Page 17 of Until You're Breathless

“Then you know thatyourheart beats around engines and cars, too. I just don’t get why you can’t do business with me. I mean, you teased the fuck out of me sending me that goddamn prototype back in the day, and yet y’all won’t make an engine with me.”

“I told you, man. I’ve got to get my foot in international waters first. I don’t want to split my focus.”

“I don’t get why you’re so hell bent on that, anyway. That fucking engine you sent me kicked ass. It had all the nuts and bolts for racing success. With a couple of teams working on that thing, we’d have something viable in six months, Jagger.”

It usually ends there. Every time we meet up, it’s the same conversation. Every. Single. Time. He draws in a deep breath and releases it. “I see Boston’s still a dipshit. Glad Bowie finally saw through that asshole.”

“Don’t even get me started on her.”

The other problem with Axl is that he lives in the past. He can never let shit go. “If she’d a heard you out, this would never have happened. You two would be married, running a business together, and you’d be designing and building racing cars for me, too, I’ll betcha.”

I let him take a walk down memory lane for a few moments. “Yeah, well, she crawled in the sack with Boston so fucking fast, I didn’t have the chance to explain.”

“It should have been obvious. You were both fully clothed and the bathroom smelled like a truck stop. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

“She panicked.” I explain. “I get it. It’s taken me a long time to say that, but I do. I was her first and seeing me in bed with someone else, innocent or not, spooked her. The part that I have trouble understanding is if she loved me so fucking much, why the hell did she have no problem whatsoever hopping into bed with that asshole.”

“Yeah, but you were her first, too. That should have accounted for something.”

I slap him on the leg. “Yeah, well it didn’t. And it’s been over ever since, so let’s just let it go.”

“Will you make racing engines with me?”

I smile. “You stop mouthing off to the media, and getting yourself in so much shit that you need to keep two lawyers on a retainer, and we’ll talk.” I rise. “See you next time.”

“You gonna crush Kruger now that he’s one man down?”

“We’ll see what Rush has to say about that.”

“I say go for it. Even if he didn’t steer you wrong since day one, you still deserve top spot, not him.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. But we’ll see what happens.”

Rush’s place isn’t a house it’s a goddamn airport. I could never live in a place where the living room looks like a fucking bowling alley. Even the parcel of land is overwhelming. It takes a team of landscapers to cut his lawn and manicure the brush and plants and cover he has. If anyone ever wonders where his money goes to, this is it. He’s even got a fucking water feature at the front of his house. If you ask me, he thinks that he’s some kind of goddamn Greek god with a piece of shit like that masquerading on his lawn. But that is what makes him happy. That and being the king of his own hill, that is.

“Hey, brother. Coffee’s over there.” He states as I walk in the front door. I’ve got a code to get in and I use it often.

“What was that bullshit about yesterday?” I query him, pouring myself a much-needed cup of brew.

“What bullshit are you referring to?” He asks, tongue in cheek, sipping his own coffee. He’s already in his suit, and his briefcase is open on his kitchen counter, looking like he’s been working for hours already.

“Where you came out to talk and ended up doing anything but?”

His tone raises an octave, like I’m being ridiculous. “What are you talking about? We talked.”

“Fine. We talked. But you didn’t give me the list of potential recruits. And don’t think that I didn’t catch the glances that you and Halen were exchanging, either. Because I was on to you.”

“When you say it that way, it just sounds weird.”

“Quit trying to change the subject. What’s the deal with the pool?”

He exhales sharply. “Alright, fine.” He rises to grab his laptop off the counter. “Here, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

As he turns the computer around, I see the list with a snippet of each person’s resume attached, and my eyes go directly to what I’m guessing Rush was trying to hide from me.

My tone is clipped. “So what.”

“So what?” He almost squeaks. “So the whole deal isn’t a fake, man. Stevie dug deeper and found out that it’s all fucking true. Boston and Bowie are splittsville, and now she’s coming to knock on your door.”

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