“Okay then, to help give you an edge over all the other indie drivers that will likely be fighting for the championship.”
God.
Part of the deal with Gamble was I would drive with someone of his choosing to help hone my skills. He didn’t want me to be too “green.”
I didn’t mind the help, and I wasn’t so arrogant I thought I didn’t need improving. What bothered me was I had to “learn” from someone I’d never met. I had no idea what kind of driver this guy was going to be.
But I was stuck with him.
At least for a little while anyway.
“Supposed to be here day after tomorrow,” I grumbled.
Trent laughed.
“Guess that means when he gets here, you’ll be regulated to the backseat.”
He stopped laughing. An irritated look crossed his face.
It made me feel satisfied, almost like I hoped it made him jealous.
Now why on earth would I want Trent to feel jealous?
My mind instantly went to the hug.
The hug.
Of course I’d hugged people before. Lots of people. Even guys.
But never like that.
Deep down, I knew what it meant. I just wasn’t ready to confront it.
Trent
It was pancake Sunday.
Pancake Sunday = a tradition started by Rimmel (Romeo’s girl) where the entire family got together every Sunday morning to eat breakfast.
At first, I’d kind of been included by default, having been friends with Romeo and Braeden for a while. When Drew showed up, it seemed my place in the family became a little more solid, and I was expected at all family dinners, meetings, etc.
I didn’t have any brothers or sisters by birth, so having them now sort of filled a void in my life I hadn’t realized was there.
Basically, I loved them.
Last night, I managed to slip into the Omega house unnoticed. That almost never happened in a house full of college guys. Someone was always around, and being alone wasn’t something I ever expected unless I was in my room with the door locked.
Hell yes, I kept my door locked.
These guys were assholes.
(I mean that in the nicest way possible.)
If I didn’t lock my door, I’d wake up in the morning with a mustache drawn on my face, or worse yet, a dick.
Tom Barris would never live that shit down. The pics of him with a dick on his face (drawn in Sharpie) would haunt him forever.
Being the president didn’t exempt me from shit like that. It made me more of a target. That’s why I invested in a good lock.
It was late when we got back to town last night, since we stopped about an hour out of the way at some big car parts store we didn’t have around here. The Fastback needed some new shit after Drew pushed the engine so hard at Gamble Speedway.
Then we stopped for dinner at an Applebee’s nearby.
I wasn’t in a hurry to get back anyway. My spur of the moment support of Jack as president caused some waves. I wasn’t anxious to swim in them.
Shit, I was tired. It was nice to get away. Just Drew and the open road. We went somewhere no one knew us. I didn’t realize it would affect the way we interacted, but it had.
We were more relaxed with each other… more open. Which in turn led to moments of awkwardness.
So we were relaxed and awkward with each other almost all at once.
When I walked into the house to an empty foyer and living room, I considered it my lucky day and shot up to my room, where I stayed the rest of the night.
It gave me hope I’d get out of the house again this morning without notice.
No such luck.
Before I was even out of bed, knocking on my door made me groan. I thought about pretending I wasn’t in here but nixed the thought almost immediately. I wasn’t the kind of guy who hid from stuff.
Yes, you are, a voice taunted in the back of my mind. It made me grouchy.
I flung off the covers and unlocked the door and stuck my head out. “What?”
It was Jack, and he was fully dressed, looking awfully awake for such an early hour on a Sunday. He glanced around as if he didn’t want to be seen outside my door.
What the fuck?
“You should come downstairs,” he said low.
“Why?” I asked, making sure my tone matched his.
He shook his head. “Con called a house meeting. Doesn’t want you to know about it.”
That got my attention. “Excuse me?” I growled.
Jack took a step back and glanced at the stairs. “Hurry,” he mouthed and rushed off.
I shut the door, much quieter than I felt like, and rushed around (as much as one could rush in a tiny-ass room with barely any floor space), pulling out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I deliberately chose the one with the Omega symbol on the front and the word PRESIDENT in bold across the back.
Something told me I was going to need a little help reminding people who was in charge around this place.