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"I like your people, Che," she said, leaning her head into my shoulder.
"They're our people now," I corrected.
"Yeah," she said, smile sweet. "They're our people. I like that."
Saskia - 2 weeks
"You can't pay for everything, Che," I chided, shaking my head as the tow truck lowered the new-to-us car into the driveway.
No one had been able to track down my baby I'd needed to abandon up in Georgia. I thought that I would feel sad about that, but the idea of getting to build a car with Che was too exciting to be upset about the one I'd lost.
That said, we'd been looking around at car ads with the understanding that I was supposed to be the one buying it when we finally narrowed it down.
But here was the car.
And I hadn't spent a dime.
"I can actually," he said, smirking.
"Fine. But I won't let you. I buy parts," I said. "It would be cruel to make you pay for upgrades I am going to use to smoke your ass at a race in a couple months," I added, enjoying the rumbling chuckle he let out a little too much.
"We'll see about that," he said, moving toward the car, going inside to pop the trunk.
"We sure will," I agreed, knowing my competitiveness about this one topic might not be great for our budding relationship, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to show him that I'd taken every bit of advice he'd given me, then practiced it, perfected it, all the years we'd been apart.
Okay, fine.
Maybe I just wanted to prove that the student could surpass the master.
Maybe it mattered more than it should have because a part of me knew that I was probably going to be retiring eventually. Or, at least, retiring from being a wheelman for anyone but this organization I was beginning to care for so much.
Keeping my career would mean long trips alone, on the road, unsure what was going on in Golden Glades, if Che was okay or not.
I knew that, eventually, I wasn't going to want to do those trips anymore. Or risk my freedom either.
And, if things kept heading in the direction they were with Che, I saw ourselves settling down like Huck and Harmon, having babies, starting a different kind of life.
One day, and it might not be that far in the future, my racing glory days would be behind me. I wanted to go out with a bang.
"So, what do you think?" Che asked, waving toward the engine.
"I think this was the right choice," I decided. We'd been hemming and hawing between two options for a couple of days. The other option had been more expensive and more upgraded. But I found I liked the idea of needing to do more wrench time with Che.
"Oh, no no no," Ayanna's voice called, sounding frustrated. "Do not be getting all greasy," she added, slamming her car door with her foot, moving toward us with her arms full of boxes and bags. "I told you I was coming at two," she added, giving me small eyes. "We have a lot of setting up to do before Huck brings Harmon back. And you," she said, looking at Che, "aren't you supposed to be picking up Gus from the airport?"
"I have an hour still," Che said.
"Yeah, well, drive slow," Ayanna said.
Che gave me a shrug. We all knew it was useless to argue with Ayanna.
"Have fun," he said, sharing a guilty look with me.
Because we totally went out and bought the cupcakes from a bakery. Though, I had wiped off all the professional-looking frosting when we'd gotten home, and used some of the stuff from the grocery store on them instead.
We'd tried another test run of cupcakes three days before.
And, damnit, it wasn't our fault that baking always coincided with everyone being out of the clubhouse, which meant we got distracted by each other's bodies. I was starting to worry that there would be no erasing the sin etched on that kitchen island.
"Now that you're here," Ayanna said as we walked through the house, and she tssked her tongue at our surroundings, "you should take it upon yourself to spruce the place up. When I first started dating..." she started with the enthusiasm she might if she were still dating him. When she started up again, her tone was markedly more somber. "Let's just say, I think most of the male species simply don't have it in them to pick out drapes. Or wall colors that don't make the place feel like a prison cell. I think we will have to give up hope about a dining room table," she said, shaking her head at the pool table that had been used the night before.
"I don't want to overstep," I said, shrugging.
