I hadn’t intended to say that out loud, but now was as good a time as any to take the bull by the horns.
Or the racecar by the steering wheel.
“That is the opposite of perfect, sis,” Lucy explained in a you-clearly-don’t-get-it tone.“The big guy is going to come home relaxed, red as a lobster and ready to race his way into glory, and we’re going to have to break his fragile heart and ruin his year.”
Wade coughed into his napkin and then reached for his drink. “Let’s not get dramatic. He’ll be fine.”
“Seven months ago, we had three cars,” Rick lamented. “One blew a motor, the other dropped a transmission, and then there was the Mustang. We had a chance to score some decent points with that. Now it’s gone.”
Wade leaned toward me, and despite my tension, it took most of my willpower not to lean right back. “He never talks this much,” he whispered. “How much sugar did you put in this drink?”
“This is a serious problem, Wade,” I whispered back.
“For them it is.”
He was the one that didn’t get it.
Explain it to him then.
“You need a new caranda new driver,” I said to Rick and Lucy. “That’s what you’re saying?”
Lucy tapped his nose with a nod. “Like we told Wade, it doesn’t matter what kind of car it is, because it doesn’t have to win. It only has to run until the race is done.”
Well, that was unexpected. “You don’t care about winning?”
Wade laughed under his breath and the sound was so startlingly sexy I couldn’t help but look his way. His eyes brightened before narrowing on mine. As if he’d noticed me avoiding him and hadn’t liked it.
You’re imagining things again.
“They really don’t, Gus,” he assured me. “It baffled the fuck out of me too.”
Who spends so much time entering multiple races, every year, forfive whole years,without caring about winning?
The men in front of me.
“Lemons is more about the journey than the destination,” Lucy said expansively. “It’s a weekend of camaraderie, camp-outs and good-natured hijinks. Teams are encouraged and expected to bribe and entertain the judges. Costumes and themes, even your bullshitting skills, can end up winning you as many points as your talent on the track. And you know how our boy loves his costumes.”
“And his wigs,” Rick added.
“And his bullshit,” Wade piled on.
Even I had to admit, “His wigsareamazing.”
I was almost sure I’d seen them all. The Guy Fieri. The Dog the Bounty Hunter. The Joe Dirt Mullet. He’d joked that blond was his natural color before his hair fell out, so he shopped for wigs accordingly.
Focus, August.
I was trying, but these three kept distracting me with surprising new information.
“You actually do bribe the judges? They aren’t just saying that? And it’s legal?”
Wade put his big hot hand on my knee and I almost jumped out of my skin. Was hetryingto distract me? Because it was working. And it felt more arousing than it should for such an innocent touch.
“Every team comes to the judges with bribe in hand. Food. Performances. Usually, booze is in there somewhere. The more outlandish the better.”
“So, you can spend money on bribes, but only five hundred on the car in total?”
“You can and should spend more to get it race-ready. But as long as it isn’t spent under the hood, it doesn’t count.” Wade’s voice was getting a little hoarse. Was that because of all the talking or the hand that was now massaging the skinabovemy knee?
