Page 94 of The True Garza
I shrug.
With a smile, he shakes his head. “Tripp is the Castellos’ favorite. He’s the spoiled golden Garza. Before this, he was doing MMA fighting. Before that, it was soccer. Before that, it was basketball. He’s one of those annoyingly multi-talented people that’s naturally good at everything. He conquers, then moves on to something new when he gets bored of winning. But whatever he does, the Castellos arealwaysthere supporting him.”
“Just because?”
“Hey, Lo,” True calls to Lorenzo, “what’s the buy-in on this race?”
Lorenzo glances over his shoulder. “What’re you talking about?”
True looks to me and shrugs. “No worries.”
I’m finding that hard to believe. I mean, it’s the Castellos.Everythingis about money for them. But whatever.
There are two races before Tripp’s. True stands, paces, and sits again. Repeat, repeat. But it’s easy to ignore now that I know him better.
“Will he win?” I ask as we watch Tripp slide into a red-and-yellow race car.
True stands behind my chair and idly cups my neck. “He hasn’t bested this sport yet, so he’ll probably come in third.” In the next second, his voice is at my ear, “Think I’m gonna regret buying you dresses. I don’t like that other men get to see how fucking perfect your legs are.”
Shivers whisper down my spine. “That’s what you get for trying to control what I wear.”
“They were meant to be just for me. Let’s leave.”
“Shh,” I shush around a smile, “the race is starting.”
He nips at my earlobe in rebellion.
Tripp finishes secondplace. The race was thrilling, intense, and judging from the screaming women over in the bleachers, he has a great deal of fans. How he keeps up with being a commando and a quasi-superstar at the same time is beyond me.
After the race, he comes up to the tent, chats and drinks for a bit, then invites us to the “after-party” at his place. Lorenzo declines—thank heavens—and leaves with his suited men.
Back in the parking lot, I wrestle True’s car keys from him and jump in behind the wheel before he can stop me, then make him give me directions.
Tripp’s place is the third stop we had made before the racetrack. People fill his gorgeous courtyard in no time. The darker it gets, the prettier it becomes, with overhead string lights, outdoor garden lamps, and RGB glowing.
There’s drinks, laughter, music, and dancing, the atmosphere pulsing with life, enjoyment. True gets pulled away from me every couple of minutes. He’s apparently as popular as Tripp is.
“Need another drink?”
At the question, I turn around to see Tripp standing two feet from me, nursing a beer. He looks nothing like his brothers. His complexion is the color of gold, as are his long, styled locs and deep-set eyes. He’s quite a sight. Stands out in every way.
He’s also not as outwardly intense as almost every other senior at Red Cage is. He’s just… chill. He neither glares nor grins, and his eyes tell no tales. From my experience, he’s the type that what you see isnotwhat you get and should never be underestimated.
“Oh, no, thanks,” I reply. “I’ve already had two, and I’m driving.”
He nods and takes a swig of his own beer, but his gaze remains steadily on me with a hint of something akin to curiosity.
“What?”
A small shake of his head and a shrug. “Just never got a good look at you before. You’ve been a hot topic in our group chat as of late.”
“Yeah, I bet. You all think I’m trouble for Red Cage.”
“Initially, yeah….” Another swig. “But that’s old news now.”
“And what’s the new news?”
Slow and deliberate, a smile slides onto his golden face.
