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It was one of my biggest dreams. Being in the car with him as he raced. Sure, I’d always daydreamed about being in a race car and on a track when he did it, but this was a very close, and acceptable second.
He weaved in and out of traffic, his eyes glancing every which way as he did it.
I looked down at his speedometer and saw that we were going over a hundred miles an hour.
In a fifty.
“Um,” I hated to say. “You’re going a bit fast, aren’t you? This is a construction zone, too. Traffic fines double.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I’m having withdrawals. The ticket might very well be worth it.”
“Isn’t there an actual number over the speed limit that you get pulled over for that they take you to jail?” I asked, heart pounding.
“Probably,” he said as he hit an open stretch of road with no cars. “How fast do you think my truck can go?”
I had no doubt in my mind that he’d done something to it to make it go much faster than any other truck on the road.
And, like a kid in a candy store, I said, “Show me.”
Five minutes later, we were pulled over on the edge of the highway.
At first, I didn’t think the cop appreciated the huge ass grins we were both wearing.
But now Nash was standing outside the car, looking a bit tired and weak, still smiling. And he was signing the cop’s coffee cup and grinning ear to ear.
“I can’t believe this.” The cop shook his head. “I just can’t believe this!”
Apparently, the man was a fan of Nash Christopherson.
Same, friend. Same.
“Do you want me to take a picture of you two?” I asked curiously. “Not to rush this, but I’m going to miss the start of the race.”
The cop grinned wickedly. “That’s why I was so annoyed at first. I’m off shift as of now, and I was heading home to catch it.”
I clapped. “Picture! Then we can go watch.”
The cop moved closer to Nash, and Nash, being the shining personality that he was when he was in Nash Christopherson, number twenty-eight, NASCAR driver mode, threw his arm around the cop.
The cop’s smile got impossibly bigger.
I took the picture with my phone, then immediately airdropped it to the man.
“Wow. Just wow,” the cop said as he looked at the photo that popped up on his phone. “This just made my entire year. It sucks that you’re out sick. But, man, I’m glad to meet you. I don’t even care if what you have is contagious. It’s damn worth it.”
After a handshake and a quick goodbye, we were back in the truck, this time going the speed limit.
“So, one hundred and thirty-nine isn’t really that fast,” I lied.
It was the fastest I’d ever gone in my life.
CHAPTER 13
I can’t sing, but I do have other oral talents.
-Zip to Nash
ZIP
“Hey,” I said as I swung the door open wide. “You’re early.”
Aracelli grinned, though it was lopsided.
“Bad day at the office,” she paused. “How’s he doing?”
“Enough of a bad day that you had to leave in the middle of the workday?” I teased as I headed back to the couch to get my outfit finished.
She came into Nash’s apartment, then came to a stop beside the table I was working on.
“What’s that?” she asked, completely ignoring my question.
Obviously that was a no-go subject for right now.
Noted.
“This is work that I had to start doing after we let our costume designer go,” I lied.
In reality, we didn’t ‘let’ our costume designer ‘go.’ Winston killed him for being a knowing part in the child sex trafficking ring that had been run behind our backs.
Now, we had performers who needed costumes, and no one applying to make them without costing an arm and three-quarters of a leg.
Man, inflation was a real bitch.
“You design and make the costumes?” she asked, surprise evident in her tone.
“I do what I have to do. Apparently, since Winston started making it known that he works with us, and that he’s married to Crimson, they only see dollar signs now.” I shook my head. “I can’t freakin’ believe the audacity of people. I went from placing an ad for a costume designer to doing this shit myself,” I grumbled darkly as I started to sew beads into place.
The beads were intricate, time consuming, and necessary to add sparkle to an outfit that would otherwise be rather bland. Sure, it was short, revealing, and flattering, it was also pretty blah in the spotlight in the middle of a circus.
“This is my last bead, though.” I sighed as I got it sewn into place. “What do you think?”
I picked it up and shook it out at her.
“I love it,” she said as she continued to stare. “I can’t believe you made that.”
I shrugged off the surprise in her voice. “I had to learn to do a lot of things when I was younger. It was either adapt or be knocked around. And let me tell you something, I learned to adapt really freakin’ quick.”
