Page 38 of Here & There

“Did you get your tires checked?” Mac asks Chris.

“Forget the car. What about your glasses?” Cal asks.

“I wear contacts now, fuckface,” Chris says, glaring at him.

Then she throws her arms around Mac. “Thanks again.”

To my shock, jealousy flares in my chest. Not just because she’s beautiful and awesome in every way, but because Mac clearly cares about her. And because it sounds like he helped her out with one of those things. Not that I’m into Mac or anything. But I see the way he softens around her.

“Don’t scare her,” I swear I hear him mumble before she pulls away.

What does that mean?

“Now quit worrying about us,” Chris admonishes Mac. She completely ignores Cal. “We’ve got shit to do. Let’s go, Shelby.” She hooks her arm through mine, and we’re off, like a whirlwind.

Not that I mind.

I understand Mac’s words only five minutes later, when Chris careens off the paved road leading to the highway onto a dirt path barely more trodden than a wagon trail.

She drives like an absolute maniac.

My hands grip the seat next to me as she takes her muscle car up to speed, expertly gearing up as we hit a straight patch.

I can barely unclench my jaw to speak as she peels around a corner. “This is a funner way to go than the highway,” she hollers over the roar of the engine. Dust plumes out behind us in the side mirror.

“Does everyone drive like this?” I squeak.

“Not really. I mean, there’s that one guy I race with, but—shit, girl, you okay?” Chris slows down, seeing my pale face.

“Fine,” I manage. “Totally fine.”

She laughs, slowing down completely as she takes another corner. “I’m sorry. I forget some people just drive to get places.”

“You don’t?”

“No way. Driving is anexperience. It’s why I race dirt bikes too. I’d be there today, but my bike’s in the shop.” She quirks a brow at me. “You interested in riding? We could always use more women down at the track.”

I wonder if her shirt’s some kind of insider dirt-biking acronym.

But I shake my head without an ounce of hesitation. “Nope. I’m not an adventurous person.”

Chris laughs. “Right. Because it’s totally normal for someone to do what you did. Nice try, Shel. I know you’ve got a rebelliousstreak in there somewhere. No straitlaced person would do what you did.”

I tip my head back against the seat, finally able to relax now that she’s not toying with our lives. Then I laugh. “I guess not,” I concede.

The town of Redbeard is adorable. There’s one main street with old west–looking storefronts. On the cross streets, there’re a few more shops, including the boutiques Chris leads me to. I’m surprised at the selection given the size of this place, but Chris says there are enough tourists from bigger cities that they “bring some of their bougieness with them.”

“Kind of like me, right?”

Chris throws her head back and laughs. “In the best way. Listen, my best friend Lana—you’ll meet her; she works at the Dinghy too—came from Vancouver, and she’s a snob and a fucking half about stuff like food and architecture. But she still took to Redbeard like a fish to water.”

I can’t help but think about Mac’s vision of his bar. This town feels special that way—like the locals have made room for the tourists, and the tourists don’t step on the toes of the locals. Except for the ATV dickheads, that is. It seems like this town would have run them off. Then I remember what Diane said about one of them being related to the mayor.

Speaking of those guys, we run into a handful of them on the sidewalk outside the first shop, but they quickly cross the street, looking back at us like we’ve got some kind of communicable disease.

I can’t help but laugh.

“What the hell?” Chris says. “Those guys are usually slimy as hell.”

---