Page 73 of The Older Brother
“Rowan, you’re pretty much the hottest guy most women with eyes have ever seen. No, I’m never embarrassed to be seen with you. In fact, I wish we were seen more. In public. Together.”
I can feel my smile not quite reach my eyes, and she calls me on it.
“What are you worried about? Do you need to hear it in Spanish?T’amo. How about French?Je T’aime.I don’t know it any other way, but I’ll say it in English again. I love you, Rowan.”
I roll my neck and laugh off the embarrassing burn taking over my face as I groan.
“It’s not . . . that. I mean, I believe you. And I know that right now, this is very real. But what about this fall, when you’rewalking in the quad and you drop your books and some smooth football jock swoops in to carry them for you.”
“Uh, I hate to break this to you, but first . . . there aren’t books anymore. Everything’s an e-book. And football players aren’t my thing. I’m more of a basketball player kind of girl.” She’s working hard to convince me, and it’s so fucking sweet, but I want her to be sure. I don’t want to be some drag on her life. I won’t hold her back from anything.
“Okay, fine. But what if there’s some baller at your college, and he’s nice? I want that for you, if that’s whatyouwant.” I glance her way, and she silently laughs.
“Rowan, I have a baller. And he’s nice. And he didn’t need college. He started his own business, and it’s killing it. And frankly, I don’t like to party. Hell, I don’t even like to swim, but I’m going to keep doing that until school is paid for. And as for my free time? I’d rather spend it meeting sweet old ladies at the bus stop and helping them carry their groceries. I want to volunteer for things. I want to give myself to something bigger than me and make a difference. I don’t need to meet the hot jock in the quad. I’ll wait for him to drive up north and spend the night with me in the lodge.”
My stupid grin is pointless to try to remove. I couldn’t tell my mouth to behave if I wanted to. And I can’t say I didn’t give her an out.
“You’re a strange woman, Saylor Kelly. Fucking strange.”
Her eyes linger on me for several quiet seconds, even after I finally give in and let her win. If she wants to be with me, to try this for real, then that’s what I’m going to do. And if she wants to go out in public and show off what we are and what we have to the world? Well then fuck it. We’ll go right now.
I shift my eyes her way for a beat.
“How do you feel about driving fast?”
Her mouth curves higher.
“I love it.”
She probably thinks I mean right now, but I have bigger plans. I haven’t hit the drag strip in months. I’ve been too busy being on parole and trying to keep the garage open. I veer from the main highway about ten miles before we hit the city limits, and I think Saylor knows where I’m headed within seconds of our turn.
The lights glow from the dust kicked up along the track. Professionals haven’t raced here in years, but the county kept the track open and started letting amateurs turn out for fun. On the weekends, this place is basically an enormous flea market. But on Friday nights? It’s alive with cars that sound just like mine. And the minute I pull in, and eyes begin to take in the girl sitting next to me, my chest puffs up with the beast.
I find an open spot about halfway along the road, backing in, then rushing around the car to open Saylor’s door for her. I take her hand the minute her feet hit the gravel, and I don’t let go. I won’t. Not until it comes time to race. It may have been a few months since I’ve been here, but once a few familiar faces shine through the crowd, it’s as if I was here only days ago. I introduce Saylor to Rodrigo and Gus, the guys who run the Friday night races and have for years. They’re brothers from Maricopa, and they taught me and Mig all their secret recipes for making cars fast. Not everything they do under the hood is above board, and a lot of it is unsafe, but out here, they’re legit. They’re here to build community. To turn young guys into them. And given the way the sound of the cars roaring by jolts the blood in my veins, I’d say they’ve done their jobs.
“You racing tonight, Row?” Gus asks me, the white tufts of hair sticking out of the sides of his Phoenix Suns hat.
“No, not me. But she is.”
My gaze zips to Saylor, and she stiffens like a board. Her eyes flash wide and her mouth hangs open as she forces her head to shake.
“Don’t be scared. Nobody cares if you lose. It’s just for the rush. And besides . . .” I lean in, close to her ear. “You’ll have the best car out here.”
Her head swivels slowly until our eyes meet again, our noses almost touching. She’s positively panicked, but behind all that fear, I see the rush. That girl who likes to win will always be in there.
“Saylor Jayne Kelly. And here’s her license,” I say, holding out my hand for Saylor to hand it over.
A nervous laugh spills out of her quaking lips, but her fingers fumble with the zipper of her crossbody, and she manages to pull her license out for me. I hand it over, and Rodrigo pulls his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and jots down her number.
“Okay, sweetheart. Here’s the waiver,” he coughs out.
“Give him a pass,” I mutter to Saylor, noticing her hairs spike up at the sweetheart bit. “Rodrigo means well, and he’s called me sweetheart too once or twice.”
“Hmmm,” she groans, keeping her eyes on the sixty-year-old man who once launched a car in the air out on this very track simply because his brother bet him he couldn’t.
“You’re up in two. Good luck!” He hands Saylor her license, and I swing my arm around her shoulder, urging her stunned body to walk away.
“What are you doing?” She’s having a hard time zipping up her purse, so I halt us and do it for her.
