Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (22 page)

“How was that?” 

“Excellent. Step right into your closing argument. A young team is fun to watch. A young team and a new manufacturer will be twice as much fun to watch, and fans who’re having fun are loyal to the brand. If he goes with an existing team, their fans might not make the switch, because NASCAR fans have strong loyalties. He needs a new team, so they and Audi can build a fan base together.”

This time, he kissed me with passion as well as skill. He wrenched away when his cock began to thicken, pushing me to arms’ length while he studied my face. “You just melted all my crayons. And that pitch is genius.”

“Go. Nail that contract down.” I patted his ass.

Grinning, he broke into a jog.

I bent my knees, dipping between the cars. Gripping the two bumpers, I tried to breathe through the pain.

Walking away from Colt and Caine hurt like a bitch some days. But the one thing I’d gotten past was not being part of Hannah-Built. I didn’t want a job where Dale wrote me a paycheck I didn’t earn while people laughed behind his back—the way they laughed at Jesse Hancock for trying to give his stepdaughter a career in NASCAR.

But talking to people? Twisting arms on behalf of Dale and my brothers? Promoting a brand? God, I could do that in my sleep, and still have fifty hours a week to design T-shirts, for fuck’s sake.

I stood and stumbled toward the service entrance, praying Harry’d take one look at my dress and send me home so I could curl up and cry.

H
arry slammed four highball glasses on the counter. He wouldn’t be tending bar unless one of the bartenders had called out of work.

Excellent. I’m as good as gone.
Wrapping the apron around my waist, I took a deep breath and pushed through the kitchen door.

Harry cocked his head, wrenching the tops off two mini bottles of house bourbon. The look he gave my dress was blacker than the swinging fringe covering the garment.

“Funeral ran long?”

I nodded.
Send me home. I’m out of uniform. Send me home. 

His eyes flashed, but Harry turned his back, grabbed the dispenser head and aimed a stream of cola at the two glasses. “Dawn walked off the floor about an hour ago. That’s your section now.”

Dammit. Harry was tight-assed about the rules. Any other time....

One of the other servers, Jessica, slid her tray on the end of the bar. “The people in Dawn’s section are giving me dirty looks, like they think I should drop everything to fetch their orders.”

In other words, Jess had no plans to pick up any extra tables. Fuck me. Didn’t matter what kind of degree I earned, I was always going to have shitty luck from the Roberts’ side of my family tree.

“What section am I in?”

Harry snapped his fingers, then pointed to the tray I’d tucked under my arm. I slid it toward him.

“You and Jess split section two. You handle three.”

I peered around the brick patio through the service window. Maybe fifty patrons filled every seat, all primed to give me a hard time.

“The good news is, Mary hasn’t come off the clock yet in section three. Talk her into working over until you catch up,” the other waitress suggested.

Like that would happen. Mary was fifty-three, and working at the bar between office jobs. Worse, she was friends with Harry’s mother. The woman thought that when she hit the floor, the other staff in her section should just walk out, leaving their tables and tips that hadn’t yet been collected, to her. In return, she left her section the same way, no matter how many tables still had to pay. Harry’s take on the situation was to humor Mary, because she wouldn’t be here long.

Meaning I’d just gotten fucked twice, no kiss and no lube. Twenty-ish people would stiff me from Jessica’s section and Mary would march into the sunset in...oh, five minutes. While I tried to catch up in section two, the next round of people seated in section three would probably stiff me, too.

One glance at Harry told me that, thanks to my daring to show up out of uniform, he wasn’t going to force either of these bitches to help me.

Harry plunked the pair of bourbon and Cokes onto my tray. “Table sixteen.” I knew he meant for me to run them out, but I held firm, glaring. With a sigh, he spun. I waited while he mixed a pitcher of Bloody Marys and poured them into four glasses. I added them to my tray.

“Table seventeen,” Harry barked, reaching for four assorted bottles of beer. He slipped his opener from his back pocket, flipping tops into the trash bin. “Table nineteen.” He capped each bottle with a Pilsner glass, giving me a baleful look for my small act of defiance.

