Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story) (40 page)

“It’s not a print,” he
says. “That’s the original. I actually took that instead of the guy’s car about
a year back. I didn’t even know it wasn’t a print, much less worth anything
until I took it in to a pawn shop and saw the guy’s expression when I asked how
much I could get for it.”

“If you didn’t think it
was worth anything, why’d you take it?”

Eli shrugs. “I don’t
know. I guess I didn’t feel right about separating a noob from his car so
quick.”

“And this one,” I say,
gazing at a sculpture of a headless man playing basketball. “This is
exquisite.”

Eli’s chuckling behind
me, and I realize the man in the sculpture isn’t playing basketball, he’s
attempting to throw his own severed head.

“If I’d known you were
into art, I would have brought you here a long time ago,” he says.

“Why didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath. I
mirror the action.

This is where it begins:
the conversation that’s either going to make or break the relationship.

“I feel like we’ve been
hiding from each other,” I tell him.

“What do you mean?”

I turn around to look at
him. “There are parts of your life I know nothing about,” I tell him, “and I
know there are things I haven’t told you, either.”

“It takes time to get to
know a person,” he says. “I think we’re doing all right, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“I didn’t mean it like
that,” he says. “I don’t think our problems are anyone’s fault. I think you and
I come from different backgrounds, and it’s only natural that we’d hit some
speed bumps,” he says. “What matters, though, is whether this relationship is
something we want to pursue or not.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “That’s
what matters.”

“What’s on your mind?” he
asks. “You obviously have something you want to say.”

My eyes move over Eli’s
entertainment center.

Other people may focus on
the fact that Eli’s got seven different gaming consoles, but I’m more concerned
about the fact that he’s got his outrageously large flat-screen setting on top
of what certainly looks like an authentic Baker Georgian-style Serpentine Front
Chest.

The parents tried to take
up antiquing a few years ago. It was very educational, but it didn’t last long.

“You know that chest of
drawers is worth more than the television, right?” I ask.

“Really?” he asks. “I
mean, I know that—I had the thing appraised—but you got me all ready for a
serious discussion and—”

“I know, I know,” I
interrupt. “Look, my life is changing. I’d be either stupid or cruel to think
that’s not largely because of you, but things are hard right now. I’m living on
my own for the first time ever and I’m going to have to quit my job as a
volunteer at the hospital, otherwise I’m never going to have enough money to
make it work, and I do
not
want to go
back and live with the parents again.”

“I think I might actually
have something for you if you’re interested,” he says.

I smile and shake my
head. “I really don’t know enough about cars to work on them,” I tell him. “I
mean, I’ve been reading up on combustion engines and the history of the
automobile to try to psych myself up—anyway,” I say interrupting myself.

“It’s not that,” he says.
“There’s a race coming up—mostly new people. I only know about it because Mick
keeps his ear to the ground about that sort of thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he starts, “I’ve
told you how Mick’s better with the theory of racing than he is at actually
racing, right?”

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Well, he found out a
while ago that if he goes up against people who are still on their first or
second races, they won’t know he’s an old-timer,” Eli says. “Once people find
out you’ve been doing this a while, they’re less likely to bet big. Mick, in
his infinite lack of benevolence, likes to be the lesson new people around here
have to learn.”

“What’s that?”

“That you never go up
against someone who’s both interested in racing you and has been doing it for a
while,” Eli answers. “When you’re new, you feel ready to take on anyone, but
after a few big losses, you start to be a lot more selective about who you
choose to go up against.”

“
Whom
,” I correct. Apparently being away from my mother has caused
me to pick up at least one of her more annoying quirks.

Eli raises an eyebrow at
me, but we’re both smiling. “Anyway,” he says, “I told Mick to hold off on
poaching because I didn’t know if you might want to try to get into it. We can
talk about that later, though, if you want.”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m
going to have to think about that. I mean, it’s not like my Accord is going to
be able to hold up against too much out there.”

“Obviously, you’d want to
take the Chevelle,” he says.

At first it comes off
like an accusation, but his expression is blank. If it’s a joke or an insult,
he’s gotten a much better poker face than the last time I saw him.

“You’d do that?” I ask.
“That thing’s your baby, though.”

“It’s a car,” he says.
“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t let just anyone take the thing out, but ever since
we first got together, you’ve only ever really asked me for one thing: to teach
you to race.”

“Is that really the
foundation of our relationship?” I ask myself just as much as Eli.

