Page 61 of The Player Penalty
I signed many chests last year. “If you have pen and paper, I’ll sign something more permanent.”
Staci’s smile falters a little. She sits on the bench opposite me. “Any chance you’ll tell me your racing strategy this weekend? My older brother has a bet going on you.”
That’s flattering. “What kind of bet?”
“This year’s Cup champion.”
I lean back. That’s a possibility I’ve refused to consider. The focus has been this week’s race and then next week’s. A lot of racing and a lot of laps means anything can happen. “Tell him I’m flattered.”
“I will.”
Matteo is busy with her friend, so my wingman job is nearly over, and I can leave. “It was nice to meet you again, Staci.” Did she give a last name? Do I care?
“I’ll be here all weekend,” she says. Her expression shows she’s about to make an offer. “If you want my number-”
Someone clears his throat.
It’s Pete, clad in a trucker hat,RMSshirt, and a disapproving glare.
Wait. Shit. “What are you doing here?”
“Officials changed your qualifying time, which changes your sponsor work,” he says.
Staci listens curiously.
“Why didn’t you text?”
“We did, and considering your evening activity, it looks like my visit was needed.” Pete lifts his hat and brings it back down. “Try to show up on time.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, already grabbing my phone out of my pocket. It’s still on silent from the race. Worse, there’s a waiting text from Lily. “I’ll see you around, Staci.”
Morning plans are bumped up an hour. That’s fine. Wake-up times can be adjusted.
Lily: I didn’t watch your race. It’s boring, and you weren’t in it. What’s the point?
She’ll never be a huge fan, and that’s fine as long as she’s cheering me on.
Julian: Are you free soon?
Lily: To beat you? Always. If my homework is done on time.
My chest inflated at the beginning of her message and then shrunk back into itself by the end. We haven’t spoken today and barely texted.
I miss her.
∞∞∞
One quick stop and this day is over. Pete was sent to find me, which means I’m still wanted.
Boone opens his trailer door before I even finish knocking. “Does this mean Pete found you?”
“Message delivered,” I say.
“Come in.” Boone steps back, giving me the room to climb the narrow steps.
Inside, only a dim kitchen light and television give off light. Boone wears a pair of gray sweats and nothing else. Madelyn sits on the sofa, clad in one of his tshirts, with a blanket strategically covering her legs.
Great, I interrupted their evening. “You two were busy.”
