“I’m not stripping or hooking or dancing on bars. I’m racing.”
All four of us blink at her. “What?” Our voices overlap, and other patrons turn to look at us again.
I drop my voice to a whisper. “Racing? I don’t understand.”
She reaches into her bra to pull out two folded pieces of paper and drops them on the table between the plates.
I snatch one, and Monroe grabs the other. I unfold the paper and stare at it. It’s a title to a car.
“What the hell?” I skim down to the make and model, a1993 Toyota Supra.
“Why do you have a title for a 2014 Camaro?” Monroe asks, sounding just as confused as me as she looks up from the other piece of paper.
Flynn plucks the titles out of each of our hands and tucks them back in her bra. “The guys thought they could take me. They don’t take girl drivers seriously enough. But it’s cool; being underestimated makes it even sweeter when I crush them. Me and my baby were on fire tonight.”
“You race cars. For money. Or rather, for other cars?”
“It’s called racing for pinks. How do you think I pay for college? I can’t touch my trust fund until I turn twenty-five unless I beg my mom, which I refuse to do. I also didn’t want to go into debt. It’s not like NYU is cheap.”
“Wait a minute.” Kelsey chimes in, a french fry dangling from her fingers. “You race for pink slips and sell the cars to finance your tuition so you don’t have to take out student loans that you could easily pay back when you’re twenty-five and can access your trust fund without your mom?”
“Exactly. Besides, I’m really good at it. And it’s fun as hell. You’ve never had an adrenaline rush like this before.”
I turn to Kelsey. “Am I still drunk?”
“Possibly, but this is real, and your sister is an illegal street racer.”
Flynn steals the fry from Kelsey and pops it in her mouth. “A damn good illegal street racer who doesn’t have to worry about tuition until spring semester, and then I’m graduating a whole year early with a double major. So don’t judge me. I’ve got my shit covered.”
The door chimes, and Harlow’s attention shoots to the entrance. “So those cops that just walked in aren’t looking for you?”
Flynn slides down in her chair as she reaches for the empty coffee mug and pretends to sip. “Probably not. There weren’t any cops called. At least, none came up on the police scanner.”
I stare at Flynn like I’ve never seen her before. “I literally saw you yesterday, and you didn’t think it was important to mention any of this?”
She shoots me a smile. “I would’ve at coffee. Now, pretend like I’ve been out with you all night if they start asking questions.” She reaches out to tap my chin, signaling me to close my open mouth as she blows me a kiss. “You’re the best, Scar.”
Thirty-Seven
Legend
The club is still rocking when I walk out the door with Roux and Bump on my heels. I have to get the fuck out of here, and if I could have left them behind for Q to deal with, I would have. But I always handle my responsibilities, and Bump and Roux are exactly that.Mine.
Unlike Scarlett Priest.
She is not and never will be.
“That lady was pretty. Like, really pretty.”
I whip my head sideways to stare at Bump. “Which lady?”
“The one with the girl I brought for you. She had pretty brown hair. It looked soft. I want to touch it, Gabe. Can I touch it?”
Fucking hell.Now Bump is fixated on one of Scarlett’s friends, which is the last fucking thing I need to worry about, because it means thatsheis back in my head.
We walk out to my Bronco, which is parked in an alley spot behind the club. I scan the area quickly, making sure no one has fucked with it or is waiting around to jump us, and unlock it. Bump opens the back door for Roux, and she hops up inside.
Once we’re rolling out of the city, Bump is still jabbering about something, but I’m not listening to a word he says.