Page 40 of Danger

“Are you afraid Danger will turn out to be just like Thad?” This makes me pause, but I keep smiling, and Danger looks impenetrable, like nothing could ever break through his tough-as-diamond skin. He wears his aviators down low on his nose, and it makes him more sexy if that’s even possible.

“Danger, Danger,” another reporter calls. He’s different from the others and has a red beard, and quite frankly doesn’t look very much like a reporter at all. “Danger, give me one minute.”

Danger turns his head in the man’s direction. “I need to get ready for the big race today.”

“I know who you are,” the man calls out above the crowd. “One minute for my time, please. I came all the way from San Dimas.”

This stops Danger cold in his tracks. He drops my hand and lifts his sunglasses. He steps closer to the reporter. “You must have me mistaken.”

“No, I know you.”

Danger laughs, thrusting his sunglasses back on his face, and grabbing my hand. He tugs me forward, and we finish our trek to the back garage.

“What was that all about?” I ask him.

“Nothing.” He doesn’t face me, and I feel like a mask has slipped over his face. “Nothing at all.”

He drops my hand once we’re away from the cameras, and I spot my father inside the garage. “Dad, hey how are you?” I lean over to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m good. Ready for a race?” he asks Danger.

But it’s like Danger is on another planet.

“Danger?” I ask.

“What?” He throws his sunglasses across the garage, and ruffles his hand through his hair. “I was born ready.”

My father and I both roll our eyes at his response. Typical Danger.

But, I’m not too sure if heisready. Whatever the reporter said to him must have spooked him. Is it possible this man knows about Danger’s past?

I wave my father and Danger goodbye once they start going over all the preparations for the race. I mainly leave the garage so I won’t be an unnecessary distraction for Danger.

He needs to get his head in the game.

And I definitely don’t leave to track down one certain reporter. No, I wouldn’t do that.

I scan the crowd of reporters, looking for the red beard of the man who freaked Danger earlier. When I’m ready to give up, I spot him not too far away from the entrance to the track.

He smokes a cigarette, and I step up closer to him. “Want one?” he asks me.

“I don’t really...sure, yes.” I don’t smoke, but I know I need a reason to stand here to talk to this man.

He hands me one from his pack, and I take it and bring it to my lips. “Thank you.”

He flicks the flint of his lighter, and I breathe in, lighting my cigarette.

I cough slightly from the harsh thickness of the smoke. Yes, maybe I’ve puffed on a cigarette or two in my lifetime, so I’m not completely new to smoking, but the man notices anyway.

“Yeah, they’re bad for you.”

“Yeah.” I hold the cigarette between my fingers, ashing it every once in a while, but not really taking many puffs.

“I know who you are,” he says to me.

“And here I am not knowing whoyouare.” I smile wide.

“Ricky Morris,LA Sun. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand and I shuffle my cigarette to my left hand so I can shake his.

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