Gas or Ass (19 page)

“No glove, no love,” Colt barked. “Got some in the dash if you came without.”

The car door opened, then slammed. Someone stepped close. I didn’t care who it was, didn’t try to look. All I cared about was the way Colt gazed down at me.

Or rather, I tried not to care about anything else. My heart hammered, but from fear, not excitement. The thrill of victory seemed far away.

“How’s it winning if I don’t have a choice?”

Someone pushed my thighs together. Caine’s voice cut through the darkness like steel. “We’re takin’ her home, Colt. And if you want to be an ass, we can fight about it.”

“What the fuck?”

Exasperation rang in Caine’s tone. “She’s crying, asshole. Can’t you see that?”

Colt wrenched me upright. I slid off the hood and grabbed my jeans. A sound that made me uncomfortable rippled through the crowd. The volunteer had his jeans down around his hips. The latex gleamed on his erect cock and he gave me a baleful look.

“What’s up, Hannah? You said—”

Caine shoved a hand against the guy’s chest. “Didn’t you hear her say no, asshole? Get in the car, Shelby. Right now.” He bent to snag my jeans and underwear, then hurled them at me. “Get dressed in the back seat.”

Colt dragged the guy aside, toward the loose line of guys around the Challenger. He and Brandon had heated words, but he stomped away and got into the Mustang. The way he gunned the engine and reversed down the long road until he found a spot to make a three-point turn told me how pissed he was. I couldn’t stop crying, but he never met my eyes in the rear-view all the way home. I fought to get myself under control. When he cut the engine and coasted down the drive, I hoped he meant for us to talk.

He set the park brake with so much force, I winced. Slinging the door open, he finally turned around. “I told you already. I don’t play your little girl games. It’s my way or the highway, Shelby. Gas or ass.”

Caine got out of the car and went into the house through the basement. I held Colt’s gaze, but couldn’t stop crying long enough to explain. With a shake of his head, he got out and slammed the door, leaving me in the back seat, so I cried until I felt like a dishrag someone wrung out, then crept inside and into bed.

“S
o you drove all the way here in the middle of the night?” Mom’s eyes were wide with disbelief and she fiddled with the point of her collar, the way she did when she was pissed.

“I told you. Caroline’s mom was sick. We had to come home.” Pretending to validate her concern was getting harder by the minute. She was worried about two young girls driving in the dark? Seriously? “I don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“Well, it’s a big deal because, what if you’d had car trouble?”

“But we didn’t have car trouble. It’s a brand new car. I got home around two a.m. Woke in my own bed, safe and sound.”

“Shelby.” She didn’t say anything else, but her tone let me know my flippant attitude wasn’t winning me any points. She thought I was a child.  

“Why didn’t you call to let me know you were coming home?”

“Because you were asleep by midnight. What was the point?”

She fiddled with that collar until I thought I’d scream. Dale was gone somewhere by the time Mom realized I was home. Caine and Colt were still in bed, leaving me to deal with her. “About her. Well, about her mother.”

“Don’t go there.” I held up a hand. “Whatever you’re thinking can be said about Colt, too, can it not? And we aren’t kicking him out of the house, are we?”

“Robyn didn’t raise Colt, but she did raise Caroline. I’ve talked to Dale. I think it’s best if—”

“Stop it. You drag me here halfway through my senior year. You don’t get to pick and choose who I make friends with. You have to trust me. Me, it’s about me, not Caroline. She can’t help who her mom is any more than I can. I’ve got two months left at this school, five until I go away forever. How much damage can my friendship with her do to me, assuming you’re right and she’s the root of all evil? Did you ever think that she really needs a damn friend?”

“Good God, did World War III break out?” Colt came through the den, rubbing a hand along his hair. He wore red knit pajama bottoms with a Hanes logo on the white elastic at his waist.

“Shelby’s being dramatic.” Mom scowled. “I’m sorry we woke you, Colt. Did you not find that stack of shirts I put on your bed?”

