Page 92 of The True Garza
“Sunday dinner. Mom cooks for us every Sunday.”
“Why? You’re all grown and well off, enough to hire your own cooks.”
“Love, London. She does it out of love.” He playfully flicks my ear. “And there’s nothing better than Mom’s cooking.”
Well, that’s nice, I guess. Dad used to be the cook in our family. Mom hated the kitchen—probably because she hatedeatingin general. She preferred more energetic outdoor chores like mowing the lawn, power-washing the driveway, and shearing the hedges. Anything that kept her skinny and youthful.
Our second stop is at his complex in Santa Monica. He takes the bag that has his name into his house, then drives down to the house at the cul-dec-sac. This time, he doesn’t honk or wait; he enters the house with his own key. A few minutes later, he runs out in a fit of laughter, Lexi chasing after him with a breadknife and cursing him in Spanish. When she notices me, she halts, hides the knife behind her, and gives me a tentative wave and a smile.
“What did you do?” I ask when True gets in and drives off. “Why’s she chasing you?”
“Who knows? You women are just psychos.”
Our third stop is in a residential neighborhood in Venice. He parks outside a tall, wooden gate, lets himself inside with the last lunch bag, then return a few minutes later.
Our fourth stop is in an open, unpaved parking lot across from a racetrack. “Final stop.”
“Oh, thank God.” I undo my seatbelt. “Ihatethe way you drive. Are you convinced you have nine lives or something?”
He shrugs and gets out. “Pushing the limit is the only way to find out.”
“Yeah? Well, how about you only do that when you’reby yourself?” I hop out of the vehicle. “I’m driving next time.”
He’s flashing that damn grin at me as he comes around to my side. “Did you know you glisten in the sunlight? Especially with that hair….” He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush up against him. “Like gold. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
My heart flutters. “Kiss me, then.”
He makes me wait, playing with a lock of my curls. I’m on the brink of punching him in the throat when he seizes my chin and obliges.
It’s everything. Being kissed out in the open on a sunny Sunday afternoon by the only man who can makehiswill becomemywill.
When I lift my arms around his neck and try to pull him down for more, he breaks away. “Don’t be greedy.”
“Why not?”
He takes my hand and pulls me along. “Come on.”
“What are we doing here, anyway?”
He guides me across the street before answering, “Tripp’s racing today. We’re here to show support.”
Tripp’s the youngest Garza brother and also a senior at Red Cage. But I’ve seen him maybe only once since I started there. “Hedoes motorsport, notyou?”
True laughs. “I used to do it. But I got bored. Now I just watch for fun.”
“Were you any good?”
“Yep. That’s why I got bored.”
When we reach the entry gate, he bumps fists with one of the guards. They exchange easy words as the guard ticks something on a clipboard and gives him two lanyard passes. “Enjoy the race.”
True puts one of the lanyards over my head, then guides me through the gate.
Instead of the bleachers, he leads me to a raised canopy area guarded by a herd of men in black. They acknowledge True with chin jerks as we climb the steps.
Inside are several tufted white chairs and small tables. Three of those are occupied by three impeccably suited men. One of those men being Lorenzo Castello. Off to the side is a portable bar, attended by a pretty brunette.
Lorenzo cocks a brow at me. “Hello, little sis.”