“No,” he says. “The
foundation of our relationship is that we’re both incredibly attractive and
delightful to be around. I just thought this might be a fun way to make a
little money. If you’re not into it, that’s totally cool, though.”

“I feel like we’ve gotten
a bit off topic, here,” I tell Eli.

“All right,” he says.

“I’m not going to be one
of those women who decides we need to learn everything about each other in a
night, but I really do think we’re going to need to open up to each other a lot
more if we’ve got any chance of making it as a couple,” I tell him.

“I know,” he agrees. He
opens his mouth to say more, but he closes it. Eli takes the bottle I’d
forgotten I’ve been carrying around with me this whole time and he opens it. He
takes a quick swig and hands it back to me uncapped while he coughs and
sputters from the taste of the liquor.

If he needs a drink
before he feels like he can tell me something, I’m not going to get in the way
of him telling it. My guard is up, and I’m ready for whatever he throws at me.
Only, what follows isn’t a confession.

“I haven’t exactly had
the most respectable life up ‘til now,” Eli says. “You know about the racing
and how the money goes through the shop, but there’s a lot of stuff—stuff from
before you and I knew each other—that might be good for you to know.”

“Like what?”

He takes the bottle from
me again and has another drink.

“Let’s just say, I would
have killed to have had overprotective parents when I was a kid,” he says.
“Don’t get me wrong: I’m not trying to start a competition to find out who had
worse parents. It’s just—you know, I left home so young. I don’t know. I
haven’t been consciously trying to hide anything from you, I guess I’m just
trying to say that I see your point and I agree with you.”

“You know, if you could
manage saying those last nine or ten words more often, we wouldn’t have any
problems,” I tease.

He smirks. “I guess I’ve
been so concerned about how you feel about who I am now that I didn’t want to
risk screwing things up by telling you the way things used to be,” he says.

Red flag, but we’ll see
where it goes.

“All right,” I tell Eli.
“Tell me something you haven’t told me before.”

He scratches the back of
his neck. “Well,” he starts, “would it surprise you to find out that Ransom
isn’t a nickname?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s my middle name,” he
says. “My full name is Elias Ransom Faust.”

That’s not the sort of thing
I was expecting. “Your parents actually named you Ransom?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “From
what I understand, my parents were talking divorce when mom found out she was
pregnant. After a couple of paternity tests proved that my dad was, indeed, my
dad, they sat down and had a conversation. Basically, the conclusion was that
if they got divorced, one of them would end up with custody and would use the
kid—me—as a weapon against the other. They agreed that night that they’d stay
together until I was eighteen and out on my own.”

“How long did it last?”

“Until I was about six,”
I tell her. “To be fair, though, seeing the two of them at the time, I was even
surprised they’d made it that long. The idea was that if there was some way
they could constantly remind each other what would happen if they couldn’t stay
together—that one parent would hold me until some ridiculous set of demands was
met—they’d be that much more likely to work out whatever problem they were
having at the time and stay together. So, they decided to call a leverage baby
a leverage baby and they gave me the middle name ‘Ransom.’ Then, of course, my
dad left my mom and took me with him.”

“What happened to your
mom?”

This isn’t the exact
topic that I was expecting, but he’s communicating. It’s something we can build
on.

“I don’t know,” he says.
“Dad told me she died a few years after he took me. I don’t know if it’s true
or not, but I remember enough about her that I don’t want to see her any more
than I saw my dad.”

“What do you mean he
‘took’ you?” I ask. “Didn’t he and your mom work something out?”

“Apparently, my middle
name didn’t make my dad a better person,” he says. “He didn’t bother telling me
the truth until I was about fifteen and, well, by that point, I was already
waiting for a reason to cut my losses and get the hell out of there.”

“So the name ended up
just being ironic?”

He smirks. “I guess so,”
he says. “After that, I took my dad’s car—which was easy enough as the thing
already didn’t need a key to start it.”

“That’s why you won’t let
go of that car,” I observe. “It’s the only thing you have from your old life.”

“I don’t know if it’s the
only thing I have,” Eli says. “I did make sure to bring a few posters along,
but yeah. I don’t know, talking about it makes me think it’s pretty stupid to
hold onto something like that. Every time I look at the damn thing, I think
about my parents. I don’t know. I guess I’d just rather pretend that I got
something good out of my childhood and that’s about the only thing I can point
out as evidence for something like that.”

