7. August
7
AUGUST
When I came outside with my tray, with Merlin bringing up the rear, Wade, Rick and Lucy were lounging in the shallow end of the pool. Fortunately for Lucy, it was shaded by the canopy of tall pine trees surrounding the yard. The others had skin that could survive the scorching, cloudless day, but the husky redhead was paler than I was, with a similar tendency to burn in direct sunlight.
They were all so busy giving each other shit, they didn’t notice me walking over to the patio table and setting down the icy pitcher and four empty glasses. Which meant I could listen unobserved and continue admiring Wade in his shirtless glory.
He was as relaxed as I’d ever seen him, his eyes closed and his head resting on the edge of the pool. His dark hair was slicked back and droplets of water beaded on his broad chest and shoulders. I had to pry my hungry eyes away before I gave in to the temptation to forget why I’d come out here in the first place. I was here because of his guests. Not him.
Rick Oliver and Lionel “Lucy” Babineaux, Gene’s two best friends 5-ever , were sprawled in similar poses on the pool steps. The trio had met each other at boot camp, where Lucy had gotten his moniker from an obnoxious drill instructor who’d objected to both his bright red hair and the humor he’d used to stick up for Rick during some verbal altercation. “You two think you’re funny? This isn’t an episode of I Love Lucy , ladies.”
When Lucy leaned into his new nickname, it had stuck, and so had they. Long story short, they’d all fallen in bro-love and followed Gene home to Texas. It was an origin story they told nearly every time they got together, as if they’d invented friendship. It was sweet.
Sorry, I meant impressive . It was impressive and inspirational to manly Marines everywhere.
But also sweet.
Gene’s friends always reminded me of the hetero life partners Kirk and Spock—you rarely saw one without the other. Lucy had Kirk’s cocksure charm, a wicked sense of humor and a very patient, though rarely seen, wife. Rick had been married to the military until recently and, despite his dark, chiseled good looks, had a tendency to scare most people away with his scowls and long silences. So, Spock…if Spock was an emotionally repressed war machine who’d been through the grinder.
I might be in the same continually pissed-off mood if I’d had his career history. Rick had been a Marine, an Army paratrooper, and part of an MSST special unit in the U.S. Coast Guard until he retired five years ago. The only people he ever truly relaxed around were Gene and Lucy. They all considered themselves brothers, and they’d only gotten closer since Gene’s initial cancer diagnosis.
“I don’t think he’s paying attention to us, Rick.”
“Sure I am.” Wade’s eyes were still firmly closed. “I told you I hadn’t found a workable car yet. You decided to rehash the saga of Dave the Dick, and now I’m wishing I wasn’t in the middle of a repeat episode of How the Wheels Turn . ”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
“I’ll forgive you for that because I needed this pool today.” Lucy’s voice, as usual, sounded like he was smiling, even though I couldn’t see his face. “Does the stick up your ass have anything to do with your luck on the home search front? I told you to talk to my builder buddy. You could buy one of those lots a little farther out and make your own place from scratch if you’re going to be this picky about it. He built Rick’s weekend cabin on Lake Conroe and he loves it.”
“ Private cabin I don’t tell people about,” Rick grumbled.
“I’m not going to ask to crash at your bunker,” Wade assured him. “That’s over an hour away, and building sounds like a pain in the ass. I knew Dave wasn’t a good fit,” he tacked on, either because he was more invested in the soap opera than he wanted them to believe, or he didn’t want to talk about his house plans.
“Oh look, Rick, we’re at the ‘I told you so’ phase of the conversation.”
“I’ve been there all along.” Rick’s tone was dangerously quiet. “I told you last year it was a bad idea to add him to our team. You should have let me deal with him.”
He wasn’t mad at me and I still wanted to run for cover. Hopefully Dave had the self-preservation instincts to stay away from the team for a while.
“I know you did, but our boy got seduced by a cool travel trailer and the promise of a fancy RV for our out-of-state races,” Lucy said with a shrug. “Now we’re in emergency mode.”
That’s your cue, August. Enter stage right.
“Hey guys,” I called, causing all three heads to turn in my direction. “Don’t mind us. Merlin had to come out so I made some cold drinks for you. Anybody up for Arnold Palmers? For some reason, I felt like something lemony.”
