Page 5 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
I hear him stifle a chuckle behind me and am glad that he’s not getting his dick in a twist over my verbal dis. I descend the stairs to the infield heading toward the garages where I know the rest of my family will be to greet and shoot the shit with Colton when he gets out of the car as is our usual custom as of late. Luke’s boots echo off the metal steps right behind me, and I’m curious just how much he’s willing to tempt fate by following me.
He falls in step beside me in silence but the sounds and sights of time trials for pole position filter in all around us. “Hey, Quin?” he says as we approach the mechanic bays.
“Hey, Luke?” I mimic him again.
“What do you say you come join me for a victory celebration tomorrow night?” He angles his head to the side and waits for my answer.
And I can’t resist, he’s making it too damn easy. “You’re throwing Colton a victory party? How sweet of you!” He snorts out in disbelief and runs a hand through his cropped hair. I place my hand on his chest momentarily. “Thanks for the laugh and the walk down but—”
“I know, I know,” he says
, raising his hands in surrender and taking a step back. “Can’t fault a guy for trying.”
I can hear Colton talking to Becks a few yards away, something about wing adjustments and lap times and although Colton’s preoccupied, I prefer for the peace to be kept and punches to remain unthrown.
“I think it’s best for your sake if you vacate the premises before my brother notices you’re here.”
“Ah see, true love. You’re looking out for me, but in case you forgot,” he says, pointing to his name on his fire suit, “I have every right to be here.”
I purse my lips and hold his gaze. “Well, not exactly here,” I reply, pointing to the yellow line denoting the garage boundaries for each race team.
He takes a step back so that his toes are just to the edge of the painted delineation and looks back to me with a smirk on his face. “Better?”
“Much,” I say as we hold each other’s stares a bit longer. I flick my hands at him in a shooing motion. “Now quit causing trouble and go.” I love the fact that he doesn’t react right away, that he has a mind of his own and isn’t going to let me persuade him. Maybe there are some rough edges to him after all. Food for thought.
“I love causing trouble. In fact I’d love to stick around and watch your big, bad brother protect you from the likes of me,” he says, and pulls at his shirt, which is beginning to stick to the middle of his chest from the heat sweltering off the asphalt track. I watch the movement and let my eyes drift down to the crotch of his race suit and hate myself for looking and still wondering.
And I curse the race suit for being so damn baggy.
“I can take care of myself just fine. No need for my brother’s help,” I tell him, challenge in my voice and amusement in my eyes.
Luke works his tongue in his cheek. “Well, since your brother doesn’t factor in, there’s nothing standing in the way so why won’t you go out with me?”
“Because arrogant race car drivers aren’t my type.” Maybe that will dissuade him.
“Well, since I’m more of the good-looking, financially stable, athletic type, I guess I’m golden.” His smile widens, proud of his answer.
“Far from it. I’d say more like silver.” I squint my eyes looking at the metallic color of his race suit as he steps toward me no longer blocking the sunlight and with blatant disregard for the line at his feet.
“Oh believe me, Quinlan, as long as it’s hard as metal, that’s all that matters,” he says, suggestion lacing his voice.
Did he really just say that? “Jesus. That right there is exactly why I’ve rejected you the other forty-two times you’ve asked me.”
“Well shit, I’m on number forty-three, so next time you’ll say yes.”
“Um, no,” I say with finality, but I can’t help the appreciation from coming through in my tone.
“Oh, Westin, I have your number, baby.” He takes a step back, and I glance back down to the line he’s cleared and smirk.
“Actually, you don’t.”
He laughs deep and loud and I know Colton will have heard it. Thanks a lot. “You’re right. I only have the number twenty but,” he says with a shrug, “I’m sure you’d be willing to work with that. Later, Quinlan.”
“Later, Luke,” I tell him as he turns his back and starts to walk away.
“One of these days you’re going to say yes,” he calls over his shoulder.
“No I’m not.”
