Page 225 of Revv

“It isn’t.”

“Disappointing.”

She reaches behind her and grabs her tote bag.

“I know a guy at work who’s been trying to find someone before the season starts.”

Emma works at a track outside the city.

I understand maybe sixty percent of what she actually does there because whenever she starts talking about paddock schedules and operations, my brain eventually replaces her voice with static.

There are bikes.

People race them.

Emma makes shit happen.

Good enough.

“What kind of someone?”

Emma’s mouth curves like she’s been waiting for me to ask. “A nanny.”

I pause with my drink halfway to my mouth, then glance down at myself—tattoos covering both arms, cutoffs, black tank, bare feet still dusted with sand—before looking back at her.

“Be serious. What about me screams nanny?”

She laughs. “You’re good with kids.”

“I’m good with kids because they’re usually less annoying than adults. That doesn’t exactly make me Mary fucking Poppins.”

“Good thing I don’t think he’s looking for Mary Poppins.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a folded piece of paper, smoothing it across her thigh before handing it to me. “There’s a race in a couple days, so everyone’s basically living at the track right now getting ready. Stop by this afternoon and talk to him before it gets completely insane.”

I unfold the paper. There’s an address scribbled across the top, followed by a garage number and a name underneath.

Emma taps her finger directly over the name before I can pay much attention to it.

“That’s who you need to find.” She crumples up the wrapper from her lunch and tosses it into the little trash bin beneath my counter. “Worst case, you hate him, tell him to fuck off and drive your house somewhere else.”

Now that sounds more like my kind of job interview.

I fold the paper and shove it into the back pocket of my shorts. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Emma grins.

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely fucking are.”

I hop down from the back of the van and brush the sand from my legs, already questioning whatever series of life choices has, apparently, ended with me interviewing to nanny for some guy at a racetrack.

Then again, three weeks ago I was still in Ohio.

Clearly, making questionable decisions is working out pretty well for me.

A few hours later, I’m pulling my black van through the gates of a racetrack wondering how the fuck lunch turned into a job interview.