waking up to every morning instantaneously turns a sickly pale shade. However, she doesn’t back down either. She snatches up her glass of wine once more, cocks her head, and challenges the man who challenged her. “Tell me about Jolene.”
Panic pierces his dark gaze which he quickly plants back on me. “Tell me what the fuck this is.”
Unlike the two of them, utter confusion is the emotion that cakes my expression. “Huh?”
“This.” His knife wielding hand motions around the empty space between us. “Is this shit a phase?” Missing the worry in his voice is impossible. “Or have you always been into dudes and didn’t trust me enough to tell me?” Hurt has his Adam’s Apple bobbing uncontrollably. “Have you been keeping this shit hidden ‘cause you thought I wouldn’t understand? Or wouldn’t want your ass around once I knew? Or is it something else?” There isn’t even time for my mouth to twitch open. “And is it all dudes? Or only old, scruff face covered dudes like me?”
“Bears.” Bunny nonchalantly announces.
“What?” Nolan bites, attention soaring to her.
“You’re describing a Bear.” She reaches over and picks an asparagus off my plate despite having her own. “Or at least according to some classifications you are. But that’s more based on your hairiness and size than your age.”
Notable horror overwhelms Nolan’s face, paralyzing him in place.
I don’t know anything about bears.
Or…I guess I should say in that reference.
I know a little about the football team and a little more about which types can use their claws to break into which cars for munchies.
Yeah.
That little fun “did you know” still gives me nightmares.
It’s also one of the reasons I really don’t like camping.
“Let’s pump the breaks for a sec before we take another unwanted detour.” A small adjustment in my seat is executed to momentarily angle my frame more towards my best friend. “Nolan, you’re my fucking McLaren, man.” The shoulder shrug that’s delivered is innocent. Coy. “Whether you’re on the track for racin’ or the road flexin’ or sittin’ at the show for other motherfuckers to drool over, you’re perfect. Wherever you are, whatever day it is, whatever your purpose is, you’re it for me. You’re my dream car. You’re the only one I wanna go 0 to sixty with and know that no matter what we do we’ll never top out.”
To my surprise, a faint redness hits his cheeks as he bashfully scratches the side of his face. “Damn, Kid.”
“And you,” I shift just the slightest to face Bunny, “are the perfect passenger for me. For us. You know exactly what every sound means and can feel the gears needing to change without watching me fucking shift. You’re the only person I’ve ever met that I trust – that I would ever fucking trust – to handle my dream car or map out the road trip we’re gonna take, baby.” Another sheepish shrug leaves me. “It doesn’t matter that we haven’t known you face to face that long. What matters is we’ve found you. That you can read his manual with your eyes fucking closed and steer while I’m fucking blindfolded. You…are…a part of this.” My finger gestures between me and Nolan. “You’re part of the dream too.”
It”s her turn to let a crimson shade coat her complexion.
“There.” Grabbing my nearly empty beer bottle precedes me leaning back in my chair. “Y’all’s turn.”
For longer than I like no one says anything.
Eventually, post two bites of his steak, Nolan wipes his face and states, “Jolene was the last woman I had any sort of claim to.” He lets his eyes drift to Bunny’s. “Contrary to what everyone believed, I didn’t give a shit that she was a stripper. Or even that she liked to fuck other dudes.” He casually tosses his hands up in the air. “I fucked around on women. Women have fucked around on me. People fuck around. It’s small-town bullshit. It happens.” His fingers fold together in his lap. “What I did give a fuck about was the fact she hated The Kid.”
“She hated me?!”
He doesn’t bother looking in my direction. “One day she tried to make me choose between them and was pissed when it wasn’t her ass I picked. Next day? She was caught blowing someone else and the shit was over.” Nolan quickly cuts his gaze to me. “Doesn’t matter if it’s your old man or work or women. I’m picking you. Every. Time. Kid. Whether you’re on my sack or not.”
Heat flushes my face so brutally I have to look down at my relatively untouched plate.
“And I’m picking you,” he proceeds, attention back on the woman we never saw coming, “every time because he’s right. You fit here.” Nolan defiantly stabs the table. “You fit with us.”
Her beaming is barely masked by the bite of whipped potatoes she forces herself to have.
“The detectives,” Nolan continues, now addressing us both, “want to know if I’ve seen some asshole, they showed me a photo of. And I can’t confirm or deny shit without my records directly in front of me for verification. But if I were to search them, I might find that he was the first tow I was supposed to have on Monday. What I wouldn’t find was a record of the tow because I wouldn’t tow an overly mouthy bounty hunter wannabe who was one of six dudes hunting for some rich prick’s ex-girlfriend that clearly didn’t wanna be found. And I also wouldn’t tow someone who boasted that he had a lead on her.” Our boyfriend picks up his knife and fork to resume cutting. “An asshole like that probably just got too cocky and wandered off into the woods.” His slow slicing doesn’t deter our focus. “And the woods are an extremely dangerous place, especially when you don’t know the fucking area. Cliffs have a weird way of sneakin’ up on ya.” He lifts the bite towards his lips. “Not to mention wild animals will eat anything if they’re hungry enough. We’re talkin’ bones and all.”
A mere tip of my beer bottle forward is instantly delivered.
He did the right fucking thing.
I probably would’ve done the exact same shit if it were me face to face with someone threatening her.
Nolan shoves the bite into his mouth on a clipped, “Rabbit.”
“His name is Brad McAdams.” Seeing her nervously fidget with her fork prompts both of us to reach a hand over to rest on her trembling frame. “I’m the only woman who’s ever turned him down and lived to tell about it.” The lack of mirth in her voice has me flexing my fingers that are protectively lingering on her leg. “Cops – no matter where I go – either don’t believe me or are connected to his family.” Her gaze remains centered on her plate until Nolan lets the thumb of the hand resting on hers give it a soothing stroke. “He’s been chasing me around the country for years. Every time I move, he somehow manages to find me. May take a week. May take three. One time it took a whole month, but he found me. And it doesn’t matter what time of day I leave or what state I end up in, he’s always there. I’m always left with no choice but to become a shut in. To have my groceries delivered to a neighbor or left on my doorstep during the busiest parts of the day to guarantee witnesses. Cameras have to be covering every angle of my apartment possible. I have to avoid long periods of time in any one room for fear he could be recording or watching me through a telescope. I shower in the dark. I block windows. I hoard stashes of cash and burner phones for quick escapes like the one I made that got me here.” Bunny takes one hard swallow before whispering out, “I’m afraid that the next time he finds me…I’m dead.”
“No.” Nolan coldly declares exactly what I’m thinking. “He is.”