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Junkie(35)



He seemed to be all about it during the meeting. He’d thrown in ideas and suggestions as we all talked. But now we weren’t sitting in a meeting. Now we were in familiar territory, alone. He had time to think.

“Me?” His voice was dubious. “Why would I need to be up for it?”

“You know I can’t do this without you.”

He made a sound. “Dude, you know damn well I won’t be able to do all the work this car’s going to need for these upcoming races.”

I waved away his words. “I’m not talking about a mechanic, asshole. Hopper and Gamble seemed to think you’d make a good manager. What’d you say to them anyway?”

He was sipping on his soda and choked. His arm flung out, and I took the soda before it could spill as he hacked and coughed.

Oh, this would be good.

I waited until he was done and looked at him expectantly.

“Ahh.” He hedged and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. He always did that when he was nervous. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at me, sheepish. “I might have called them dicks.”

I blinked.

My head went back with the force of my laugh. “You called the richest man in the state of Maryland a dick?”

“Rich people are assholes, too.” He defended.

“True dat.” I guffawed.

“I thought you were gonna be pissed,” he admitted ruefully. Then he frowned. “For a minute there, I thought I cost you a deal.”

“If you giving them a hard time about something you didn’t like was enough to make then not want to work with me, then I don’t want to be associated with them anyway.”

He seemed surprised. “How do you know they did something I didn’t like?”

I felt my lips turn up. “It was the second driver, right?”

His face darkened. “No fucking warning.”

Yeah. That’s what I thought. Trent was a little protective. He’d been like that since the first time he’d seen me drive. I didn’t even have to see it to know anymore. It was just something I felt. Something I inherently knew.

It used to piss me off. Make me feel like he thought I was some damn sissy that couldn’t take care of himself.

But I could.

It didn’t piss me off anymore. I kinda liked it now.

“Anyway,” I said, clearing my throat. “What do you think? Want to be my manager?”

“You’re serious?”

“No, moron. I’m fucking playing you.”

“I don’t know anything about that either.” His voice was regretful.

He wants to do it.

My stomach fluttered a little.

“You know me. You know how I drive and what kind of person I am. You can figure out everything else as we go.”

“It’s a world where there are no rules…” He was thoughtful.

“Unless, of course, it would be too much. I know my schedule is about to go insane, but yours is already pretty full. With the frat, finishing college…”

“I want to do it.” He cut in.

“Might be some traveling involved when I start doing interviews and shit.” I warned.

He nodded once. “I’m in.”

Thank God. The thought of leaving town for any amount of time and leaving him behind sort of made me feel sick inside.

I pushed away that thought.

“Sweet. It will probably be a while for stuff to really get moving anyway. Gamble has a lot of calls to make and a lot of doors to get open.”

Trent nodded. “It’s not going to be easy, getting all the money involved that’s needed to basically start up a new division of racing.”

He was right. Gamble was rich, but he couldn’t finance the entire thing on his own. Well, maybe he could. Hell, I had no idea how rich the guy was. But even so, it would look bad if he paid for everything and then I won.

People would say he bought me a title.

No way in hell.

Plus, for something as big as this to get all the exposure it needed, there had to be a lot of heavy players involved. Networks and car dealerships, corporations and companies. All that was on Gamble and his people.

He was going to start immediately. Until then, I was supposed to do what I was already doing: focusing on driving.

Oh, and one other thing.

My shadow.

Trent seemed to follow my line of thought. Or maybe it was the gloomy look suddenly in my eyes. “When’s your babysitter due to arrive?” he cracked.

I gave him the finger. “He ain’t a babysitter.”

“Sorry,” Trent corrected sarcastically. “I mean the professional driver that’s showing up in town to sit in the car with you while you drive to give you some ‘pro’ tips and train you.”

“I don’t need a trainer,” I growled.