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“You promised you’d end your sex drought before we got home,” Sam continued. “Since we chose here over Netflix and pizza, the universe has offered you a chance to hook up here at the track. You could have changed into the new, hot clothes you bought only days ago.”
I’d been in Brisbane for the last two weeks seeing medical specialists but found time to buy clothes on sale or from vintage shops. But the duffel bag I’d brought to the track was packed with dirty laundry, toiletries and a cotton dress.
Sam waved a hand up and down my front. “Stace, you look like you’re cosplaying a sofa.”
I sighed. “I wasn’t going to wear leather pants with the exhaust fumes and grease on track.”
“What about leggings? Show off your legs and that arse, girl.”
“My leggings are covered in snot, thanks to my three-year-old cousin. I’ve nothing warm to wear other than what I’ve got on now.”
“You could have done a load of washing last night instead of talking on the phone!”
“Ryan was worried about Charlotte’s high fever, blocked nose and a cough.” Being an almost-qualified enrolled nurse, I often helped my family with health issues. “It was too late to put washing on after our call.”
They were the reason we’d been called to be pit crew. Thanks to engine trouble today, Ryan and his best friend, Benji, were stuck at our farm fixing Ryan’s ute.
“For a mechanic, Ryan has the worst maintained car in all of Ballydoon. But …” Sam paused as she applied lip gloss. A couple of drivers walked past, giving her a look-over. Sam smiled back. “I’m not complaining about Benji and Ryan pulling out today. There are heaps of hotties here. You could still pick up. Just as you wanted to. Operation End-The-Sex-Drought.”
“I don’t think tequila shots make a binding promise to have sex.”
Me and my big mouth. It had been so long since I’d last had sex. I’d made a drunken decree that I’d find a random guy and have sex before I returned home after my medical appointments. Once we’d sobered up, Sam called my drunken promise ‘Operation End-The-Sex-Drought’.
I had one night left—tonight—before I was due back home.
I rolled my eyes.
Sam narrowed hers. “Don’t you dare back out. Ryan isn’t around to scare off any interested men, which makes this a golden opportunity.”
As much as I loved my brother, he used his tatts, height and strength to intimidate anyone who showed interest in me, and it scared them off every time.
Lordy, I wanted to have sex again.
Good sex.
No. I wanted to sleep with a man who knew how to havegreatsex.
Sam seized me by my shoulders. “Repeat after me: ‘I am not Rapunzel in the tower. I am not Cinderella in the cellar. I am not waiting for a prince to rescue me.’”
I rolled my eyes again. “I am Stacey on a sheep station and we do have a cellar.”
“Oh my god, focus on getting laid!”
Sam released me as I took a deep breath.
“Fine.” I slipped my hand into my coat pocket and squeezed a folded piece of paper hidden in there. My heart skipped a beat at what this piece of paper meant for my future.
“I want to get laid. I promise you this girl is rescuing herself. I don’t need a prince. Are we good now?”
And, more importantly, she’s getting herself a new future when she gets home.My stomach fluttered.
“Yes, we are. When Phil’s done for the night, we’ll hit up the food trucks.”
“Ugh, Stace? Sam?” Phil, our driver, groaned behind us. “I don’t feel so good.”
Sam and I both turned just as he clutched his stomach, his face turning green.
“Uncle Bruce! We need a bag or something!” I yelled, grabbing Phil’s race helmet.
