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“A Smashdown Birthday—what?”
His laughter came out deep and smooth. “There won’t be a fight tonight. We just walk the ring, talk some shit about who we are going to fight next, get the crowd riled up for the next big thing. It’s a moneymaking scheme. People get in free tonight so that during the night of the fight they are ready to pay up. Since it’s my birthday and I’m fighting someone with a good rep, I have to be there to help build up the hype.”
“Oh.” I glanced towards the parking lot, focusing on his truck. My eyes then swung back over to his. “Do you…make a lot of money doing that?”
“Fighting?” He shook his head and laughed. “You don’t have to be afraid to say it, Jenny.”
“I know but… I don’t know.” I waved a hand as the words rushed out of me. “It’s just… the last thing I thought you’d do for money. Especially with the way you used to tell me all about how you hated it when we were in fifth grade.”
He shrugged. “It pays some of the bills. Helps me take care of most of my grandma’s medical bills. It got me that truck out there.” He pointed his thumb towards the window. “I’m good at it. It’s whatever.”
“You know it’s not just whatever,” I said, almost mocking him as I thinned my eyes in his direction. “You love what you do. You love that you’re so good at it. You don’t have to be afraid to admit it.”
His lips twisted. He found that comeback humorous—and a good one, I bet. “Assumptions are deadlier than weapons, you know?”
“I think my assumptions are closer to the truth than you’d like to admit, Doomsday.”
For the first time, I heard him laugh out loud. It was deep and harmonious, and so damn sexy that I had to laugh with him. It wasn’t loud or over the top.
It was the perfect dose of laughter—the kind that proved you got your point across.
“You know what I think?” I asked.
“What?”
“Let’s forget about eating here. Let’s binge on overpriced carnival food and dessert instead.”
Drake’s keys were already clutched in hand. “I was just about to say the same thing.”
I beamed and pushed out of my chair. “Well, let’s go.”
* * *
We decided not to waste too much gas.
After I dropped my car off at home, sneaking away before my witch of a mother could come out and catch me, I was inside Drake’s pick-up truck, squealing as he sped away.
His engine roared, and I found it entertaining just to think of everyone that would hear it and get upset about it being so loud. Just because their cars purred didn’t mean someone else’s couldn’t roar.
The growling of Drake’s truck fit his demeanor; mean and rough. Not extremely loud, but proving more that he always got his point across without having to be.
I clipped my seatbelt as he took the freeway. I then looked down, noticing some mud on the tip of my shoe.
“Damn it,” I cursed beneath my breath.
Drake looked over at me. “What?”
“I think I stepped in some mud or something running to the truck.” He frowned, and started to look down. “It’s not on your floor or anything,” I assured him. “Do you have a napkin in here?”
“Yeah.” He bobbed his head. “Check the glove compartment.”
I reached forward, opening the compartment and shuffling through it. As I pulled out a napkin, something hard fell out and hit the floor.
I glanced over at Drake. He didn’t look my way. He was too busy switching lanes. I picked up the object that fell—a small, rectangular gray box.
“Did you find one?” he asked. He finally looked over at me.
“I did. This fell out. I’ll put it back.” I held the box up with a nervous smile and started to put it back in the glove compartment. I didn’t want him to think I was snooping again.
“No.” He grabbed my arm before I could put it away. He stopped at a light, and his eyes connected with mine. “Open it.”
“Oh—no. I can’t open your stuff. I’m a nosey person but not that nosey.”
He laughed. “Just open it, Jenny. I think you’ll be happy to see what’s in there.”
I dropped my line of sight to the box. Sighing, I opened the case, and when I saw the cross I gave him in fifth grade—the cross Mitchell gave me—all words caught in my throat.
“Oh my gosh,” I whispered. Well, most of my words. “You really do still have it. I was only hoping you did when I brought it up last night.”
“Why would I get rid of it?”
“Because it’s a cheap, old cross that’s worth nothing at all?”
He pulled off, head shaking. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
“How?”
“Because my first real friend gave it to me.” He paused, and I watched his face relax. “Outside of Oscar and Otto… I didn’t have friends. Plus, they didn’t really count. They were family. You were the first, and when you gave it to me it actually meant something. It’s worth more to me than you think.”
