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“He won’t give me a straight answer.”
Emily’s met with Olivier a few times now, he’s been hanging around the garage being Mr. Smooth French Guy all over her. If I didn’t know Emily so well, I might be jealous.
But he treats her like arm-candy, dismisses anything she says with a laugh. He treats her like one of the attention-seeking celebrities or models who walk up and down the paddock.
Dumbass.
I’m standing back and letting Olivier dig his own grave. He’s doing a better job of it than I ever could, all on his own.
Edmund checks his watch and clears his throat, “Twenty minutes left. I’ll meet you both in the garage. I need to go find something for this cough.”
“See you there,” I tell Edmund and try to suck down another liter of water before the race. It’s especially hot today, and Liam has been on a tear making sure the whole team is adequately hydrated.
“Do you know what they do with the tires after the race?” Emily asks me, her face incredulous.
The sassy, determined tone of her voice turns me on more than she’ll ever know. She’s the most beautiful when she’s like this—confident, strong, assured. I could listen to her talk about tires, math, chemistry, or cheese—all day long.
It still has the same effect on me it did years ago. It drives out all the other bullshit from my mind. When I’d hear Stan’s voice in my head telling me what a piece of shit I was, what a moron I was to not hit every apex on the kart track, or how I was blowing the opportunities he’d given me, it was Emily who chased the thoughts away and replaced them with the excitement she felt over learning something new.
Dear old dad is supposed to grace me with his presence at the next race, too. I need to figure out how to manage that because I don’t want Stan anywhere near Emily. He probably already knows she’s here, given how many voicemails he’s left me.
Not that I’ve listened to a single one.
“They’re supposed to analyze them,” I answer Emily about the used tires.
“They burn them, Cole. They shred them, then burn them and use them as fuel at cement factories.”
“Is that normal?” It sounds bizarre, but what do I know.
“It’s not abnormal, but it’s rather convenient, isn’t it?”
“Can I do anything to help?”
Emily takes a deep breath and smiles at me across the table. “Just don’t get yourself killed out there.”
“No pressure,” I smile back.
She let it slip the other day that Dante’s crash scared her, but then she quickly reigned herself in. I don’t like that she’s upset, but a selfish part of me does feel good knowing she’s thinking about me enough to be worried.
That she doesn’t want me dead.
Everything has been going better than I thought it would with Emily. Sometimes, it’s like we’ve slipped right back into who we used to be with each other. Other times, I catch her pulling back. We haven’t talked about the past, though, and I know, eventually, we’re going to have to if I want her back.
And I want her back.
I need her back.
She’s been back in my life for a month, and it’s like giving a starving man one bite of steak. I want the whole goddamn t-bone, the entire cow. All of the cows, the herd, the ranch.
“Stan’s going to be in Belgium,” I blurt out in response to the persistent rogue thoughts in my mind about moving fate along. There’s not much I enjoy doing slowly.
“Oh,” her face
falls.
“Just wanted to warn you. I’ll do my best to keep him away from you.”
I wish the prick would just stay home in his Florida McMansion with whatever woman he’s terrorizing this week, but Belgium is his favorite race. He comes back every year to relive his glory days and act like he isn’t a washed-up has-been.
