Collided: Dirty Air (Book 2)(75)

I lift a brow. “I think you mean dad bods. You know I can send you all new gear.”

“We don’t like to fuss over those kinds of things, especially if you may not be there for much longer. Any news about next year?”

I’d rank her transition as smooth as driving an F3 car.

“Some news.” I leave it simple, not sure if now is a good time to talk about it.

My mom tugs on my earlobe like I’m three years old again. “Spit it out.”

“Ay. No need to get physical. McCoy offered me an extension with similar pay.” I battle between a smile and a scowl.

“Then why don’t you look happy?”

“Because the stipulations include staying away from Sophie.” I let out a deep breath, the heavy weight of my secret sitting against my lungs, accompanied by guilt.

My mom looks at me with wide eyes and pursed lips, making soft wrinkles on her face more apparent. “Didn’t you tell me she’s going to go back to school anyway?”

I don’t know what to make of the burn in my chest when I think of Sophie leaving. Spending time with her has kept me sane this season, providing me with a steady friendship and a fuck ton of laughs.

“Right. She is. But…I mean, I don’t know. I can’t help feeling bad about signing a deal with that type of expectation. Sophie isn’t some dirty secret, she’s my friend…”

“And more.” My mom says it like a statement rather than a question.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I have no idea what to make of the feelings I’m experiencing. But Rick hasn’t mentioned anything about other teams, so it looks like McCoy or bust for the next season.”

“Sounds like you need to speak to your agent and keep an open mind. You still have plenty of races left, so teams can contact you and offer better deals if you hold on a bit longer. McCoy can wait. You’re one of the best out there, and you need to remember that. Maybe you need to follow your heart rather than a paycheck.” My mom wraps her small arms around me, tugging me in for a hug.

That’s the problem. I don’t understand my heart enough to follow it blindly.

She goes back to drinking in a corner with my dad, giggling at things he whispers in her ears. Both recently turned sixty and they still act like teenagers.

I stare at Sophie like a creeper across the yard. She dances around with Maya, switching between old eighties dance moves that should be long forgotten. Her terrible running man makes her shoes sparkle under the string lights.

I go up to them and ask Sophie to dance. She looks over at Maya for saving, but her best friend walks off toward Jax, leaving us alone. Next time I see Noah, I need to smack him because Maya’s a cool chick who takes our shit with a smile.

“Just so you know, I have two left feet. Seriously. There’s a reason I don’t dance at the galas.”

“All 100 pounds of you can step on my toes. Doubt I’d feel it.”

“One: I love pasta way too much to weigh 100 pounds. And two: you asked for it.” She grabs my stretched-out hand.

A familiar buzz runs through me as I grip her hand. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before, accompanied by a constant itch to be near Sophie. I wrap my other arm around her. She doesn’t take me up on my offer to step on my feet, but she lets me lead her around the dance floor. We sway to the melody playing from the speakers.

“You’re not too terrible. Maybe you had bad dance partners, kind of like with everything else.”

Sophie looks up at me. “Don’t tell my dad that. He thinks he’s got moves like Michael Jackson.”

I surprise her with a turn. She releases a throaty laugh that hits my dick at the same time. It’s how things are between us, with her turning me on at the simplest things, cursing me with a permanent semi around her.

I’m not surprised when my mom changes the song to Coldplay’s “Yellow.” My parents like to meddle because they think life is all one big movie, with happy endings and fairy-tale stories. Sophie’s head tilts up at me when she recognizes the lyrics. I shrug because I didn’t pick a perfect song about stars, love, and a color that reminds me of her and that damn bikini she wore all those months ago in Monaco. My mom clearly listens to my stories a little too closely.

I pull her in closer, prompting her to lean her head on my chest.

“This isn’t how the young ones dance at parties.” She stifles her laugh.

“Keep cracking jokes about my age. You won’t like what happens.”

“Will you hold good on the threat? Because I bought you a birthday present that may or may not include a subscription to a life-alert necklace.”

I chuckle into her hair, taking in a fresh inhale of her coconut shampoo. “When a clumsy person buys you a necklace about falling over…”

We break away from one another after a few songs. She scurries away toward Maya, claiming she needs to tell her something. Soon after, my parents bring out a ridiculous cake with a photo of me aged about thirty years. Sophie cackles at the sight and mouths something about my life-alert present.

I stand behind the table with no one by my side. For the first time, I notice how empty it feels, unlike my brother who has his kids or my parents who have each other. It pisses me off how my gloomy thoughts color my mood, awareness running through me at how isolated I’ve made myself over the years. Instead of feeling proud of being untouchable, it fills me with disappointment.