Very smooth , Merlin’s expression seemed to say.
Lucy and Rick immediately splashed to attention and jostled each other on their way out of the pool like they were sixteen instead of forty-seven.
Wade took his time, his enigmatic expression on full display once again. Was he upset that I’d come out here after telling him I wouldn’t?
“Well met, fair lady of the house.” Lucy offered me a sweeping bow that also managed to splatter me with drops of chlorinated water before Rick whacked him in the chest with a dry towel.
“Hi, Lucy. Rick,” I added with a nod his way.
“Is he practicing his Ren Fest BS already?” Wade sounded mildly irritated, but I couldn’t see him around the two men in front of me.
“He’s never not practicing.” Rick scrubbed the towel across his buzz cut and then down over his bronze skin with brisk, efficient movements. I noticed a few small scars on his chest and shoulders before his shirt was tossed on top of his head from behind.
“You forgot this,” Wade said.
I almost frowned when I realized he’d wrapped a long beach towel around his waist, which meant I’d missed seeing his legs when he got out of the water.
And he was back in his shirt. Spoilsport.
Turn down the pervy landlady volume please. We have plans to enact.
“Thanks, Wade,” Rick said dryly, pulling on the tee before stepping over to pour drinks.
Lucy, heedless of his shirtless state, took me by my shoulders and planted a loud, smacking kiss on both my cheeks. “It’s good to see you , little sister. And with delicious, icy beverages no less. I was starting to wonder if Wade here was even going to offer us a teaspoon of water or a thimble of beer. No snacks either. It’s almost like he doesn’t want us here.”
“I’m all out of thimbles,” Wade said, his expression deadpan. “I thought you were writing. ”
I gripped my elbow with my opposite hand while Merlin stayed close to my leg. The key to calming my sudden nerves and staying focused might be to avoid looking at Wade entirely, so I directed my answer to Lucy instead. “I got a phone call and decided to close up shop for the day. Sounds like I showed up right on time.”
“You’re an angel. Sit down and join us,” he said magnanimously as he slid his arms into a purple bowling shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and clinging damply to his wide frame. “It’s been an age since we saw you, August Retta. How’ve you been? Feeling better? Have you heard from your sister recently?”
I sat down and accepted the drink Rick handed me. “I am and I have, but don’t let small talk with me distract you three from your meeting. It sounded important.”
“Oh, it is.”
Wade took the chair beside me and grumbled like a grumpy bear, “I’m sure August doesn’t want to hear about the race.”
I almost glared at him but managed to keep from turning his way. What happened to my sexy neighbor who offered his help with anything I needed?
“Maybe the old man’s hearing is starting to go,” I snarked, “because he’s sitting right next to me, and I thought I was making it pretty obvious that I do.”
Lucy’s laugh all but drowned out Wade’s “I’d forgotten you were this sassy.”
The murmur landed like a thunderclap in my brain, but before I could react, he raised his voice. “You’ve got fresh meat here, guys. You want to tell her about Dave?”
Thank you.
“Fucking Dave,” Rick muttered across the table.
“He knew how important October was,” Lucy added, staring off into space, leaning his fist against his dark red beard. Was he…posing?
“Because of the anniversary?” I prompted.
“You remembered.” Lucy dropped his hand, looking thrilled. “That’s right. Five years of That Lemon Life.”
That wasn’t the name of the race, but it sounded like he’d capitalized it. That Lemon Life would be a great title for something, so I stashed it away for later.
“I’m learning how to make tarts for the occasion,” he continued. “Or I would be if my lady allowed me inside long enough to use the kitchen. I’m in the doghouse again—Rick didn’t tell me the concert last weekend was three states away and I’d end up missing the gender reveal party for her younger brother’s much younger wife.”
Rick gave him a look. “That’s the story you’re going with?”
“I’m glad Phoebe skipped that,” Wade said under his breath and I silently agreed, though I managed to do it while avoiding eye contact.
I could feel him, though. The close proximity of our chairs, exacerbated by his man-spreading, had his thick thigh almost brushing mine. It was both too much and not enough.
“You’re a woman, August.”
That got my attention, and I batted my eyes at Lucy. “Thanks for noticing.”
