Page 58 of Dahlia Made A List

All the cars running right now were street cars. Modified, but not to the point that they needed parachutes to stop or were illegal driving around town. I soaked in the details of the drag strip, in Wyatt’s hobby.

I sighed happily. To be honest, I soaked in any details I could about Wyatt. He didn’t reveal much, but every new discovery pulled me deeper.

Maybe I shouldn’t have written off the romance books so easily. Maybe with the right man, anything was possible.

Wyatt mentioned a bigger track down in Richland where the pros ran. Said we’d hit the track sometime. While I was honestly eager to see the cars, I was ecstatic at his making tentative plans to include me into his future.

“Our grandfather bought him that car.”

I jerked back, knocking my hip against the concrete barrier, to find Waylon Weston standing right beside me like a sneaky thief trying to pick my pocket.

My scalp prickled. This was Wyatt’s older brother. The man who wanted to sell Wyatt’s drive-in to some developer despite the fact that his little brother loved the place. Despite the fact that he’d spent who knows how long restoring the place. Despite the drive-in being special to their grandfather.

He caught my eyes, something dark flashing in his, and I couldn’t look away.

“But then, Grandfather always did spoil Wyatt.” He shifted, his broad shoulders so like his brother’s, blocking my view of the track. “Guess he felt someone had to since Wyatt was an embarrassment to the rest of the family.”

I jerked again, my heart pounding, fire burning a hot line up my spine.

The darkness in Waylon’s eyes turned malevolent. “Wyatt’s the family parasite. A leech feeding off the success of the Weston and Pendleton names. We give him just enough to keep him in line, keep him from shaming the rest of the family, but at the end of the day, we’re not going to let him cause harm to the families’ reputations.”

As much as I wanted to tear into the man, rip him up one side and down the other for his words, Waylon Weston wasn’t a man to waste his breath on someone like me without some sort of ulterior motivation. I folded my arms over my chest, arched my brow and waited the asshole out.

“Seems he’s got a soft spot for you. You’re the first woman he’s ever brought to Sunday dinner, so there’s something there.” He paused, his mouth flattening. “Get him to tell Minerva he doesn’t want The Royal. I’ll make it worth your while.”

I sighed, heavy and dramatic. “You sound like a really bad villain in some really bad movie. Wait, let me say, not like a scary villain, but the kind the audience laughs at and points at and says, ‘What the fuck?’ over and over while shaking their heads. Yeah, just like that.”

Before I’d finished speaking, his face flushed a bright, ugly red.

“And just like one of those really bad villains, I can practically see the steamwhoosh-ing out of your ears.”

He lifted his hand between us, finger pointed and sharp in my face.

I stepped back a pace and smiled. “Mr. Weston, I'm gonna have to decline your kind offer. But thanks for stopping by to see Wy race.”

I turned on my heel and headed to meet back up with Wyatt.

An hour later, he stood at the end of my kitchen, hands locked on his hips. “You thanked him for watching the race?”

I darted a look over my shoulder. “I know, right? Great last line.”

The vegetable stir-fry sizzled in the pan, the aroma making my mouth water. I was pretty sure this recipe was gonna turn out.

“Fucker.”

“Ignore him, Wy. Don’t let him under your skin.”

“Fifteen years too late for that.”

With the exception of his brother’s rude disruption, today had been an amazing day. The kind of day I imagined the best, happiest couples enjoyed. I didn’t want Wy dwelling on his brother and ruining our night.

“You think after we eat you could quiz me on the written driver’s test? I’m scheduled to take it this week and I just don’t feel ready.”

When he didn’t respond, I looked up from the sugar snap peas, carrots, and broccoli in the pan. Wyatt stood over the coffee table, my brand new placemats dangling from his fist. Spotting the fist, I snapped my gaze up to take in the tightness across his shoulders.

The starling in my chest swooped, knocking against my heart and shooting a shiver of apprehension down my spine. Thoughts of his brother? Or something else?

I shrugged off the sensation, flipped off the stove and dished up our dinner. I’m not sure I could have articulated my thoughts just then, but Wyatt’s unspoken tension rubbed off on me and when he stood and announced his departure, part of me sighed with relief.

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