Page 17

SEVENTEEN

KIT

My knee bounced as we pulled into the check-in. The car clock read 10:03. Trent’s phone read 10:01. My watch, 10:05. By any measure, we were late.

“Stop making that face.” Trent folded the route book, his eyes shifting away from the rundown motel and across the street to the equally rundown bar where we’d been instructed to check-in for the night. “We’re fine.”

“We missed check-in.” I pulled into the nearest parking space in the dark parking lot.

“We’re here. We made it.”

I worried my bottom lip. “Do you think Ashley and Tom stuck around?”

“They’re probably finishing their drinks now. Let’s grab them before they turn in.”

Trent bounded out of the car with the easy confidence of a guy used to things working out for him. I hesitated, happy to let him charm the judges into bending the rules and ensuring we avoid the late check-in penalty.

He stopped mid-stride as he reached the road, turning back to the car and shooting me an exasperated smile. “Come on. Or else they’re going to think I left you with the dinosaurs.”

“It wasn’t that bad of a picture.”

It was pretty awful. And despite myself, I couldn’t help but like him a little more for posting it himself. The day had taken a strange turn. Between Trent’s missing pants and the legitimate amount of fun we’d had goofing around, my hardline stance of refusing to acknowledge Trent as a friend was in shambles.

“They’re going to dock us points,” I muttered, trailing in his wake across the empty street to the anonymous bar that only had a sign proclaiming “Shots $2” on a faded sign out front.

The interior of the bar matched the exterior: the few booths patched with duct tape, alcohol swag on the walls, and a bar that might have been farmhouse chic in another context, but instead looked like a handyman went to town decorating with leftover pallets and a nail gun.

A grouchy-looking bartender with a bushy beard and a ripped t-shirt stood behind the bar, arms crossed, occasionally glancing over at the large group of locals crowding the two pool tables, bottles of beer perched on the rails. At the bar, Ashley sat with Team Sugar Daddies, four college-aged guys driving a white van with the words “Free Candy” emblazoned on the side.

“Oh!” Ashley sat up straighter as we approached, all smiles for Trent. “You made it! I was starting to worry. None of the other teams saw you after lunch.”

The hour-long detour we’d made to touch grass in Ohio had put us well behind the rest of the pack.

“No car trouble, I hope.” She ran a finger along the rim of her martini glass, pitching forward in her seat and angling toward Trent.

“No,” I answered with a tight smile.

She frowned. “Oh. Well, that’s a shame. We’ve haven’t had a single roadside repair. Yet.”

“I’m sure we’ll break down soon,” Trent said with a confident smile.

Ashley sipped her martini through pursed lips. “Well, I’ll give you a break tonight, but 10 pm sharp from now on.”

“Aw, Ash,” one of the college guys whined. “You’re being too nice.”

“It’s their first rally.” She swatted his arm playfully. “As I recall, I gave you a break on your first rally. Something about drinking a liter of sulfur spring water and you only managed half?”

“A little more than that,” he grumbled.

“I’m heading to bed,” Ashley announced, draining her glass and pushing it across the bar. “I’d suggest you all do the same so you can actually take off on time and make the check-in.”

The college friends said good night and followed her out the door, leaving Trent and me on our own.

“See.” Trent grinned. “You were worrying for nothing.”

“I wasn’t worrying.” I just ate about a dozen antacids on the way to the check-in. No big deal.

He hunched over, shaking his leg, fingers tapping the bar top and eyes flitting to his watch.

“Oh, Texas.” His voice pitched into an annoying falsetto. “I can’t believe you lost your pants around the dinosaur. You made us late!”

“I don’t sound like that.” I rolled my eyes.

“We’re never going to make it!” He gripped his chest, fluttering his other hand.

“I didn’t even say that.” I stifled a laugh.

“It’s what you would have said if you weren’t so nervous you couldn’t speak. We were fine. You worry too much.”

“As opposed to not worrying at all?”

He laughed. “Do you want a drink?”

I glanced around the bar and shrugged. “Sure, one before bed.”

Trent tapped his knuckles on the bar top with a smile, summoning over the surly bartender. I retreated to a booth, passing over two that were more duct tape than vinyl before sliding into the third.

I should have turned down the drink. Only two days in, and fatigue had set in. But I was also having fun. A surprising amount of fun. Sure, not as much fun as I would have had with Derek, but Trent turned out to be a decent teammate. His preoccupation with winning might be annoying, but he was a damn good navigator and not a bad conversationalist in a vacuum.

He set my drink in front of me, slipping into the booth beside me.

“What’s this?” I picked up the brown liquid with a cherry floating on the bottom.

“A nightcap.”

I sniffed the liquid. “An old-fashioned?”

“Derek mentioned you liked them.”

An involuntary sigh escaped my lips. It was just like Trent to pull a lovely gesture out of nowhere. “Are you grilling Derek for ways to get into my good graces?”

He ducked his head, but didn’t answer.

I took a sip. The sweet bourbon warmed my throat, and I eased my back against the wall, propping my knee up between us, taking back some of the space he man-spread into. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He tented his fingers over his glass. Water, by the look of it. A goofy smile spread across his face.

“What’s that smile about?” I asked, bracing the glass between my palms.

He swiveled his head, green eyes sliding down my face. “I’m just having a great time. A fantastic time.” His voice mixed a balance of teasing and sincerity that took me off guard. “Maybe even a great time with a friend.”

He drawled out the last word, his fingers wrapping around the ends of my hair and sending a shiver up my spine.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” I said with none of the conviction I had on the first day of the rally. “I have plenty of friends already.”