“Everyone’s noticed,” he said, winking back.
Then he glanced at Wade before sending an inquiring look in Rick’s direction. Sometimes I swore they could speak telepathically, but right now it was annoying. What was I missing?
“You have to agree those things have gotten out of hand,” he continued when he finally focused on me again. “It’s gone from pink or blue ribbons to rocket grenades and paintball wars. My lady hated every minute of it and she’s still got blue dye in her hair. Why would she want to put me through that?”
Was that a serious question? And was this what these guys really talked about when women weren’t around? I thought it was all cars, all the time.
Don’t be sexist.
“Why would she want you to take her somewhere you both hate instead of going all alone? Hmm.” I tapped my chin, pretending to contemplate the answer when it was beyond obvious. “If you don’t already know, I’m not sure I can help you.”
“Don’t tease me, August. If you can explain my lady love, I’ll give you anything you want. Heck, if you’re willing to let strays bunk here for free, I could use a place to?—”
“Fuck off, Luce,” Wade said, the snarl in his voice making me startle beside him.
“— Or I could pay you for consultations, like an attorney,” Lucy course-corrected like a pro. “You could bill me by the quarter hour for every time I put my foot wrong with my boo and needed your advice.”
I shook my head. “Tempting, but your money is no good here. How about this? If you promise to tell me more about Dave and the race, I’ll tell you the story of Gene eating a jackass right now.”
“There will be an annual retelling of that tale around the fire pit for years to come,” Lucy vowed, his eyes twinkling with humor as he dragged another fry through his ketchup. “No wonder you write stories for a living. Was she always this good at it, Wade?”
Wade had gone out to get burgers while I regaled my brother-in-law’s friends with stories from his first week in Italy, including today’s donkey installation. For the most part, I was making it up on the fly, but they didn’t seem to care. In fact, they looked like they were thoroughly enjoying themselves.
“Always,” Wade replied, sending a warm thrill up my spine. “ And she never used her powers for evil, though Bernie did her best to bring her over to the dark side.”
Little did he know…
I didn’t want to think about the past right now. I wanted to get back on topic so I could spring my Jiminy surprise while everyone was in a mellow mood.
I wasn’t entirely confident that this plan would work yet. Dropping it on them out of the blue could backfire and make it seem like my offer wasn’t genuine—and Gene, Rick and Lucy took all their hobbies very seriously.
Before they started racing cars, they used to wear armor and practice sword fighting with The SCA (The Society for Creative Anachronism). They’d gotten together for twenty-four-hour D&D quests biannually for the last twenty-eight years, attempting to set a record. Then there was their yearly Renaissance Festival madness, where the men donned tights and camped out with college students playing the state’s largest game of Jenga.
I didn’t say the hobbies were serious. I said they took them very seriously.
The old August used to do fun, unserious things like that. I’d gone to Ren fests, music concerts and street fairs. I’d done book signings in interesting places and traveled to reader conventions where every night was a different costume party. Once, I’d worn this huge pair of metal wings that were the envy of everyone I didn’t accidentally bump into.
I wasn’t always like this.
That’s why you’re out here now. To try something insane and fun and a little bit dangerous before moving to San Diego. To leave on a high note. To have one last adventure in Sam Retta’s name.
The only way I could do that was to convince them to let me, an outsider, join their team right after another outsider royally screwed them.
I could practically hear Chick’s pep talk in my head right now. “ August Sunshine Endora Retta.” ( Not my name.) “You aren’t an outsider. You are a successful, confident woman in her forties.” (Everything but my age was debatable.) “Open your mouth and demand they let you and Jiminy into that race.”
I opened my mouth and bit into the last of my cheeseburger instead.
“August followed through on her part of the bargain,” Wade was telling them. “Now you two better go on ahead and share your tale of woe.”
He seemed less tense than he had when I first joined the party. Maybe he’d been hangry?
“We really should have gone with them,” Lucy said. “Can you picture the amount of trouble the three of us cruising the Mediterranean could get into?”
Rick scoffed. “Morgan wouldn’t have stood for any shit.”
“To Morgan,” Lucy declared, raising his glass. “Gene is a lucky man.”
Rick tapped his glass against Lucy’s. “He was , until he let Dave hold the keys to the Mustang.”