“Phillip wanted to come to the funeral, to be there for you, but his boss dumped some pleading on him that has to be filed in the morning. They’re making him do everybody’s shit work, now that he’s turned in his notice.”

When he spun to grab a bottle of triple sec, his words penetrated my haze of resentment.

“What notice? Phillip’s leaving the solicitor’s office?”

He nodded, snatching two more glasses. “He took a job on the north side of Charlotte. A firm that handles business law. He despises working as a prosecutor.”

The north side of Charlotte? For fuck’s sake.
“I didn’t know that.” For the last three weeks, I’d spent every spare minute with Francine or with my nose in a book. 

Harry dipped two more glasses into a small tray of lime juice, then stabbed the rims into an adjacent tray of coarse salt. “Did you see our flowers?”

“Francine showed me. They were gorgeous.”

“Tell.” While the drink mixes chugged into the blenders, he shot me a look that said I’d better have taken a good look at the arrangement he’d probably spent an hour picking out.

“Wicker basket, natural. White glads about this tall.” I held my hands about eighteen inches apart. “Twelve of the pinkest, most perfect rosebuds, and violet... uh, whatchamacallit.”

“Edelweiss.” He snorted, pressing the lids onto both blenders and stabbing the buttons. A few seconds later, he poured the contents of a blender with each hand. Slamming the containers onto the motor stands, he added limes to the rims of the margaritas, then grabbed the two glasses, adding them to my tray. “Table eighteen.” He tossed cherries into the Pina Coladas, or what the fuck ever they were, and dumped those drinks onto my tray. “Now, will you go do your damn job?”

Mary slipped up beside me. “Hey. I’m ringing out four tables. The dude at table twenty hasn’t ordered, but someone just joined him. The rest either just got seated or just got their orders.” She turned toward the register. “I’m leaving now, Harry.”

“Uh, since Dawn walked off the floor, I have to work section two and three. Any chance you can stay over until I get caught up?”

She shook her head, already untying her apron. “Sorry, I have plans.”

I gave Harry an exasperated glare. Expecting anything else was pointless, but it still hurt when he said, “Bye, Mary. See you tomorrow.”

Furious, I demanded, “Comp tables sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen or I’m not stepping out on that floor.” Harry scowled, but I gave him a wide grin. “Call it payback for letting Mary bail.”

He nudged me aside and poked the register screen. “What do I care? I’m moving to Charlotte with Phillip in thirty days.”

“Really?”

Harry nodded, focused on the task. “Really. Wanna buy my townhouse?”

“No, but I’ll take the G.I. Joe collection, if it needs a new home.”

Where am I going to stay after graduation?

Francine’s. Duh.

I hoisted the tray above my left shoulder. Pain danced along my collar bone for the first time in weeks. My cheeks heated with shame. Harry was just trying to protect me by sending me out with a light tray.

Once I cleared the door, I headed for sixteen, the closest table. “Sorry for the delay. I had the manager comp this round.”

“We’ve been waiting forever,” a thirty-ish woman snapped. “Where did our waitress go?” Just my luck. Someone a free drink didn’t satisfy. I pictured how she’d look wearing it instead of slapping her.

I forced a smile. “I think they call her situation an emergency. My name’s Shelby, I’ll take over now. Enjoy your drinks. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

The rest of Dawn’s tables seemed pacified by hearing their drinks were on the house. I took a breath, hoping the worst part of the evening was behind me. Approaching table twenty, I caught a surreptitious wave from Bert, the piano player. The massive Baldwin baby grand sat near the railing, screened by pots of bamboo. Smiling, I launched into my spiel, still watching the talented man’s fingers fly over the keys.

“Hi, I’m Shelby. I’ll be your server since Mary’s going off shift. She said you were shy, so can I tempt you with—” I lowered my gaze to the man seated on my right.
Holy shit—
I stumbled on—“...one of our house specialties?”

