Filed to story: My Life with the Walter Boys Book (I & II) PDF Free
“What about pirates?” Cole asked ten minutes later. When I turned to look at him, he was wearing a curly, black beard—the cheap kind held in place with an elastic band—that covered the entire lower half of his face. “I found an eye patch, a hand hook, and one of those triangle-looking hats.”
Under no circumstances would I be kissing him in that monstrosity. “Pass.”
“An astronaut and alien?”
“Eh, I don’t think I’d look good green.”
Cole heaved a sigh. “Well, do you have any suggestions? I’m running out of ideas.”
I pulled a pink, drop-waist skater dress out from between a swimsuit cover-up and a puffer vest. It wasn’t perfect—there was a small stain near the hem—but it had potential. “What about Baby and Johnny?” I said, holding my find up for him to inspect. “All you’d have to do is wear a black shirt and slacks.”
“Who?” he said, a crease appearing on his forehead.
“The couple from
Dirty Dancing?”
He shrugged. “Never seen it before.”
With a sigh, I stuffed the dress back into place.
“How about this?” When I looked up, Cole demoed a pair of shimmery pompoms using a routine I recognized from school. “I always thought I’d look slutty in a crop top,” he deadpanned. “You can be the quarterback to my cheerleader.”
An image of Cole wearing Erin’s cheer uniform flashed before my eyes, and I instantly cracked up. When I moved on to the next rack, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I stopped laughing. Sitting on a table covered in belts and buckles was a delicate, indigo teacup decorated with a swirling, gold star pattern. My breath caught in my throat. Someone must have abandoned it here after noticing the tiny chip in the rim, but the flaw didn’t bother me. All I saw was how much Lucy would love to add this to our collection. The design was unique—more often than not, teacups were decorated in pastels and flowers—and it would be the perfect gift for—
The excitement vibrating in my chest died the moment reality caught up to my thoughts. I didn’t need to buy anything for Lucy’s birthday this year because I would never be able to give her a present again. The sudden stab of grief was breathtaking, and the tiny cup rattled in its saucer as my hand shook.
Breathe, Jackie
, I reminded myself.
Air whooshed past my lips as I released the breath I’d been holding in.
“Jackie?” Cole had to know something was wrong, because his head was tilted to the side, and he watched me with shrewd eyes. “Is everything okay?”
Despite the band of pain constricting my lungs, his concern was heartwarming. We’d been having such a good time, and I hated that all I wanted to do now was return to the ranch and curl up in bed.
Thinking back on how hard I’d laughed moments ago or the way it felt when Cole pressed me against the table, I realized how easily I’d let something as simple as a teacup ruin our afternoon together. This time, I wouldn’t let my grief win.
“I found something that reminded me of Lucy, and it blindsided me a bit,” I admitted, setting the cup down where I’d found it, “but I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
I hitched a smile onto my face. “I will be.”
I’m with you.
“Good, because I think I found our costume.” He held out a tan fedora and a wool beret. “Since you’re so much trouble, I think we should go as Bonnie and Clyde.”
***
That Friday, Cole took me to a dirt track race. I didn’t know the exact details of what that meant—presumably, we’d watch some kind of motorized vehicles race around a track made of dirt—but as long as we were spending time together, I was happy to do whatever.
Everything I knew about any type of racing boiled down to this: although Formula 1 was the most popular racing series in the world, NASCAR had a larger following in the States; fans of the latter took offense at jokes about left-hand turns for some unknown reason; and the Indy 500 was a famous race typically held over Memorial Day weekend.
When I admitted my scant knowledge to Cole, he turned down the radio and spent the entire drive educating me. The first fifteen minutes were dedicated to the various types of motorsports, but then he started discussing different disciplines—something about circuit racing versus rallying. That was where he lost me.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t follow what he was saying, but I was too distracted by him to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. He was talking a mile a minute, and if his hands weren’t already occupied, one on the steering wheel and the other holding mine, I imagined he’d be using them to help with his explanations. Every so often, he glanced over at me, eyes sparkling, to make sure I was listening. Despite my disinterest in the subject, his passion was endearing, and I couldn’t help but grin stupidly the whole way there.
The track was located a county over in the middle of nowhere, and by the time we arrived, night was falling. If it weren’t for the neon ELWOOD RACEWAY sign and the line of cars waiting to turn onto a gravel road, taillights glowing, blinkers flashing, I’d have thought we were lost. There wasn’t even a proper parking lot, just an endless grass field where a teen with one of those airport traffic sticks was directing all the vehicles.
The first thing I noticed when I climbed out of the Buick was that the temperature cooled off significantly during our drive. It was brisk but not uncomfortably cold—the perfect sweater weather. Before shutting the door, I reached into the back and nabbed a hoodie lying haphazardly on the seat. I’d kept the one Cole gave me at Parker’s rugby game, but this one had the added bonus of still smelling like him: his cologne and a hint of musk, nearly overpowered by the scents of popcorn, gasoline, and fallen leaves that lingered in the air.
“Hey, thief!” Cole protested, but the satisfied expression on his face as he watched me pull it on was telling.
“Oh, stop,” I said as I pushed up the too long sleeves. “You obviously love it when I wear your clothes.”
“Obviously, huh?”
“Yeah, you get this feral look in your eyes.”
Cole grabbed me around the waist. “If you want, we can get back in the car, and I’ll show you feral.” He dipped his head, and a hum of electricity surged through my blood when his lips made their way from my ear down to my collarbone.
“Oh no!” I feigned. “I have to miss some silly little race to make out with you? The horror.”
He recoiled, his upper lip curling back. “Silly little… Are you shitting me? You did not just call it that.”
“Front seat or back?” I asked, batting my lashes at him.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Not happening. We have a race to watch.”
I snorted as he took my hand and marched me away from the car where we joined a stream of people heading toward the main gate. Earlier in the day, I had spent a disgusting amount of time fretting over what to wear. Eventually, I settled on a corduroy pinafore, a long-sleeve shirt to go underneath, tights, and my favorite pair of boots. When
Parker saw the outfit laid out on my bed, she laughed and told me to wear jeans. As we joined the queue to purchase tickets, I was grateful for her input. Without it, I would have been way overdressed, considering most of the crowd was wearing camo, flannel, and Carhartt.
Admission only cost ten dollars, which seemed irrationally cheap, especially considering how run-down the track looked. If the entry fee was increased, then maybe the concession stand could get a fresh coat of paint. More concerning were the old wooden bleachers that were so weather-worn, I wondered if sitting down would give me a splinter. But the shabbiness of the venue faded into the background as we took our seats; there was a spark in the air that was impossible to deny. Even though the audience was a strange mix of families with young kids and middle-aged men in NASCAR T-shirts drinking Busch Light, everyone seemed excited, and the feeling was catching.