Page 9 of Revved up & Ready

Cam

Six months ago,Voyeur Café’sgrand opening– Palm Springs, California

“Shit. I’m sorry.” As I enter the back parking lot, I nearly step on Allie’s pink-haired friend, Sadie, sitting on the sidewalk by the back door. She’s the girl from the photo I found in Allie’s office, but now that I’m seeing her in person, I’m certain we’ve met before.

She looks up at me for a moment, then says, “Um, hi.”

“Seat taken?” I ask, pointing to the spot on the sidewalk next to hers.

She giggles, eyes dropping to her drink. “Nope.”

When I sit down, the concrete’s lingering heat from the Palm Springs sun seeps through my jeans.

I introduce myself, but she just shakes my hand without offering her name. “You’re Sadie, right?”

“I’m sorry,” she giggles again, her voice light and warm. “I should’ve said.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “No need to apologize.”

After a long sip from her drink, she sets it down between us and turns to face me directly, bringing her soft features into focus. “Let me try this again.” She pulls her shoulders back, smiling brightly, and offers her hand again. “Hi, I’m Sadie Winslow.”

I shake her hand for a second time, reintroducing myself.Her last name doesn’t ring any bells, but there’s something about her dimpled cheeks that feels familiar.

She leans in closer, bringing her face near enough for the dim streetlight to reveal the caramel hue of her eyes and the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose. “Better that time?” she asks, her giggle making her eyes sparkle.

Leaning in too, I reply, “Absolutely. I really enjoyed it.”

She lifts her drink, stopping just before it reaches her lips. “How do you feel about pineapple?”

“I’m for it,” I say.

“Magnificent.” She holds the smoothie-looking drink out to me. “You have to try this.”

It tastes like pineapple and orange, with just enough alcohol to get someone her size drunk.

“That was a weak sip,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Did you just call me weak?” I ask.

“I said you took a weaksip.”

A joke about what my mouth is capable of crosses my mind, but I keep the humor to myself. “I’m not trying to take your whole drink.”

She leans in further, giving me a glimpse of her cleavage. “I’m friends with the owner,” she whispers. “Free drinks. You can finish this one.”

When she shoves the drink back into my hand, I take another—much longer—sip, not stopping until she nods in approval.

“You know,” I say, savoring the way her eyes widen with interest. “I’m friends with theotherowner, and there’s no way in hell he put this pineapple dream on the menu.”

“If you’re not getting off-menu drinks, maybe you should have a word withyourowner friend. Not fair if I’m the only one getting special treatment.” She says this with a playful tone, and the warmth in her words radiates off her in an undeniably familiar way.

Has she been to races? Are we friends online? I’d remember that. Wouldn’t I?

“Sounds like you have more pull than I do,” I smirk. “Put in a good word for me?”

“I will. Promise,” she says with a sincerity that feels a little too familiar.Right?

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” I ask, the question making me feel like an asshole. People recognize me in public a lot, and it’s hard to keep track of everyone I’ve shaken hands with,hugged, or chatted with. But I rememberher. Ijustdon’t know why.

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