I leaned forward, ready to get back on topic. “What really happened with that?”
“What happened is Dave fought with his wife, got drunk and totaled our vehicle instead of his own,” Lucy said bluntly. “He left us carless and short a driver a few months before the race. For the last week, we’ve been looking for another car—one that’s not in need of a complete overhaul and in our price range—with no luck. Which is why we came to our problem solver here. Our fixer. Our Obi Wade.”
“I’m the mechanic,” he corrected gruffly. “I fix cars, not stupid decisions. Have the answer, I do not.”
If they weren’t all so solemn, I’d have laughed out loud at that.
“And there you have it,” Lucy said, looking unusually downtrodden. “Unless Wade can pull a rabbit out of his ass, make it shine, and take a few laps around the track in Dave’s place, I’m not sure how we pull this off.”
“I’m the pit crew,” Wade said firmly. “I still have a few lines in the water, so I’ll probably be able to come up with a car. But I don’t race, so the rest of it you’ll have to figure out without me.”
Did anybody want to ask for my advice? Because I’d figured out the rest of it already. Or I thought I had after scouring the website. “I thought you only needed two drivers?”
Even without Wade, they already had three.
“According to the rule book, that’s true,” Lucy agreed. “The thing is, my shoulder keeps me out of the racing seat, Gene only has a few hours in him at a time, and despite insisting otherwise, Rick can’t carry the bulk of a weekend race on his own.”
“Says you,” Rick said into his glass.
“This is perfect.”
I hadn’t intended to say that out loud, but now was as good a time as any to take the bull by the horns.
Or the racecar by the steering wheel.
“That is the opposite of perfect, sis,” Lucy explained in a you-clearly-don’t-get-it tone . “The big guy is going to come home relaxed, red as a lobster and ready to race his way into glory, and we’re going to have to break his fragile heart and ruin his year.”
Wade coughed into his napkin and then reached for his drink. “Let’s not get dramatic. He’ll be fine.”
“Seven months ago, we had three cars,” Rick lamented. “One blew a motor, the other dropped a transmission, and then there was the Mustang. We had a chance to score some decent points with that. Now it’s gone.”
Wade leaned toward me, and despite my tension, it took most of my willpower not to lean right back. “He never talks this much,” he whispered. “How much sugar did you put in this drink?”
“This is a serious problem, Wade,” I whispered back.
“For them it is. ”
He was the one that didn’t get it.
Explain it to him then.
“You need a new car and a new driver,” I said to Rick and Lucy. “That’s what you’re saying?”
Lucy tapped his nose with a nod. “Like we told Wade, it doesn’t matter what kind of car it is, because it doesn’t have to win. It only has to run until the race is done.”
Well, that was unexpected. “You don’t care about winning?”
Wade laughed under his breath and the sound was so startlingly sexy I couldn’t help but look his way. His eyes brightened before narrowing on mine. As if he’d noticed me avoiding him and hadn’t liked it.
You’re imagining things again.
“They really don’t, Gus,” he assured me. “It baffled the fuck out of me too.”
Who spends so much time entering multiple races, every year, for five whole years, without caring about winning?
The men in front of me.
“Lemons is more about the journey than the destination,” Lucy said expansively. “It’s a weekend of camaraderie, camp-outs and good-natured hijinks. Teams are encouraged and expected to bribe and entertain the judges. Costumes and themes, even your bullshitting skills, can end up winning you as many points as your talent on the track. And you know how our boy loves his costumes.”
“And his wigs,” Rick added.
“And his bullshit,” Wade piled on.
Even I had to admit, “His wigs are amazing.”
I was almost sure I’d seen them all. The Guy Fieri. The Dog the Bounty Hunter. The Joe Dirt Mullet. He’d joked that blond was his natural color before his hair fell out, so he shopped for wigs accordingly.
Focus, August .
I was trying, but these three kept distracting me with surprising new information.
“You actually do bribe the judges? They aren’t just saying that? And it’s legal?”
Wade put his big hot hand on my knee and I almost jumped out of my skin. Was he trying to distract me? Because it was working. And it felt more arousing than it should for such an innocent touch.
“Every team comes to the judges with bribe in hand. Food. Performances. Usually, booze is in there somewhere. The more outlandish the better.”
