Page 26 of False Start

I raked a hand over my face, tipping my head back as Kit walked briskly out of the building.

What had I just signed myself up for?

Derek. This was because of Derek. Sure, it’d been my idea to play paintball, but in the minutes after his injury, as the staffrushed off to call an ambulance, Derek had only one thought on his mind: How badly he’d fucked over Kit.

And honestly, I could have cared less. Kit wasn’tmyfriend. But Derek was. Besides, Derek had a point. I didn’t want to hang out in a hospital for the next week, no matter how much I liked the guy. And if my options were to be useless in a hospital or to go on a trip across the country, I put on my traveling shoes. Or would have, had I had time to pack.

“Hey, Kit!” My voice echoed off the tall apartment buildings and down the empty street.

She stopped, shoulders heaving before she turned around. “We need to go, Texas.”

I tightened my grip on my bag. “Yeah, so you’ve said. We need to talk first.”

She slowed to a stop. “Talk?”

“Yeah,” I said. “This energy? I can’t do five days of this.”

Her jaw tightened, a small indent forming on her cheek. “Fine. Thanks for making me late. Have a great weekend.”

“That’s not what I meant.” My words stopped her mid-turn. “I meant, let’s start over. We’re about to spend five days together. I want to call a truce.”

She tipped her head back and inhaled. “What does that even mean?”

Annoyance coated her face, her stance, but I didn’t back down. “It means we’ll try to get along. You’ll cool it on the annoyance, and I’ll stop trying to wind you up.”

She snorted. “So, you’re admitting that you try to wind me up?”

“Don’t act like you’re not as much to blame as I am,” I laughed.

Her honey brown eyes flitted to the car and back to me before she sighed, taking my hand. “Fine. A truce.”

Just as quickly as her hand landed in mine, it was gone again, tucked into her pockets on the way to the car. Maybe we’d formed an uneasy truce, but hopefully it got us through the next five days without murdering each other.

“So, what’s the deal with this rally? What exactly are we doing?” I asked.

Kit opened the trunk to the rust-covered car parked at the entrance of the building. I placed my leather luggage in the trunk carefully, wincing at the sharp corners that could so easily cut into the fabric.

“So, each night, there’s a checkpoint. We need to be at the checkpoint by ten pm and can’t leave until six. Each morning, we’ll get a list of locations we can stop at for points. Whoever has the most points at the end of the rally wins.”

“That’s it?”

“There’s more.” She flicked on the turn signal, turning onto the highway. “We also get points for our car and theme.”

“What’s our theme?”

She shook her head. “Don’t have one.”

“And this car isn’t getting shit for points.”

“The worse the car, the more starting points, actually.”

I perked up at that. “Really? Shit. Then this car might win us the rally.”

“And the judges can also award points for any reason they want: funny social media posts, extra stops, anything really.”

“And what do we win?”

She rolled her eyes as she dipped into the driver’s seat and started the car. The engine ground out a clunking sound before roaring to life. “Bragging rights, mostly. A trophy, but we won’t win.”

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