Page 145 of Lemon Crush

Never tell me online dating doesn’t work out.

And then there was me.

My breasts had gotten an inordinate amount of attention in days of yore, my career was interesting and I could be considered a step above cute now, since I’d been doing all this yoga and weightlifting. But more than that? I didn’t see it.

That lady bait was my boyfriend, and he thought I wasdazzling.

I was still dining off the compliment when I walked into the tent to find Lucy waiting for me. He was sitting at his NASA control center, which was the only way a normal person could describe his three monitors, half a dozen radios and the octopussian tangle of wires that looked as if they were about to swallow him whole.

“Where is everyone?” I asked calmly, pretending I hadn’t started implementing my escape plan less than an hour ago.

“They left to help Gene strap in. Now they’re cheering him on as he heads out under the double yellow.”

Double yell—“Oh, the flags. I remember this. Double yellow, slow my fellow. Green means fast, start hauling ass,” I recited.

“You’re a poet,” Lucy said with a sideways grin as he typed on his keyboard.

“There were so many flags, I had to make up something easy to remember them all. And when you write about witches on aregular basis, you get pretty good at rhyming. For the spells,” I added, though I wasn’t sure he was paying attention.

Charming Lucy was focused on his setup.

“I should leave you alone with your toys and join the others.”

“You don’t need to.” He pointed to one of his monitors. “You see that map?”

“Yes?”

“That’s our racing app. It’s going to give us live updates on our car’s location for the duration of the race.” He hit something on his keyboard and the other monitor turned into six sections of live video feeds. “Andthat’sgoing to show us everything Gene is seeing and experiencing at any given time.”

“Whoa.” In one view, I could see Gene in his helmet and fire suit, crammed into the tiny car, and in another, the dozens of cars surrounding him. That wasn’t terrifying at all.

“Whoa indeed. We always had a few cheap GoPros, but I’m not sure why we didn’t think of getting all this coverage until now. It’s the shit.”

It must have been Kingston’s idea.

“Happy fifth Lemons anniversary, huh?”

Lucy snapped his fingers. “I can use that to add those babies to my collection. Thank him for the gift, right? It’s the least he can do, since we’re about to make him famous.”

I didn’t remind him that in certain circles, Kingston Haywood was already well beyond famous. I doubted any of his fans would understand why he was making a documentary about this though. There wasn’t nearly enough suffering.

Unless some green newbie in a yellow bug crashes into a wall and bursts into flames.

My inner voice might be evil.

“Look at our boy.”

I glanced up at the screen filled with my brother-in-law and the interior of the car. He was about to take Jiminy on the ride of his life.

Great idea, Mom.

Lucy picked up a radio and clicked a button on the side. “Pit Master to 71, be advised Little Sister has found home base. Also? You have mustard on your chin. I repeat, we’re filming a movie here and you have what I hope is only mustard on your chin. It’s very distracting.”

Gene’s gloved hand reached up automatically and hit the helmet, then flipped off the camera as his chuckle echoed clearly through the tent. “71 to Pit Master, very funny, asshole.”

A laugh bubbled out of me and Lucy’s eyes sparkled. “I told you it was good wholesome fun, didn’t I? Aren’t you glad you stuck around? In a few hours, that’ll be you.”

I looked down at him suspiciously. Had he guessed I was thinking of leaving?

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