Crashed (Driven, #3)(123)

“That friend deserves a shitload of beer as a thank you then.” He shrugs. “That, or a mighty fine piece of ass in return.”

I snort out a laugh, grateful for his sarcasm to avoid talking about deep feelings and shit that I’m not really comfortable discussing. I’m just getting used to saying this kind of shit to Ry, I’m sure as f*ck not going to be getting touchy-feely with Becks.

“She’s got a hot friend,” I tell him with a raise of my eyebrow, earning me a snort in return as I repeat what I said the night I talked him into inviting Ry to Vegas with us.

“She sure does,” he murmurs, but before I can respond, Aiden cannonballs into the pool and the splash hits us full on. We start laughing, comment forgotten, sunglasses now splashed with water.

“Hey,” he says, and I look back over at him. “I have to give you shit because that’s just the way we roll … but I’m really happy for you, Wood. Now don’t f*ck it up.”

I grin at him. The f*cker. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, dude.”

“Anytime, man. Anytime.” We sit in silence for a moment, both watching the boys around us acting like they’re supposed to be, kids. “So you ready?”

Becks’ voice pulls me from my thoughts and back to what I should really be focusing on: the race next week. First time back in the car since the accident. Pedal to the floor and the next left turn. And f*ck if just the thought doesn’t make my blood pressure spike.

But I got this.

“Fuck, I was born ready,” I tell him, tapping the neck of my beer bottle to his. “Checkered flag’s mine for the taking.”

“Fuck yeah it is,” he says as he looks down at his phone that’s received a text, and my eyes drift back to Rylee and thoughts of a particular pair of checkered panties I never did get to claim. I sure as f*ck need to fix that.

I shake my head as I sink back into my chair and watch the boys jumping in the pool and chicken fight one another. I sit and wait for it, but it doesn’t happen. That f*cking pang of jealousy I used to get when I saw boys acting their age, acting how I never got to. Because even after I was adopted, the fear was still there, still raw as f*ck.

Rylee catches my eye from across the deck and those f*cking sexy-as-sin lips spread wide. Fuck me running. My balls tighten and chest constricts at the notion that I put that smile on those lips. The woman is my f*cking kryptonite.

Who else would I allow to invite seven boys to my house for a pool party to celebrate summer being here? What other woman could I share my demons with and instead of running like a f*cking banshee, she looks me in the eyes and tells me I’m brave? Who else would scar their skin to prove to me she’s in it for the long haul?

Motherf*cking checkered flags and alphabets and sheets. When the f*ck did all of this become okay with me?

I shake my head, pretending I don’t want it but f*ck if I can’t look away from her for one goddamn second before my eyes find her again.

I lift the fresh beer Becks hands me and start to take a sip and look over at him as he shakes his head laughing at me. “What?”

“You are so going to f*cking marry her.”

It’s my turn to choke on my beer. I double over in a coughing fit as Becks pounds me a little too hard on the back. “He’s fine!” I hear him say as I try to control the choking mixed with laughter burning its way up my throat. “He’s fine,” he says again, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Fuck off, Becks!” I finally manage to get out. “Not gonna happen! No rings, no strings,” I say our old motto with a laugh. And then I look up to find Ry. She’s across the patio sitting on the edge of the pool, Diet Coke in hand, and is playing referee to the boys’ game of Marco Polo. Ricky gets caught as a fish out of water, and Rylee throws her head back in laughter at something Scooter says to him.

And there’s something about her right now—hair highlighted from the sun, a carefree sound to her laugh, and obviously in love with everyone around her. Something about her being with the boys, making life normal for them at a place that has never really been a home until now—until her—hits me harder than that f*cking rookie Jameson did in Florida. Has me thinking about the forevers and shit that six months ago would have never once crossed my mind.

It’s just gotta be Becks getting in my head. Fucking it up. The bastard needs to shut the hell up about shit that’s not gonna happen.

Never.

So why the f*ck am I wondering what Ry’d look like wearing white? Why am I wondering how Rylee Donavan sounds out loud?

Never. I try to shake the thoughts from my head, but they linger, spooking the f*ck out of me.

“So not gonna happen.” I laugh, not sure if I’m repeating the words to convince Becks or myself. I look back over at Ry for a second. Talk about jumping the gun when I haven’t even found the bullets to load it yet. Fucking Beckett. “Taming’s one thing, f*cker. Ball and chaining?” I whistle out. “That’s a whole ’nother ball game I have no interest in playing.” I shake my head again at that shit-eating grin on his face as I rise from the chair. “Never.”

“We’ll see about that,” he tells me with that smirk I want to wipe from his face.

“Dude, do you feel that?” I ask, raising my arms out from my side and lifting my face to the sun before looking back down at him.