Page 29 of The Fast Track

“So, Kwong,” Cameron says after we’ve been working at the FC-80 for what feels like hours. “I’ve been thinking.”

“And?” I push a strand of damp hair behind my ear. It’s not as hot out as the last time we worked on the car—thank the heavens—but it’s still a muggy, overcast type of day where I’d rather be indoors with a bowl of Chunky Monkey ice cream and the AC blowing in my face.

“This isn’t working.” He gestures at our respective parts piles, both of which are dwarfed by the astronomical mountain of pieces still in the shed. “There’s no way we’ll finish by Spa at this rate.”

I chew on my lip. As nice as it is to avoid having to deal with him directly, he’s speaking the truth. Our progress has been pathetic. “What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s do it jointly. Sort everything in one batch first.” He taps his foot at nondescript patches of concrete ground next to the shed. “We can put chassis parts here, wheel parts here, then wings.”

“The piles are going to end up bleeding into each other.”

“Still gonna be faster than what we’re doing right now.”

I heave a sigh. He’s right, but between working for twenty hours in silence with Cameron versus working for ten hours with him irritating me, it’s a lose-lose no matter what I do.

“C’mon, think of all the old movies you’ll get to watch with all that free time.”

“How do you know I watch old movies?”

“You were wearing a shirt that said ‘Rebel with a cause’ last week.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure what I’m more surprised by, that he got the reference or that he can remember what I was wearing.

“How ’bout this—if you say yes, I’ll give you some crisps?” He gets up and fetches his backpack from the cart. “I know you like these.” He waves a bag of Walkers.

I purse my lips, trying my best to hide my amusement. “I have three full-size bags stashed under my bed that my mom doesn’t know about. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“How about these chocolate stick things, then? Or these?” He pulls out a box of Pocky, followed by strawberry Koalas. He wasn’t kidding at The Hound. He really has been watching me.

The thought makes me feel weirdly flattered (and kind of embarrassed). “Were you planning on bribing me today?”

“I was intending it to be a peace offering of sorts. But since you insist on being stubborn…”

“I’m not stubborn,” I say.

He does the single-eyebrow raise again.

I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine. Maybe I am, a little.”

He breaks out in such a triumphant smile, I long to take my words back immediately. “So.” He holds out a packet ofmilk chocolate Digestives. “Can we try it my way?”

It’s hard not to drool a little bit, both at the savory goodies and Cameron’s dimple.

“Fine.” I grab the cookies from his hand. Our fingers touch for a lingering second.

“Knew you would come around,” he says softly.

I’m suddenly warm and nervous. I tuck the snacks in my tote bag and pretend to rummage around until his eyes are no longer on me.

“Can we keep things organized, at least?” I clear my throat. I take out my box of gym chalk and draw three large circles on the cracking asphalt. “Here, this will keep the piles from bleeding into each other.”

He gives me a look. “You carry chalk around with you?”

“The one in the gym is nasty.” I’m all about trying to fit in with the guys, but I draw the line at using the communal chalk bowl. One time, I saw Grayson scratch his crotch and immediately dip his hand in there.

Cameron chuckles but doesn’t make any unnecessary comments for once.

We sort through our own respective piles, then move into the shed. It’s just big enough for both of us to squeeze inside. For a while, we work side by side, grabbing items from the top of the pyramid and tossing them in turn to their designated circles. The progress is still slow, but at least we’re starting to put a dent in the stack.