“If it breaks down so
much, though,” I start, “why not just redo everything under the hood? It’d
probably save you money in the long run.”

“Tried that,” he says.
“No matter how much work I put into the damn thing, it just wants to die.”

I’m about to say, “Well
then, let it,” but I think better of it. “Is it possible that you’re hanging
onto it because you’d rather avoid the truth about your parents?”

“What do you mean?” he
asks. “I’m confronted with the truth about them every time I get into the damn
thing.”

“Okay,” I tell him, “but
you’re a guy who likes to fix things. Maybe you’re hanging onto the car because
you still believe there’s a way to fix your relationship with your parents or
maybe even their relationship with each other.”

“Even if Mom’s still
around somewhere, I really don’t see that happening,” he says. “I’m pretty sure
if I saw my dad again, it’d end with him in the hospital and me in jail.”

Wow. You know, I’ve heard
people say that sort of thing a lot, but this is the first time where I have no
doubt that it’s not just talk.

My mind flashes to the
image of Mick with his nose splint, and I can’t help but feel a little tingly
knowing I’m with a man who’s willing to back up his words with action. At the
same time, I don’t really want to encourage violent behavior, so I try not to
get too carried away.

“Maybe,” I tell him, “but
if that’s the case, why do you still have the car?”

We talk for a long time.
We’re just reminiscing over the more interesting parts of our pasts, but even
more than that, we’re finally getting back to when it was just easy to talk to
each other.

It’s not until the blue
of the unrisen morning sun starts bleeding around the sides of the red, French
velvet drapes I realize just how much time has gone.

I feel great about the
new turn Eli and I are taking together, but I’m tired now.

I don’t know yet if this
is going to be the major turning point in our relationship, or if staying up
all night talking is just the last best effort we could give. Either way, before
I ask Eli if I can crash in his bed, there’s one more thing I have to know.

“So,” I start, “tell me
more about this race you want me to enter.”

Chapter
Eighteen

Quarter Miles

Eli

“So let me get this
straight,” Desi says. “She’s entering a race at your urging, and now you’re not
sure whether you want her to go through with it or not?”

Kate’s first race ever is
going down in about an hour, but to be honest, I’m a bit nervous. I was fine
until she asked if it was against the rules for me to ride shotgun for her run,
but for whatever reason, that’s got me completely thrown.

It probably doesn’t look
good, but I’m back at the bar chatting with Desi. Rather than go back and forth
about this in my own head and probably end up at the wrong decision, though, I’m
getting some advice.

After all, she’s the one
that got me to start seeing reason after that date went sour with Kate a couple
weeks ago.

“I’m just worried it’s
going to be too much for her,” I tell Desi. “We’ve gone out a few times with
her behind the wheel in the last few days, but that whole time I was there to
tell her when to ease off the throttle or when to start turning a little
earlier than usual. At the same time, though, I don’t know if I want her
getting into the habit of relying on me to be there in the car with her. I
don’t think anyone’s going to see it as an advantage, given the extra weight
I’ll be adding, but I’m not going to be able to be in the car with her every
time if she decides she wants to follow through with this after tonight.”

“What do you mean by
after tonight?”

“I’ve tried to bring in a
lot of people the way Mick brought me into racing, but almost everyone that’s
stuck with it long enough to make a wager ends up walking away from it after
their first loss,” I tell her.

“Do you think Kate’s
going to lose?”

“I don’t know,” I answer.
“If you’d have asked me a while ago if I’d let someone take my Chevelle a month
or two after they learned how to drive a stick, I’d have said absolutely not.
Actually, I would have probably told them to find their own car instead of
trying to pad their losses by ruining mine, but Kate, I don’t know. She picks
things up so fast, she may just go out there and blow everyone away.
Eventually, though, everyone loses a race. It doesn’t matter how talented you
are.”

“Are you worried about
Kate or are you worried about your car?” she asks.

I lean back, smiling.
“You know,” I tell Desi, “it never really occurred to me that Kate might get
into a situation she wouldn’t be able to handle. It never occurred to me that
she might crash the thing.”

“What
were
you worried about?” Desi asks, and
then leans in close to whisper actual nonsense into my ear. Her smarmy boss
walks past and Desi leans back again. “Sorry about that,” she says. “It’s
better for my employment if he thinks I’m trying to bilk you out of a few
hundred dollars. I hope that didn’t just get weird.”