The customer peered at me with ice-blue eyes. “Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine.”

I shook a finger. “Nice try. This is my gin joint.”

No smile lit Niles Jaeger’s eyes. “Drives an R8 but waits on tables? What’s that about?” He turned to his companion, so I did as well. My heart stopped when I spied rebellious spikes and dark eyes.

“Jet, if you’re here to tell me about
her
stepfather, you’re wasting your breath. I checked out Dale Hannah. What I found was a stinking mess. Unless you can explain why a crew chief would set up his driver and steal his car, we have nothing to discuss.”

“Dale didn’t cheat,” Jonny croaked, then paused to clear his throat. “That’s just Kolby running his mouth. He’s butt hurt ‘cause he lost to a woman who can drive. I helped Dale with the engine swap. All he did was drop the twenty-two car’s engine into the Plymouth and change out the tranny.” He jabbed a long finger toward me. “She did the rest.”

Niles’ eyes bore into mine. “Right. Little college girl with no racing experience turns in an eight-second run. Which doesn’t jive with the twelve-second runs she put up against me earlier today. Especially since, according to
my
crew chief, one of Hannahs’ boys turned her new ride into a six-second car. The problem is, she’s hardly a six-second driver. Which makes me wonder how she managed such a good time in a ’71 ‘Cuda? The whole thing stinks to high heaven.” Niles gave me an arrogant grin. “What was your best time today, sweetie? Twelve point three?”

I drove my nails into my palm, aching to slap the German bastard’s smile all the way to Stuttgart.

While I tried to think how to explain, Bert launched into a spirited rendition of Bruno Mars’ song,
I Think I Wanna Marry You
. To my horror, Becca appeared behind Burt. People got to their feet all over the patio, crossing to fill the space behind the piano player.

People like Switz.

And the unknown girl I’d fucked Robert with a few hours earlier.

I stared in dismay. Robert stepped up behind Burt. I looked away, only to meet Jonny’s stunned eyes. Niles shoved his chair back. The metal legs made a horrible shriek against the brick patio. The sound flung me back to the moment in Mom’s kitchen when Caine took a look at Robert. The Audi racing guru jumped to his feet, dragging me into the present.

The bricks refused to swallow me, no matter how hard I begged.

The gaggle of swaying frat boys—plus my roommate and the bleached blonde whose name I did not know—moved through in my direction. Niles shouldered through the moving group on his way out the door.

Swallowing hard, I tried to think what to do to stop this hideous moment from happening while half of Pi Kappa Phi gathered around.

Nothing had come to mind by the time Robert reached me. He just stood there like an idiot, mouthing the words to the song until the piano fell silent. The boisterous Sunday night crowd quieted along with the last note.

Don’t do this. Don’t do this.

Robert’s gaze was steady on my face. “From the day I met you, I knew you were the one.”

My sluggish brain started spitting out logic, for the first time since the wreck.

So, I knew them for six months when I was just a kid, and six days at Christmas? Not to mention all those damn lies and the way they took advantage of me? This sudden burst of—whatever I feel for the two of them—is just my brain, acting stupid. I’ve spent two years with this man. He’s not mean, he’s not cheap. He’s smart. He loves me. He’s no daredevil, so what?

“Yes,” I blurted, cutting off whatever the hell else Robert might say. I stuck out my hand, waggling my fingers. The guests broke into applause. Bert, goddamn him, launched into Mendelssohn’s
Wedding March.
I wasn’t sharing my tips with him tonight. Hell, no.

Robert pulled the box from his pocket and lifted the lid. I grabbed the ring and stuck it on my finger. The flashing stone was the same one he’d offered me before Christmas. Still square.

There. It’s done. Columbia, South Carolina, here I come. Potholes are asphalt, right? Might catch the odd whiff of burning rubber. That’s as close as I need to be to anyone named Hannah.

I stepped into Robert’s arms. He reeked of pussy and tequila. I jerked free after a chaste kiss. “Gotta get back to work.”