K. Bromberg - Sweet Ache

“So noted,” I say, our eyes continuing the flirtation without words, and I find myself questioning why even though he’s attractive, the chemistry is a few beakers short of the right formula for anything to reach combustion. I sigh, knowing he’s waiting to see where I go with this conversation so I figure, fuck it, might as well. “How’s your girlfriend doing?”

His lips curl up on one side; his eyes dance with mirth. “Well, she’s refusing to go on a date with me even though I’ve asked her seven different ways from Sunday, but I’ll keep at it and let you know when she finally says yes.”

Shit, I walked right into that one didn’t I? “She must not know what she’s missing then,” I offer up.

“Hm, I’d say she’s missing about ten thick inches but you never know, it might be too much for a girl like her to handle.”

Cocky bastard. I keep my face impassive while my mind wonders how much he’s exaggerating—or if he is at all—and make sure my eyes don’t drift down and give him the satisfaction of knowing that I’m even curious.

“Well there’s your problem Mason,” I say as I rise from my position. Colton’s car veers down pit row, and I’m relieved and annoyed that our conversation is coming to an end. “The digits you should be talking about are the ones to call her with. A woman knows when a man talks in inches he’s only doing so to boost his ego. We always assume we need to cut the number by half,” I lie and then return the wink he gave me as I walk past him and head to the door, fighting two urges, the one to look and see if he is indeed packing all those inches and the other to not burst out laughing from the look on his face in reaction to my bald-faced lie.

“Well, if we’re playing by your rules, I should have told you it was twenty, then.”

I hear him stifle a chuckle behind me and am glad that he’s not getting his dick in a twist over my verbal dis. I descend the stairs to the infield heading toward the garages where I know the rest of my family will be to greet and shoot the shit with Colton when he gets out of the car as is our usual custom as of late. Luke’s boots echo off the metal steps right behind me, and I’m curious just how much he’s willing to tempt fate by following me.

He falls in step beside me in silence but the sounds and sights of time trials for pole position filter in all around us. “Hey, Quin?” he says as we approach the mechanic bays.

“Hey, Luke?” I mimic him again.

“What do you say you come join me for a victory celebration tomorrow night?” He angles his head to the side and waits for my answer.

And I can’t resist, he’s making it too damn easy. “You’re throwing Colton a victory party? How sweet of you!” He snorts out in disbelief and runs a hand through his cropped hair. I place my hand on his chest momentarily. “Thanks for the laugh and the walk down but—”

“I know, I know,” he says, raising his hands in surrender and taking a step back. “Can’t fault a guy for trying.”

I can hear Colton talking to Becks a few yards away, something about wing adjustments and lap times and although Colton’s preoccupied, I prefer for the peace to be kept and punches to remain unthrown.

“I think it’s best for your sake if you vacate the premises before my brother notices you’re here.”

“Ah see, true love. You’re looking out for me, but in case you forgot,” he says, pointing to his name on his fire suit, “I have every right to be here.”

I purse my lips and hold his gaze. “Well, not exactly here,” I reply, pointing to the yellow line denoting the garage boundaries for each race team.

He takes a step back so that his toes are just to the edge of the painted delineation and looks back to me with a smirk on his face. “Better?”

“Much,” I say as we hold each other’s stares a bit longer. I flick my hands at him in a shooing motion. “Now quit causing trouble and go.” I love the fact that he doesn’t react right away, that he has a mind of his own and isn’t going to let me persuade him. Maybe there are some rough edges to him after all. Food for thought.

“I love causing trouble. In fact I’d love to stick around and watch your big, bad brother protect you from the likes of me,” he says, and pulls at his shirt, which is beginning to stick to the middle of his chest from the heat sweltering off the asphalt track. I watch the movement and let my eyes drift down to the crotch of his race suit and hate myself for looking and still wondering.

And I curse the race suit for being so damn baggy.

“I can take care of myself just fine. No need for my brother’s help,” I tell him, challenge in my voice and amusement in my eyes.

Luke works his tongue in his cheek. “Well, since your brother doesn’t factor in, there’s nothing standing in the way so why won’t you go out with me?”

“Because arrogant race car drivers aren’t my type.” Maybe that will dissuade him.

“Well, since I’m more of the good-looking, financially stable, athletic type, I guess I’m golden.” His smile widens, proud of his answer.

“Far from it. I’d say more like silver.” I squint my eyes looking at the metallic color of his race suit as he steps toward me no longer blocking the sunlight and with blatant disregard for the line at his feet.

“Oh believe me, Quinlan, as long as it’s hard as metal, that’s all that matters,” he says, suggestion lacing his voice.

Did he really just say that? “Jesus. That right there is exactly why I’ve rejected you the other forty-two times you’ve asked me.”

“Well shit, I’m on number forty-three, so next time you’ll say yes.”

“Um, no,” I say with finality, but I can’t help the appreciation from coming through in my tone.

“Oh, Westin, I have your number, baby.” He takes a step back, and I glance back down to the line he’s cleared and smirk.

“Actually, you don’t.”

He laughs deep and loud and I know Colton will have heard it. Thanks a lot. “You’re right. I only have the number twenty but,” he says with a shrug, “I’m sure you’d be willing to work with that. Later, Quinlan.”

“Later, Luke,” I tell him as he turns his back and starts to walk away.

“One of these days you’re going to say yes,” he calls over his shoulder.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” he says one final time, causing me to laugh and wish I did feel something between us because hell if his unrelenting effort isn’t attractive in itself. Shit, it would be fun to take him up on the offer if not to just piss Colton off. Hm. Maybe I’ll do just that next time.

“What the fuck did he want?”

Then again, maybe I won’t. Not worth the trouble.

I turn to find Colton leaning against the wall, Gatorade in hand, fire suit unzipped, and chest grossly plastered with sweat.

“Um, you’re married now. You don’t need to flex your chest to try to get women anymore. It’s nasty.” Distraction at its finest.

“Didn’t have to try to get them before,” he says, emphasizing his point with the flash of a grin.

I just roll my eyes, first Luke and now my brother. I most definitely do not need to date a race car driver.

“You had to work to get me,” Rylee says as she walks up behind him and swats him on the butt.

He laughs and places a soft kiss on her lips. She pushes him away when he tries to take the kiss further. “You see that?” Colton says, tone playful. “Married for a year and she’s already starting to reject me.”

“You poor baby,” I mock.

“So did you say yes?” Rylee asks with a lift of her chin motioning to where Luke walked away.

Thanks, Rylee . I thought I was off the hook, but I guess not.