Fast & Wet (The Fast 2)

For her part, Klara pulled her shirt up and showed me the scar from her first love—a very, well, unfortunate tattoo on her lower back with his name in script lettering. She said it’s been years, but she still can’t bring herself to have it laser removed.

Then she shrugged and said she really hasn’t had the money, anyway.

But I know what she meant.

Money could rain down from the heavens, yet Klara would not remove that tattoo any sooner than I would block Cole’s phone number despite his daily texts and voicemails that I do not respond to.

“He’s going to win this one, too, isn’t he?” Makenna watches her TV on her side of the world, asking lots of questions along the way. She hasn’t invested several years of her life into F1, like I have, to know what’s going on half the time.

“Yes, he is,” I don’t want to jinx it, but I know it in my bones.

Cole has several laps to go, and Lennox is right behind him, again. Lennox only has to finish in fourth or better this race to clinch the championship, but that won’t stop him from trying to beat Cole.

It’s not in their blood to give up, even when winning is a foregone conclusion.

They simply don’t know how.

Edmund and I have been communicating, even though I’m still on leave from Imperium. We’ve made some setup changes to the car that appear to be working. I can see it in the way Cole is driving confidently, sticking the car exactly where he needs it, trusting it will do exactly what he wants it to do.

And, it’s not raining in Mexico City today.

“Did you book your tickets yet?” Klara asks, drinking her black coffee. Since she got fired from the cafe, she says we’re off fancy coffee, and she never wants to see a cappuccino again.

“No.”

“Come on,” Makenna argues. “You know you’re coming.”

I bite my cuticle and pretend to ignore them while I watch the race. Next weekend is the US Grand Prix in Austin, Texas, an hour away from Makenna. We’d always planned to meet up there this year.

That was before.

BC. Before Cole.

“You’re going,” Klara agrees. She and Makenna start ganging up on me.

Cole gains another quarter of a second on his lead. Dante may be able to snag third.

“I need to work on the tire models.”

“Oh, stop,” Makenna rolls her eyes.

“No, it’s true. It’s important. And look at him. He seems to be doing fine without me, anyway,” I wave my hand toward the television, knowing I am acting like a petulant child.

I’m not proud. But I am hurt.

I hate that I say such awful things when I’m hurt. I’m not going to do that anymore, no matter what. I’m better than that. I will be better than that.

“You will go. Or I will kick you out,” Klara points her finger at me.

“Kick me out? I pay all the rent!

“Tomato tomato,” she replies, using the same pronunciation for each word, blowing the colloquialism again.

I stifle a smile down. I don’t want to smile yet. I want to wallow more.

“I wish I had a few days to sit down and think all of this through, but I don’t. I’ve been so busy. We’re so close on the tire models.”

“For the love of God, Emily. There’s nothing to think about,” Makenna fixes herself another margarita on screen. I can’t see it, but I know she’s rolling her eyes at me.