Page 43 of Beautiful Rush
If I didn’t use the restroomwithin the next two minutes, I’d pee my pants.I’d only be gone a few minutes and my car would be fine.
Decision made, Ipower walked across the parking lot, skirting the edge of a group of guys congregated around ablueMustang Cobra.Sweet ride.
“Hey, Racer Girl,” Z called after me.
Ugh, no time for a chat.Urgent matter to deal with here.
I looked over my shoulderand raised my brows.
“You’re racing the Camaro. Last race of the night. Ten minutes.”
Surprise, surprise. I gave himathumbs-upand climbed over the curb, hustling to the entrance. As bad luck would have it, there were only three stalls in the restroom. One of them was out of service. The other two were occupied.I crossed my legs and clenchedmy muscles.My bladderwasabout to burst.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
I let out a little whimper. WhyhadI waitedso long?
Finally, I heard one of the toilets flush and what felt like a million years later, a drunk girl staggered out. I took her placein the cubicle.It smelled like vomit.
Public restrooms were disgusting,but I could overlook that tonight.I had more pressing matters. Literally.
Ah, sweet relief. I took care of my business quickly and exited the stall.
I washed my hands and held them under the dryer. These things were useless. Wiping my hands on my shorts, I slid my cell phone out ofmypocket and checked the time as I exited the restroom.There were two new messages on my phone.
Connor: Hey babe, hope you’re doing okay. I’m always here for you if you need to talk.
Killian: You good?
I typed out quick responses, assuring themthatI was just fine. Earlier, I had told Ava and Eden the same thingand said that I was going to stay home, chill out, and get lost in a book.
Lies.
Not to mention that I hadblatantlyliedtoDeacon, after standing him up.
He had left five messages. I had answeredone of themat eleven o’clock. It was now one in the morning.
Me: Hey, sorry I missed you. I’m out with Ava and Eden. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow? xx
God, I sucked. What was I doing? I didn’t have to race tonight.I could forfeit my two-hundred-dollar entry fee. That was a small price to pay for a clean conscience. I’d just tell Z I wasn’t feeling well,andI’d drivehome, and everything would be okay.I could go for a drive on Sundayor I could punch a bag at Killian’s gym.It wouldn’t be the same rush though. My race was in five minutes. I’d be home by two, at the latest.
Now I was trying to justify my lies.That’s what skilled liars did.My whole life had been a lie. An elaborate game of smoke and mirrors. If I wanted to outrun my past, I couldn’t do it by lying to everyone.
“Hey, Racer Girl.”
Ugh, Tyler. I pocketed my phone and crossed to the entrance door he’d just come in, the door he was currently barricadingwith his body.
“Ready to race?” he asked, not moving aside to let me pass. He was working a toothpick in his mouth, a smirk on his stupid faceand in that moment, under the fluorescent lights of a McDonald’s somewhere inQueens, I decided that I wasn’t going to race tonight.
If I wanted to live an honest life, I had to stop lying. Deacon deserved my honesty. Instead, I’d sent him on a wild goose chase and left him hanging.While he’d been waiting for me in the diner parking lot, I’d beendriving.I drove for hoursand hours, down nameless streets in neighborhoods I’d never been toand probably shouldn’t haveventured into,my music blasting, my windows wide open.A carjacker’s dream. At one point I wound up in the Bronx. I didn’t even know how I had gotten there.When I stopped at a light, a guy with a squeegee and a bucket of dirty water had cleaned my windshieldeven though I told him I didn’t want him to. Ishould have been scared when hestuck his head in my open window and shouted at me, but I wasn’t. I stuffeda wad of cash into his hand and floored the accelerator, leaving him in my rearview.
“I need to get back to my car.” Igestured for Tyler to move aside.
Instead of moving aside, he did a full bodyscan, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe. He was wearing a BAPE T-shirt and Air Jordan’s. He looked like a rich kid who got his kicks from street racing. He reminded me of the guys I went to prep school with, except for Sasha who hadn’t fit into that world any more than I had.
“Why do you race?” I asked, out of curiosity. Also, I wasn’t in a hurry to get back, now that I had no intention of racing him.
“The same reason I do everything. To win.”With that, he smirked and held the door for me, pretending to be a gentleman. I slipped past him and he fell into step with me. The only good thing about having Tyler by my side was that he couldn’t mess with my car. I envisioned him keying the paintwork just to be an asshole.