“Not at all,” I tell her
and then pick up where I left off. “I think, more than anything, I’ve been
trying to figure out what’s going to give Kate a better shot at winning. If she
wasn’t so new, I’d say the additional weight of me and the passenger’s seat
would overwhelm any reason for me to ride with her, but you know, she’s still
really new at this. She’s great and everything, but it’s only been-”

“Okay,” Desi says, “so,
I’m hearing that you’re not so concerned that her safety’s in danger. You have
a lot of confidence in her, and that’s certainly not a bad thing. At the same
time, though, things happen. I remember when you were first starting out, you
had a gear slip or something and you almost ended up driving into the post
office. I think the real question you need to ask yourself is whether or not
you honestly think it’s going to be safe for Kate to drive your car in the race
tonight. She may be a natural, but experience is what teaches us what to do
when things don’t go to plan.”

“I threw a rod, but I see
your point. You know, she’d probably be safe enough out there on her own, but I
know
she’ll be safe if I’m in the car
to help,” I tell her. “She’s got good instincts, but a little extra might not
be a bad thing this early in her career. It’s funny: I never realized how
invincible I see her as being. It honestly didn’t occur to me that something
could go wrong.”

“It’s sweet that you
think of her that way, but it’s not entirely realistic, is it?” Desi asks.
“Even if she does everything right, there are still any number of things that
could go wrong with the car, or the other racer might not have his game
together and that could be just as bad, if not worse.”

“You’re right,” I agree.
“Winning or losing isn’t that big a deal, but if something were to happen to
Kate…”

“You really think she’s
going to stick with this, don’t you? The racing, that is.”

I shrug. “I know it turns
her on,” I say. “We don’t always talk racing, but when we do, she’s always at
least as enthusiastic about it as I am. When she gave me her number, she said
to call if I wanted to give her a ride sometime, and she actually meant in my
car.”

Desi purses her lips and
looks down at the bar for a second. “Well, it sounds like you know what you
want to do,” she says. “Don’t know what more you need me for.”

“Gotta get back to work?”

“I probably should,” she
answers. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Hey, thank
you
,” I answer. “I’d almost forgotten
how great you are with advice.”

“It’s my cross,” Desi
says, and within ten seconds, she’s already chatting up some guy in a business
suit.

I pull out my phone and
send Kate a text, saying, “If you still want me to ride shotgun, I’d be happy
to.”

If things go the way they
usually go, they’ll be deciding where to race sometime in the next hour or two:
plenty of time to go over strategy and maybe even sneak in some alone time
before the hands drop.

My phone vibrates and I
check the message.

The message reads, “Glad
to hear it, but you need to get your butt down to the gas station on Stockholm.
It sounds like they’ve almost settled on where to run tonight.”

That almost never
happens. Usually, everyone likes to peacock for a couple of hours before they
even think about doing anything. Then again, this is rookie night and a lot of
people are looking forward to losing a lot of money.

I put a couple of bucks
on the counter to pay for my soda, and I get out to the recently-fixed Galaxie.

The flatbed’s parked
around the corner and down the block a ways from the gas station. If the
flatbed’s here, Mick’s here. He’d offered to cart the Chevelle around tonight,
seeing as how it’s Kate’s first race, and in the interest of continued
hatchet-burying, I decided to let him.

I had no idea he’d get
here before me.

It takes a minute to find
a place to park and a few more minutes to find Kate and Mick, but as soon as
they spot me, Mick starts heading for the truck and Kate runs over to give me a
quick hug and kiss before we follow.

“How are you feeling?” I
ask.

“I don’t know,” she says.
“I’m either really excited or I’m about to throw up from the nerves. If you’ve
been looking for a moment to try to convince me to back out, this is probably
it.”

“Do you want to race
tonight?”

Her eyes go up and to the
left, and she tweaks her mouth a little to one side. “Yeah,” she says. “I want
to race tonight.”

“That’s all I need to
know,” I tell her. “Let’s get to the start line. Do you know who you’re racing
or have you not found anyone yet?”

“I was having a little
trouble elbowing my way into anyone’s conversation enough to get that far, but
Mick set me up against some guy,” Kate says. “I don’t know what he’s driving,
but Mick said he’d never seen the guy around, so at least there’s a fair shot
he’s just as new to this as I am.”

“Okay,” I respond as we
reach the flatbed. “You’re going to do great.”

I get in the flatbed
first so I can sit in the middle. It’s a little weird sitting so close to Mick
when there’s another option, but I still don’t know that I trust him around
Kate.