“So, you can spend money on bribes, but only five hundred on the car in total?”
“You can and should spend more to get it race-ready. But as long as it isn’t spent under the hood, it doesn’t count.” Wade’s voice was getting a little hoarse. Was that because of all the talking or the hand that was now massaging the skin above my knee?
Was it affecting him as intensely as it was me?
Because that area had suddenly become a new erogenous zone that Wade’s touch had activated without even trying. And if he kept doing that, I might embarrass myself in front of Rick and Lucy.
I swallowed hard and attempted to keep track of the conversation. “According to my sister, it’s very expensive and it all counts.”
Lucy held out his hands in a helpless gesture. “If Gene wasn’t my friend and I wasn’t already married to a beautiful woman, I’d sweep your sister off her feet. But sadly, she’s a frugal soul who’s never understood that our commitment to whimsy is priceless.”
When I turned to Wade and mouthed the word whimsy , his eyes got darker as his attention zeroed in on my lips.
My heartbeat went a little erratic. What exactly was happening here ?
“Lemons requires that commitment,” Lucy declared, unaware of my problem, “because it’s a lifestyle.”
“I wouldn’t say lifestyle,” Rick countered.
“I would.” Wade looked away from me with a frown but didn’t remove his hand. “Think about the amount of time it takes to prepare for a single race. Not only adding the roll cage, but getting whatever piece of junk you decide is going to be your car roadworthy.”
This is why Jiminy is their best option. He’s already roadworthy. Tell them.
“It is a lifestyle, because there are rallies and races all over the country all year long,” Lucy continued before I could open my mouth. “It’s good wholesome fun for the whole family. Kids love it. Seniors love it. Even Sam loved it.”
Rick sat up straight and tense, eyeing me with concern, and Wade squeezed my knee again in comfort, but I knew this was it. This was the opening I’d been waiting for. I couldn’t have asked for a better segue and I needed to take it.
I smiled. “I know she did. And I’m about to solve all your problems and save Gene’s fragile heart in the process. You need a car? I’m volunteering Jiminy as tribute. For exactly five hundred dollars.”
“What the hell?” Wade snatched his hand from my knee like the flesh beneath my pajamas had turned into lava.
I didn’t have time to theorize why because Lucy was grabbing my French fry hand and smashing a handful between us without noticing. Which…gross.
“Sam’s mint condition, sunshine yellow, 1979 Volkswagen Beetle that’s currently parked in your driveway?” he breathed. “ That Jiminy? Don’t play with desperate men, August.”
He was staring into my eyes as if searching for the joke.
“I would never do that.” I took my hand back and thoroughly wiped it with a napkin. “I’m serious. ”
“Gene’s never been a big Herbie guy, but he did like the idea of Sam’s car for some reason. I think he even offered to buy it once.” Rick’s brow was furrowed in thought. “Good thing we don’t care about winning though. A car like that would barely hit eighty-two on the straightaway.”
They weren’t laughing me out of my own backyard, so things were already going better than expected. Except for Wade, who was slowly shaking his head and making me suddenly grateful I hadn’t confided in him before this conversation. It didn’t look like he was on board with my brilliant plan.
“You don’t gut a car like that for this kind of race,” he said. “You get a trash heap and dress it up.”
“It’s only a bug, man,” Rick said under his breath.
“It’s a bug with a Porsche motor, thanks to Wade and his tinkering,” Lucy corrected, his cheeks ruddy with excitement. “Sam told Gene about it years ago. That’s why he wanted to race it. A big guy in a little bug, blazing down the track at what I’d say is closer to one-twenty or better.”
Rick leaned forward, more alert now. “That might be good for a sprint, but a marathon like Lemons? We’d need to plan for problems in advance. An extra engine would be pricey. And we’d have to sandbag the front end for stability.”
Wade shot him down. “That’s a safety hazard. The suspension was already upgraded, but you could tighten the springs. Maybe add a wing to the back and widen the tires. I can’t believe we’re even talking about this.”
“The cooling system for your suits could go in the front,” Lucy threw in. “That’s almost a hundred pounds of water weight and it saves on space.”
It all sounded like gobbledygook to me. Encouraging gobbledygook.
