Page 31 of The Player Penalty
“Oh, oh. Another rule. We drink until we get happy drunk, not completely smashed. Unless you had an awful week, then we encourage getting smashed,” Maddie says.
The week was decent enough, while the first part of this evening was miserable. My silent phone means he didn’t text. We were friends, and I knew what that meant, even when it wasn’t at the forefront of my thoughts.
“Then I’m getting smashed,” I say, and they both laugh.
“Do you want to spend the race with us tomorrow?” Sarah asks in the middle of our third drink. “It’s nothing fancy. We keep the race in the background while doing something else. Right now, we’re tackling crochet.”
“Some of us are wrestling with it,” Maddie adds with a hint of frustration.
I’m warm and calm and happy. “I’ll show you how. It’s easy once you master a few stitches.”
“You know how?” Sarah asks.
“I made several grannie square blankets.” They’re easy until the sewing. That part of my efforts doesn’t look great, but who cares? “Then I grew bored and learned to knit.”
“Oh, absolutely no way. Awesome,” Maddie says. “We have a teacher. I’m offering extra credit for your schooling.”
12-Lily
Three drinks and no hint of a headache—a decent start for a late Sunday morning. I unzip my jacket as the sun chases the remaining chill from the air.
Crowds stand in line to buy merch and autographs from their favorite drivers. Unlike everyone else, my hands are empty since I want neither.
Someone calls my name, and I glance around, only to find more strangers.
“Hey. Wait up.”
A familiar figure steps in front of me. “Tommy?” He’s on Boone River’s pit crew. I think.
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulls the edge of his trucker cap down, and its formality causes me to blush. “Julian is over there, taking his turn at the booth. He asked me to get you since he can’t leave.”
Sure enough, the 33 booth has its own line, with Julian at the head, putting his signature on whatever is placed in front of him. The line also has more women than is typically found at NASCAR events.
“Did he say why?”
“I’m only the errand boy.” He offers an arm and then drops it at my quizzical expression.
I don’t want to go. “Lead the way.”
“There you are,” Julian says at my approach without glancing my way. “Thanks so much, and enjoy the rest of your day. It’ll be some great racing.”
Last night, Julian expressed frustration with short-track racing. I keep my mouth shut.
“I was with Sarah and Maddie last night,” I say, not bothering with a preamble. It’s why he asked me over. “We went drinking. Sorry for not telling you.”
“I went looking after you didn’t answer my text. Your dad told me where you were. Did you enjoy it?”
I only nod. We piled into a rental car with Boone Rivers’ help and laughed over nothing the entire short ride back to the campground. Dad sent me to bed with Tylenol and a giant glass of water. It was heaven.
He wipes his brow and goes back to autographing.
I want to go.
“Thirty minutes until my shift here ends,” he finally says. “Can you meet me in my trailer while I put the fire suit on?”
I agree and leave him behind. Samantha appears in line with an apparent friend next to her. Her eyes pass over me with no sign of recognition. In the daylight, she’s even prettier than I remembered. She’s also closer to Julian’s age.
I glance back at him, but if he notices her, there’s no sign.