“Where are we headed?” I
ask whoever has an answer.

“Martin Luther King
Junior Boulevard and Eighteenth,” Mick says. “It’s been a while since I’ve run
that quarter mile; you?”

“Not too long,” I answer.

“Okay,” Kate says, “I
think I’m pretty good on just about everything, but could we run through the
burnout again?”

“Yeah,” I answer as we
pull away from the curb. “Someone should let you know when the traction
compound ready for you. If not, I’ll tell you. Then, you’re going to want to
get your revs up near the red line before you come off the clutch. That’s going
to give you the wheel spin you’re going to need for the burnout. From there,
just try to stay in the grooves.”

“Okay, that’s where you
lose me,” Kate says. “I don’t know if we never went over it or if I’m just
freaking out a little, but what do you mean when you say ‘grooves?’”

“After a while, roads
start to wear down from all the cars going over them,” I tell her. “If you look
close at an older road, you can see the ruts from the tires. It’s never a lot,
but when you’ve got your foot down, going in and out of the grooves can really
throw off your run if you’re not ready for it. With a drag race, it’s usually
best to try to stay in the grooves as much as possible.”

“Okay,” she says. “Good,
I think I’m good.”

“Good,” Mick says, “cause
we’re here.”

Kate’s eyes go wide and
her face goes pale.

“Okay,” she mutters.
“Okay.”

“You’re sure you want to
do this?” I ask her. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you into
anything. If you want to get out of here, we can—”

“No,” Kate interrupts.
“Win or lose, I think this is something I need to do.”

“All right then,” I say
and wait for her to open her door.

She doesn’t.

“Kate?”

“Oh,” she says, “right.”

She opens her door and
gets out with me right behind her.

“All right,” I tell her,
rubbing her shoulders, “now, do you know which race you’re in or are they just
going to do it by whoever rolls up first?”

Kate answers, “Mick said
he pulled some strings and got me in the second race.”

I’m not sure what kind of
strings those would be. Racing order only matters if you’ve been in one place
too long, and the only time I’ve ever heard anyone argue about it is when
flashing lights are coming down the road and someone with something to prove hasn’t
had a chance to prove it yet.

Mick says, “Everyone was
talking about who got to go first, so when I said Kate wanted to go second,
nobody seemed to mind.”

I chuckle.

“What?” Mick asks.

“Nothing,” I tell him,
smiling with relief. “It’s been so long since you were working with me I forgot
your rule about first time races.”

The rule is to get the
first race out of the way before you have too much time to think about it. It
doesn’t matter who you are: unless you’re delusional, the nerves are going to
get to you eventually.

Here I was thinking Mick
was trying to come off as some sort of race guru when he was just doing the
same thing with her he did with me. This doesn’t mean he and I are back to
normal, but it’s a decent step in that direction.

The first cars are
already pulling up to the line. When the race isn’t legal, you tend to waste a
little less time starting it.

Kate, Mick, and I hop
onto the back of the flatbed. Mick unfastens the ramps while Kate and I uncover
the Chevelle.

When everything’s ready,
Kate asks if I’d be willing to pull it down the ramp and off the back of the
flatbed. I agree without hesitation and, within a minute, all four tires are on
the asphalt and Mick’s looking around for Kate’s opponent.

Kate’s just standing next
to the Chevelle, her arms crossed. She’s quiet, but the way her eyes are
darting back and forth, I’d hardly say it’s a peaceful kind of quiet.

“Hey,” I say to her and
pull her for a hug. “You’ve got this, all right?”

“Are you going to be mad
at me if I lose?”

“Of course not,” I tell
her.

“Are you going to do the
insecure guy thing and get bent out of shape if I win?” she asks, loosening her
grip around my waist so she can look up at me.

I laugh. “I’m going to be
proud of you whether you win or lose,” I tell her. “I’m already proud of you,
actually. I’m pretty sure the only problem I’m going to have win or lose is
trying to keep the front of my pants from bursting open while you’re driving.”

“Yeah?” she asks. “You
think racing girls are hot, huh? I guess I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

We laugh together and
give each other another quick squeeze before I hand her the keys.

Mick calls out my name,
and Kate and I look over, finding him standing next to what I’m pretty sure is
an exact replica of a particularly famous 1970 Dodge Charger R/T. Apparently,
he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t actually know anything about racing, but sure
does love the movies.