The edge of his lips tipped up. “One?”

“And counting.” I fished the cherry out of my glass, popping it in my mouth.

“I’m glad you’ve warmed up the idea.” The teasing fell from his voice.

“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. You snuck up on me.”

It only took two days in a car, but I liked Trent. I couldn’t admit it to him, but I at least could admit it to myself. And if my heart sped up a little when he got near, that was incidental. A weird harbinger of anticipation and nothing else.

“I have that effect on people.” His smile faltered, his fingers dropping from my hair. He cleared his throat, sitting up and pulling his arm off the back of the seat. “So, what other games do you have up your sleeve?”

I sank into the corner of the booth, taking another sip and regaining my footing. “I’m not here to entertain you, Texas. You want to play games, you come up with something yourself.”

“Truth or dare?” he asked with a mischievous smile.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve heard of people emotionally stalling when they got famous, but weren’t you like twenty-two when you got drafted?”

“Well, first off, I was famous way before I hit the NFL. Second, I am a very mature twenty-five-year-old.”

“Compared to who?”

“Come on. It’ll be fun. Consider it a team-building exercise.”

“I’m just picking truth.” My cheeks burned. I hadn’t played truth or dare since middle school. Trent was right about one thing: I didn’t have many friends. Now or then. My single experience with truth or dare ended with Derek and me playing “Seven Minutes of Heaven.” He blurted out that he was gay one minute into it.

“Suits me just fine, but I always pick dare, so be ready.”

“I’m going to dare you to go home and let me finish this race alone.” I shook my head, feigning exasperation.

He clutched his chest. “Do you need another drink before we play?”

I swiped my half-full glass out of his reach. “No. Last I checked, I’m driving in the morning, so you get two questions and then it’s back to the motel. So, truth. Get it over with.”

Trent screwed up his face. “Alright. I’ve got a good one.”

“Why does that sound so ominous?”

His green eyes narrowed. “Have you thought about kissing me?”

I sucked in a lungful of bourbon, my chest spasming in a cough. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Liar.”

“I take back everything I just admitted to. We’re officially not friends, never gonna be friends, and I’m certainly not thinking about kissing you.”

“We have chemistry,” he said. “Isn’t that what Ashley told us at that first interview?”

“ Sibling chemistry. Did you miss that part?” I sighed. “We’ve got three more days of racing. Please don’t tell me this is your way of telling me you have a crush.”

“No.,” he blurted out.

I flinched, surprised how much the knee-jerk response stung.

“I mean, clearly, we’re not into each other. I’m just curious.” His voice softened. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and God help me, for a millisecond, I did think about kissing him. I pushed the thought away. “And maybe it’s been a while since I kissed anyone or got la?—”

“Ew. No. Please stop. I’ve already seen you with your pants off today.”

“You’ve got to be curious.”

“Not even a little,” I lied. Now that the seed had been planted, I admitted to myself that I was a little curious. Slightly curious. Diet curious. Maybe it’d crossed my mind, just for a millisecond.

“Your loss.” He threw back his water. “I’m a great kisser.”

“I’m sure your groupies all give you rave reviews.” I fluttered my eyelashes and lowered my voice into a breathy pant. “Oh, Trent, what a great kisser you are. Do I get front row tickets to a game? How about a night at the club? Want to take me to a fancy restaurant?”

“Ouch. See, that’s the exact reason I date models. They already have money.”

“Oh, they pay their own way?” I raised an eyebrow.

“No,” he admitted sheepishly. “But they don’t insult me when I buy them a drink.”

I laughed. “It’s good for you. Builds character. I’m helping.”

“Like a good friend.”

“Like someone who wants you to be a fully-formed human one day.” I bit my bottom lip with a wince, reading the hurt on his face.

I’d gone too far.

“Okay,” I said, eyes darting up to the ceiling as if a bunch of tattered dollar bills with messages like “I love Linda” and “SF + PR 4-ever” fascinated me suddenly. “I have very briefly thought about kissing you.”

He brightened. “Really?”

“Does that seem like something I’d lie about?” I snapped. “But just to be clear, it’s not because I like you.”

Despite the recent insult, Trent’s ego was shockingly resilient. “Sure, sure. Why then?”

The heat in my cheeks spread down my neck. I pressed my palm to my chest.

“Because you’re…” I waved my hand in front of his torso. “Ripped. It really has nothing to do with you as a person.”

“And you like the accent.”

“Yes, you have a very nice accent. You should be very proud of that accomplishment, even if it was completely by happenstance.”

He beamed, and I couldn’t tamp down the warmth flooding my stomach. Like making him happy made me happy. Like I’d done something.

“Don’t get a big head about this, okay? I doubt there’s a woman alive who wouldn’t see those abs and at least consider kissing you. And then you open your mouth?—”

“Hey now, you just said you liked my accent.”

I wrinkled my nose. “It’s not the accent, it’s the words that are sort of a turn-off.”

Were they a turn-off? Sure, when we first met, they were, but now?

“I thought about kissing you, too,” Trent admitted with a shrug. “Probably because you’re one of two single women on this rally, and we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and…well, you know. Hormones.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “So, I’m a female and in your immediate vicinity. That’s nice.”

His fingers tapped the top of the bench, hollow wood thumping. “It’s not just that.”

“Go on,” I prompted, unsure what I was doing. Trent was a nonstarter. A guy simultaneously out of my league and beneath anyone I’d ever date.

But he wasn’t talking about dating. He was talking about a kiss.