Page 104 of Play Fake

“Heard you’ve got your own place now. What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Drumming up business,” I deadpan. I swallow what’s left in my glass.

He laughs. “You wanna race tonight?”

I turn and narrow my eyes at him. “You want to lose again?”

He winces as he recalls the last time we drag raced down the Vegas Strip. I kicked his ass.

“If I win, you come to my new lounge and spend some time there,” I say, and we both know that I mean money, not actual time.

“And if I win?” he counters.

“You do it anyway, but I give you an off-the-books personal line of credit.”

He laughs and sticks out his hand. “Deal.”

We shake.

“I don’t have a car here,” I say as I remember I was driven here.

“We can get you one.”

“Get two, and I get to pick,” I demand since I know Cole, and I suspect he’d give me the slower car if he knew the difference.

He laughs. “Fine. Deal.” He sends a text, and we make our way outside to figure out the logistics of how this is going to go down.

I shouldn’t get behind the wheel. I know that. But Cole will blow a shitload of money at my lounge if I can get him there, and I know I can beat his ass into the ground with a race.

I feel that old surge of adrenaline starting to kick in.

It’s a Wednesday night, so the Strip isn’t overly crowded, but it’s still a long wait for Cole’s guys to bring the cars around for us.

They finally do, and we’re on a side street. It took goddamn long enough that I’m pretty sure I’m sober now.

I choose the lime green Lamborghini, while Cole is left with the cherry red McLaren. I walk around to the driver’s side, and I’m halfway to seated in the luxurious driver’s seat when I feel a hand grip onto the collar of my shirt and pull me out of the car.

I turn with rage on the offender, ready to go the fuck off that someone thinks they can manhandle me that way, when I find myself face-to-face with Coach Lincoln Nash.

And he looks well and truly livid.

I am so fucked.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands.

“Racing,” I say calmly.

“Not the fuck tonight,” he growls, and he yanks me away from the car like I’m some goddamn child. But what can I do? This is my head coach. If I fight back, I’ll be suspended or worse.

I might be anyway.

I have no choice but to let him embarrass me in front of Cole, and for the first time, a rational thought enters my brain.

And it’s in the voice of fucking Ainsley.

It’s a good thing Lincoln showed up when he did.

Once Lincoln drags me into the front seat of his car, he starts driving before he starts yelling.