“Don’t sleep in a damn shirt,” he muttered, brushing past her to yank open the refrigerator and grab the OJ. I tried not to stare at him, but it was plain he was still pissed off about the night before. He never looked at me.

He shut the door and opened a cabinet. Slamming a glass on the counter, he glared at Mom. “Macy, my sister’s been through hell. See, everyone’s mama thinks like you. If it wasn’t for me, Caine, and her stepbrother, not a damn soul would have a thing to do with Caroline. She’s a little roughneck, but her heart’s as good as gold. Wasn’t she smart enough to try out for the same scholarship Shelby did?” He splashed the juice into the glass. I had a hunch he’d prefer to drink straight from the carton, but he lifted the glass to his lips and drained it.

“Colt, it’s just that—”

He swiped his lips with his forearm. “You gettin’ all riled about Robyn ain’t good for you and Dad, neither. The less he thinks about her, the better, because, for a man who swears he hates her, he sure as hell won’t let go of that anger. Last I heard, that means, on some level, he cares about her. Why go stirrin’ that up?”

The implication that Dale might still carry a torch for Colt’s mother made Mom turn pale. I couldn’t decide whether I felt relieved, or wished he’d kept his nose out of our disagreement. Knowing what Caroline had said about her, I doubted Dale cared anything for Robyn, but the easy way Colt bullied my mother wasn’t lost on me.

Something blocked the sunlight streaming through the kitchen. I turned toward the open side door, catching sight of the end of the trailer. Mom’s phone rang. She grabbed it, then eyed Colt. “Your father wants your help outside.”

Colt left the juice and glass on the counter and straight-armed the side door. Mom locked gazes with me, then picked up his mess.

“She’s really a nice person,” I assured Mom. “The only one who even bothered to speak to me, out of about two hundred classmates. But we’re home, and no one’s hurt. You’re just rattled because you weren’t expecting me until an hour from now.”

“Shelby!” Dale’s voice carried into the house. I glanced down at my pajamas, shrugged, and darted onto the deck.

A roar came from inside the trailer. The rear end of the Barracuda gleamed. Sunlight turned the paint from deep purple to glassy grape. I gasped as the first white feather came into view. Dale had the side window down on his truck. I dashed down the stairs.

“You used my design.”

Dale nodded. His hat shaded his eyes, but he smiled. “The graphics dude at the shop said he thought it’d work real good with the lines on the car, so he cut one out for me. Let me pull out of the way. Think you can lift that tailgate?”

I nodded. “I can try.”

The side door slammed. I looked up to see Caine step around Mom. Colt didn’t offer to get out of the car, so I struggled to lift the heavy gate. Caine rolled his eyes and bent to grasp the side of the ramp, I grabbed the other side. I doubted I was much help, but he held the ramp upright while I slid the bolts into the latches. He slapped the trailer side when I was done and Dale pulled forward.

Colt gunned the Barracuda, wearing a wide grin.

I walked around the car, admiring the work Dale had done. The old top and interior had been black, but now, pristine white gleamed from both. Thin piping in purple set off the seats. ‘‘Cuda Hemi’ had been embroidered in fancy lettering on the back of each seat. The design was repeated on new black floor mats. The chrome gleamed much more brightly, I thought, than it had when the car left the drive, as did the paint. The wheels sparkled like new money, too, and the tires had deep tread. Caine was scowling while I admired the stripe when Dale came walking down the driveway. “Colt, let her behind the wheel.”

“I need shoes.” I turned and ran up the driveway, dashing past Mom.

“And clothes,” she yelled.

I nodded, racing through the house. When I returned, Colt and Caine were seated on the stairs. I hopped over them. Dale leaned against the passenger side door.

“Get in and buckle up.” He gestured toward the driver’s side. I hurried around the front end and opened the door, enchanted with the four-point restraint that fastened between the thighs like a baby seat and made wearing a dress a virtual impossibility. He made a big deal about buckling his seat belt and did a bad imitation of a Catholic, crossing himself as we whizzed past Mom and the guys.