“I don’t know what any of you are talking about,” I said. “But people drive cars like that in this race all the time. I looked it up. ”
Wade turned to me. “When did you look it up?”
His eyes made it more an accusation than a question.
“Last week,” I said defiantly.
That’s right, buddy — I had a plan long before you showed up. Okay, one day before you showed up.
“Other teams have raced VWs,” Lucy agreed in a soothing tone, obviously tuned in to the tension. “And because it was souped up long before the sale, we won’t get any point deductions from the judges. They’ll put it in the y u rune classic? category and keep us in Class C with no penalty laps.”
“The what category?”
“What about Myrtle?”
Rick and Lucy glanced at Wade as if he were suffering from heatstroke.
“Myrtle’s too slow to be a racecar,” I told him.
“She would be a better one than Jiminy,” Wade argued. “A two-decade-old CRV on its last legs is more in keeping with the spirit of the race. Hell, I thought you were going to offer it earlier today.”
Lucy slid Rick a sideways look. “She named her car Myrtle?”
Did everyone have a problem with that? “It’s a great name. And I was never planning to offer you Myrtle. I can’t let you have her.”
“And I can’t let you do this to your mother’s car without giving it serious consideration.”
He did not just say that. He couldn’t let me? Like I was a child and he had any say in my decisions?
“That was a mistake, Wade,” Lucy ruled. “Trust me, I’ve been to the doghouse enough to know.”
“I have given it serious consideration,” I told Wade stiffly. “The car is in my name, and legally I can do whatever I want with it. Including sell it without needing anyone else’s permission.”
“Gus, you know I didn’t mean?— ”
I held up my hand to stop him. “And I’m willing to sell Jiminy to the team, on the condition that I’m allowed to drive him in this one race.”
There. You finally said it.
“No fucking way,” Wade growled.
I gaped at him. The nerve of this man!
“Are you seeing this?” Lucy laughed in disbelief. “Certain things are making so much more sense now, aren’t they, Rick?”
“They are. Rookie move, Wade.”
“Fuck you both,” Wade snarled. I’d never seen him so angry. “This isn’t bumper cars, and she was so sick for most of last year, she couldn’t walk around the block. Whether you take the car or not, I want her to think about this for more than a hot minute.”
It was official. I was back to not liking Wade Hudson. He didn’t just irritate me, he enraged me.
“Should I think about it as long as Gene did after he got his remission news, Wade?” I fired back. “Because if I remember correctly, he went directly from the hospital to purchase his first racecar, with you cheering him on.”
Rick sent me a finger gun of approval as he finished the last of his bacon cheeseburger.
Lucy morphed completely into peacemaker mode. “Let’s give Wade the benefit of the doubt, August. Gene bought a hunk of junk that time, but that’s your mama’s love bug out there. It meant a lot to her, and you wouldn’t be getting it back. Even if you did, it would never be in the same condition again.”
“To turn it into a Lemon, we’d have to scrape out the interior. Completely gut it,” Wade told me quietly, the anger drained out of him and his eyes now begging me to reconsider.
Why? Because he felt sentimental about the car? Or because he didn’t think I could handle myself?
“Do you even know what to expect on a racetrack?” he asked, unknowingly answering my question. “Have you gone to a single Lemons race to watch what happens?”
“You think I can’t do it because I haven’t done it before?” Disappointment brought me to my feet. “Neither had these knuckleheads until a few years ago, but you walked them through it without questioning their abilities.”
“Hey.” Rick sounded mildly insulted, then shrugged and let it pass.
“August, listen?—”
“No, you listen. You don’t have to approve of my choices or me, but I am doing this. The three of you have until Gene comes home to think about my offer and discuss it with him. You haven’t been able to find a car you can fix in time. I have a car, in great condition, that I’m willing to sell for five hundred dollars and a spot on the team. One race only. It’s a great deal, but if you’re not interested, I have other options.”
I didn’t at the moment, but I could sure as hell make some.
I forced myself to walk instead of run back to the safety of my house. Merlin followed, grumbling his own opinion behind me.
Wade was a no vote. I hadn’t seen that coming.
I scratched Merlin’s head. “Well, since I’m officially a mic-dropping badass now, I guess I’ll have to find a way to work around him.”