Page 22 of Drive Me Wild
“You’re kidding,” I say with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.Please tell me you’re kidding.
“Of course I am.” Her easy-going laugh alleviates the tension in my neck. “God, you should see your face, Walker. It’s like I told you I ran over the family dog.”
Relaxing against the comfortable couch cushions, I let out a satisfied sigh, glad that I don’t have to end our friendship immediately. I get to work setting up my PlayStation while Josie scrolls through her Spotify to find a playlist for us. She has playlists for every mood, situation, feeling, and thought. I have no idea what types of songs should be on a playlist called “crying in the shower” or “dancing in my room at two a.m.”but somehow, she does. She claims she’s not bilingual, but she knows music better than I know English.
Josie’s still choosing a playlist when I finish readying both controllers and choose the right settings for the game. “Christ, Bancroft, are you sorting through the damn national archives?”
“Found it!”
A Khalid song flows through the surround sound system, and Josie smiles to herself. She relaxes next to me, our thighs brushing against one another, and she starts asking questions—what buttons control which part of the car, how accurately aspects like understeer and DRS are represented in the game. It’s hotter than any dirty talk I’ve ever experienced.
“Want to make a bet?” I query, my eyes twinkling.
“The last time we made a bet, I had to eat a hot chili pepper and spent the night tossing,” she reminds me with an eye roll. “So, no.”
“You won’t spend the night praying to the porcelain God with this one,” I promise. “If you win, I’ll tell you a secret. If I win, you tell me a secret.”
Josie toys with the buttons of the controller, familiarizing herself with it. “You do realize I’d be setting myself up for failure, right?”
“Nu-uh,” I argue. “You’re playing as thebestFormula 1 driver—me—and I’m giving you a thirty-second head start. Plus, I told you I’ll pause the game at any time to help you.”
Josie’s blonde eyebrows lift thoughtfully. She’s not one to make rash decisions, so I dig my heels into the patterned carpet as I wait for her answer.
“I also got cookie dough ice cream,” I blurt out a minute later. Patience isn’t a virtue I have.
“Well, why didn’t you lead with that? It’s a bet. Best three out of five?”
For someone who’s not super competitive, Josie is very well-versed in smack talk. I pause the game a few times to double-check that I’m hearing her correctly. I’m not sure if some of the things she’s saying are made up or just extremely British, and I make a mental note to double check with Blake later.
“Why do you like the F1 game so much?” Josie asks after the first round is over. She stretches her legs like we’re about to gofor a run. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of work-life balance if you’re playing your job during your downtime?”
I keep my eyes focused on changing the settings so the track acclimation doesn’t affect the optimal racing line. “When my dad got really sick, he couldn’t come to the track as often, so he bought it for us to play together.”
As far as most things go, I’m an open book. Want to know what razor I use to shave my pubes? I’ll send you the link. Curious about my gym routine? I’ll have Russell send over a detailed workout regime. Dying to know what cologne I wear? I’m not going to gatekeep the information. I don’t mind sharing my life. The more people know me, the easier it is for me to make a name for myself and for people to remember me.
But my dad? That’s a different story. Talking about him is like pouring gasoline on my heart and leaving a lit match in my lungs.
“Who was better?” Josie’s question brings me out of the fog. “You or him?”
“He kicked my arse almost every time,” I admit with a chuckle. “He was the best at everything he did.”
Josie opens her mouth to say something but decides against it, instead sitting back on the couch. “Ready for game three?”
It turns out, she’s the one who’s not ready for the third game. She loses, horribly. The effort is there, but the quick combination of braking, cornering, and acceleration is not something Josie exceeds at via a video game. I give her props for not trying to knock my controller out of my hand, though, because I’m sure she wanted to.
“Secret time,” I announce happily after having kicked her cute ass. “Hit me, Bancroft.”
She smacks my arm. “Like that?”
I shake my head and chuckle. “Nope. Tell me something juicy.” I hum theJeopardytheme song as Josie takes her sweet time thinking of a secret.
“What if it’s not exactly a secret?” Josie asks while tilting her head. “More just something not a lot of people know.”
Hmm.I shrug. “That works.”
She takes a deep breath before releasing it slowly. “Andrew wanted to move in together. Well, he wanted me to move into his condo. He owns it already, so it wouldn’t make sense for us to have rented somewhere else, but yeah.”
Oh.I was expecting a secret, like she used to match the rubber bands on her braces to her outfits. Notthat. I’m not the type of bloke who gets flustered, but right now, my cheeks are taking on the hue of wild cherries. The one topic Josie and I tend to skirt around is her relationship—formerrelationship, I should say—probably because I didn’t like Andrew and he didn’t like me. My dislike stems from the knowledge that no one will ever be good enough for Josie. His dislike was that I shamelessly flirted with his girlfriend and rubbed our friendship in his face more than necessary.Oops.