I turned right, keeping the car in first gear and going slow, so no gravel popped up to ding the metal. The roar of the engine made conversation a challenge, but Dale raised his voice and pointed to the dash.

“I had a stereo put in it. These bucket seats ain’t the originals, but the kids seem to be all fired up about these so-called racing buckets. New rubber all ‘round and some work under the hood. Well? Let’s go!”

I let the clutch out and tapped the gas, unnerved by the aggressive jump the car made from such a small tap on the gas pedal. When I turned onto the pavement, the rear end skidded, but after the hour spent correcting Caroline’s car when I put it into a slide, I compensated and the car straightened out easily. Mom would’ve been screaming, but Dale just gave a brisk nod and raised his thumb.

I nearly turned down the side road that led to school, but Dale shook his head.

“Take ‘er down the highway.”

I kept straight and hung a right at the gas station on the corner. There wasn’t any oncoming traffic, so I made the turn and hit the gas. The car leaped forward.

“Get ‘er done!” Dale cried.

There was little traffic. I only encountered two semis. Whipping around both, I watched the speedometer and wondered when he’d think I needed to slow down. The car shook a bit till I hit sixty, but the ride smoothed out. Once I passed seventy, it drove like silk. The needle crept past eighty, then I hit fourth gear and it passed a hundred before I could blink. I eased off the gas and looked over to find Dale grinning.

“Like a scaled dog.” He nodded, seeming pleased with his car. I found a spot to turn around and couldn’t resist nosing the red needle past the one hundred mark on the return trip.

When I turned onto the gravel road, he unhooked the four-point restraint and indicated he wanted me to pull over. When he turned his wrist over, I turned off the engine. “We put her on the track. Speedometer only goes to one-twenty, but she’ll do two hundred in a cakewalk. So you use your damn head, okay?”

“M-my head?”

He pulled out his wallet and extended the same credit card he’d offered me the first time we’d met. “I’ll spot you two compete rounds of rubber, one speeding ticket, and you can use that card for a fill-up twice a week, if you wanna let this be your ride. If not, well, I was gonna buy you a used Honda or something.”

I caressed the steering wheel and had no interest in a used Honda—something I’d have killed for less than a month before. “This can be my ride?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Shelby, honey, I knew you wanted it when I saw your name spelled out in the shadows on those damn feathers.”

“You saw that, huh?”

“Yeah, I did. Took me a minute, but I saw it. The guy at the shop said you were pretty talented. I reckon you might get asked to do some custom work. If you want, I can take your sketches to work and we’ll knock ‘em out on our vinyl mahine. Might make you some pocket change.”

“Really?” I didn’t know which excited me more, having use of the car or a potential sideline in custom car graphics. “Dale, I’ll take such good care of her.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll run her into the ground, but I never believed in no damn show car. I reckon I can fix about anything you can do to her, but if you get hurt, I can’t fix that. Your mama would never forgive either of us. So you only take chances you know you can beat, and drive like you got good sense around Macy, you hear me?”

I drew an X over my heart. “I promise.” He gestured, so I cranked the car again, reveling in the deep bass of the engine. “She sounds so good.”

“Caine’s a damn fine mechanic, but I fooled around some under the hood. Put Lojack on her, and an alarm system that will let you disable the engine remotely, if’n she gets stolen. You just let me know when you get bored and we’ll get you a proper car for a young lady.”

My chance at becoming a proper young lady was so far in my rear view, I almost laughed in his face. “Don’t get in any hurry to have her back.”

I never thought about Caine until we got back to the house and Dale said, “Okay, young lady. This car don’t leave the driveway again until you’ve changed a tire. It’s a rule at this house that everyone can do minor repairs. That applies to you womenfolk, too.”

Caine stood. “You’re givin’ it to her?”

“She’s just drivin’ it. Car still belongs to me.” Dale met his son’s baleful gaze calmly.

My excitement drained away, watching Caine stomp into the house. It made sense for him to be disappointed. Colt had the GT500. He’d probably had his heart set on the Barracuda since the night Dale brought it home.