Page 38 of Lemon Crush

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Kingston snickered. “I had to, man. You always take the cars you work on seriously. And you worked on that one a lot.”

Yeah, I had good memories attached to the VW, but if it made August happy, I’d tear it down to scraps in a heartbeat. That’s how far gone I was.

“She’s not like Bernie,” I told him. “She’s never been a daredevil. This isn’t like her.”

“I wish I’d said yes more often.”

And now I wanted to kick myself for knocking her down the first time she’d reached out and tried. Overreacting instead of encouraging her to be a part of something again. Even if it was Lemons.

Hell.

“Iamthe asshole.”

“At least you’re willing to admit it,” Kingston said, still typing. “And old enough to learn from your mistakes. So, whenareyou going to make your move, player? You’ve been there for days now.”

“You said it yourself, it’s complicated.”

“You want my advice?”

No, but he was going to give it anyway.

“Apologize and then help her with this race. Think of all the time you’ll be up close and personal if you agree. You have shitty fashion sense and you’re not funny, but ladies seem to like you when you make an effort. She’ll hitthat.”

“You really know how to build up a man’s confidence.”

“All I’m saying is give her what she needs and she’ll give you what you want.”

The transactional sound of that left a bad taste in my mouth. I wanted more than a few nights that came out of gratitude. But giving her what she needed had the right ring to it. And what she needed right now was somebody on her side. “You might have one, abnormally microscopic part of a point.”

“No one ever complains about the size of my parts. Now what about my documentary?”

“That’s Gene’s circus.”

Kingston cheered as if he were his own stadium standing ovation. “I’m in, baby. That man doesn’t have a shy bone in his lily-white body.”

“He’s crazy, but Morgan loves him,” I said in amused resignation.

“So do I. Dude knows how to live. You’re the only killjoy going to this party.”

The rumble of thunder and cracks of lightning were almost continuous, and then the power went out with a sizzling pop, cloaking me in darkness.

“Now it’s a party,” I said flatly, flicking on my cell phone flashlight.

“I didn’t miss this weather while I was gone. I need to unplug my shit. Call you tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

I hung up and, after searching through the bag I still hadn’t unpacked in the bedroom, took out my portable charger and set it on the island with a battery powered lantern and an extra package of batteries. Then I took out my tablet and opened the ebook I’d been wanting to read. I was ready for anything, but I’d be fine if nothing happened tonight besides me getting a few chapters deep and distracting myself from trying to text August again.

Fifteen minutes later, the explosive sound of a tree cracking and then crashing into something close had me dropping my tablet, jumping to my feet and struggling to get back into my wet boots. That was right on top of us.

“Fuck.” I looked out the window. The rain was knife sharp and sideways. The gusts had to be close to seventy-five miles an hour. Even for Texas, that was crazy. A Cat 2 behaving like a Cat 4.

The tall pines in the neighborhood were no match for those gusts. As soon as I saw the tree—a fifty-foot monster broken off like a matchstick and laying on the roof of the one-story side of Gus’s house—I grabbed my headlamp and ran outside.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

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