Page 76 of The Charlie Method

I glance at the guy who’s now matching my strides. A frown digs into my brow. Either I’m imagining it or it’s the same guy I saw at the hockey game the other night. He’s got the same distinct gap in his right eyebrow, as if there’s a scar bisecting it.

Or maybe not. Maybe he just likes to shave a line in his eyebrow. Could be something the kids are doing these days.

As I head toward my car, my peripheral vision catches him stopping in the middle of the lot. I canfeelhis eyes on me, and my frown deepens.

Gripping my keys between my fingers, I spin around to look at him. He’s a few years older than me. An Asian guy with jet-black hair cut short at the sides and left long on top. Average height, lanky frame. He seems completely innocuous, yet my instincts are sayingstay away.

“Can I help you?” I call out.

“No, sorry. I just couldn’t remember where I parked. But I see it now.” With a polite smile, he walks past me toward a red Toyota.

Suspicion prickles my gut. He forgot where he parked? That red car stands out in this lot like a signpost. But okay. I’m not going to question why he lied. He’s getting in his car anyway. A moment later, he speeds out of the lot.

I follow suit, leaving campus with Amato Racing in my GPS. For the drive, I queue up an audiobook textbook. I hit Play, and the female narrator begins explaining one of the processes involved in designing electronic circuits for medical devices, which ties directly to my senior capstone project.

But I’m halfway to the track when I simply can’t take it anymore. My brain feels like it’s going to explode. It’s weighed down by so much information. My classes, my capstone, the thousand Method write-ups I’ve completed since finding out Will and Beckett are Lars and B.

I try to distract myself before another pressure wave can surface by blasting my go-to Mollie May playlist. I don’t care if I’m a loser for liking her. There’s a reason she’s the biggest pop star in the world and plays sold-out stadiums. Her songs are catchy.

Dante meets me at the main entrance of the track, which is totally empty despite being open for go-karts.

“You weren’t kidding about it being dead,” I remark as I follow him inside.

“I keep telling my pops it’s a waste of electricity to keep the place open when kids are in school. But the old man is stubborn.”

Dante nods toward the sole employee at the indoor ticket counter, then leads me outside again through the back doors. We end up in a hangar-like structure about a hundred yards from the main track. It’s a garage, I realize. The soft strains of country music waft out of a large external speaker. On the far end of the large space sits a black Ferrari with its hood propped open.

Dante swipes a wrench from a metal rack and wanders toward the sports car. “I’m going to keep working while we chat if you don’t mind.”

“You service these vehicles yourself? I’m surprised they let you do that. For insurance purposes.”

“Nah, this one’s mine.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I exclaim. “This car belongs toyou?”

“I mean, it’s an older model—”

“It’s a Ferrari, Dante!” My jaw is on the concrete.

“Yeah, but Pops was gonna get rid of it. Clients don’t want to drive it. And it needs a lot of work.”

“He just…gaveyou aFerrari.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m never getting a salary again. I’ll pretty much be working here for free for the rest of my life but…” He shrugs. “I mean…”

“Totally worth it,” I agree. “I’m going to borrow it. You do realize that, right?”

My friend snorts. “I’m not letting you drive this car. Ever.”

“But you let me drive the other ones,” I protest.

“Because you’re a client, and clients are insured to drive the track cars. This baby’s mine now. You’re not on my insurance.”

“Then add me! I’ll pay for it myself.”

He grins. “You are such a car slut.”

“I am a car slut. And I don’t care if anyone knows.”

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