“You’re amazing.” I lean over the table and kiss those lips. She tastes like syrup and secrets, ones she’s sharing with me.
Her blink is slow and suspicious. “You’re not gonna tell me I’m being reckless and stupid? That I have no business doing something so dangerous? That I should leave the racing to the big boys?”
That those questions are on the tip of her tongue tells me she’s heard them all before. This is a test, sure as shit.
I take another bite, letting her stew for a moment. “Reckless and stupid? That’s my idea of a fun Saturday night.” My grin grows and she smacks my shoulder.
“Asshole.” But she’s smiling, and I know that whatever she expected from me, that wasn’t it. “And it’s Tuesday.”
“Yeah, Saturdays are for reckless and stupid. Tuesdays are for crazy and illegal. And watch out for Thursdays . . .” I pause dramatically, and Erica’s smile tells me she’s on board with me. “That’s for secrets and sneaking around.”
“What about Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday?” Laughter is dancing in her eyes.
I break first, my laughter rough and rusty. “Shit, I don’t know. I’m making this stuff up as I go.”
She gets up, coming around the table to kiss me. “You surprise me, Brody Michael Tannen.”
I could say the same thing to her, but while it feels like a compliment to me, I think she’d take it as an insult. As much as she’s shared tonight, and as wild and outrageous as it sounds, I feel like she thinks it’s no big deal. Just another day, another engine, another hundred and thirty-eight mile an hour drive through the city.
So I keep my big, fat mouth shut tight as she grabs our plates and takes them to the sink.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower and wash the jail off me. Can you stay?”
“Yeah, I can stay.” I see her smile, though she turns quickly to hide it from me. It’s cute, and that’s not a word I’d ever use to describe Erica. It feels like another layer of hard-edged fierceness cracked away. I don’t know that she’s soft and sweet underneath all that armor, but I damn sure want to find out.
As soon as she’s gone to the bathroom, I text Mark.
Me: Late in the morning. Brutal’s handling goats.
Mark: This is Katelyn. Are you at Rix’s?
Me:
Mark: I’ll let him know not to expect you. I like her. Do you like her?
I turn my phone to silent and do some Googling on rat rods. I’ve never heard the term before. I mean, NASCAR? Of course. Hot rods? Yeah. Drag racing? Yep. But if this is Erica’s hobby and I don’t want to look like a total dumbass, a little research seems in order. It’s not a thing, I tell myself. Just being friendly, that’s all.
I don’t believe me, either.
The bathroom door opens and Erica walks out, naked and soft-skinned. My eyes trace her body, loving the peaks of her brown nipples, the map of freckles I’m still memorizing, and the puffy pink lips peeking out between her thighs. She opens a drawer and puts on a pair of bikini panties.
That’s when I realize I’m about to get kicked out.
“I’m sorry, but I’m really tired. I’m probably gonna fall asleep before my head hits the pillow, Brody.” She yawns as she says it, and I can see the wear and tear tonight took on her. There are slight smudges under her eyes and a sense of weariness in the set of her shoulders.
“You’re in luck. It’s after midnight, so officially Wednesday, and I just decided that’s snuggles and cuddles day.” I smirk at my brilliance, and after a too-long pause where my heart doesn’t beat and I don’t breathe, she smiles back. It’s small, but I’m counting it.
“That shit usually work?”
I shrug noncommittally, even though my brow says ‘every damn time’.
She shakes her head and laughs but then says, “Come on, then.”
Chapter 15
Erica
Though I’m the one who claimed exhaustion, Brody falls asleep long before I do. I close my eyes, listening to the white noise of his breathing. It’s almost meditative in its consistent predictability, relaxing me even as my mind processes everything.
He really came through for me tonight. Surprisingly so.
It could’ve been a fucking shitshow if I’d had to call someone else. Emily would keep her mouth shut for me, or she’d try, at least. But she lacks one important feature . . . a filter. She’s unapologetically herself, and that includes being shit for secrets because she just doesn’t see the point.
But I do. I know better.
Emily doesn’t have secrets because she’s never gone against Dad the way I have. The way I am. And that’s why I couldn’t have called her or Mom or Reed. Or anyone else. Because they’d all tell Dad.
He didn’t have to do it, but Brody Tannen rescued me tonight. And I fucking hate being rescued.