20. Carson

"And Carson Hayes, the rookie from southern Kansas, took third place." I grin as I hop out of my car, listening to the reporters, who are already surrounding my car. Brayden snuck in right before me and got second place today, but I'm gaining on all of them.

A little healthy competition never hurt anyone, and I swear, from the way he's looking at me now, he doesn't look too bothered by it at all. No wrecks today. Just a standard race. I'll admit, getting back behind the wheel was a little daunting, but this is where never overthinking comes in handy.

Brayden, on the other hand, was worried. Not that he said so—because he never fucking uses words. But I know how to read him now. When I left his bed this morning, he kissed me hard, trying to silently tell me to be careful. That he was worried. I know he was, but he won't say it.

I'm not sure how damn long we can go without having an actual conversation, but we seem to be in denial mode, and that's just fine with me. I'm young and at the start of my career.

I can't be part of a couple anyway.

"Nice job, rookie," says Sebastian—who took first today—with a pat on my back.

I beam proudly, knowing this will definitely be on the news. People back home will see this. They'll know I wasn't full of shit when I told them I'd be a famous racer.

I wasn't really unpopular growing up, but no one really leaves the small town I'm from. And everyone scoffs when you tell them you're going to. But I feel like a champion today, taking the time to answer all the interview questions, even though I can't seem to pry my eyes off Brayden.

I need to. Someone could easily pick up on what's going on between us if I don't and if they're paying close enough attention.

After the interview, we have a meeting with Miles and Jenny. Jenny looks fairly pleased, so I don't think she's picked up on anything between Brayden and me—although if anyone would, it'll be her.

She remains quiet as Miles pats me hard on the shoulder, clearly pleased. "Three racers in the top five today, boys. That is damn fine."

I grin, beaming proudly. It's always good when your boss is happy, but Brayden looks tense as hell. I mean, yeah, he always kind of looks like that, but I've noticed he gets even more tense around Miles.

I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with his friend. Miles's son.

Miles wraps an arm around Brayden, and I swear he looks like he might punch him, cringing hard but then quickly schooling his face. I wonder if Jenny notices it. I can't read her, and Miles's voice is loud and booming as he holds onto Brayden. "And they're eating up this best-friends thing between you two. Some think you could be his big brother the way you dote on him." Vomit. I might actually puke. I, for sure, do not think of Brayden as a big brother, and judging by his face, he's just as grossed out. Miles, of course, doesn't notice and just goes on, with one arm around Brayden and the other patting him excitedly on the chest. "You decking that Tony fucker for barely touching your boy's car. That was pure gold."

I cringe again. Not wanting to be his boy either.

Brayden is forcing a smile that looks downright painful. "He put him into the wall."

Miles just chuckles and pats him again. I'm honestly worried about his safety right now because Brayden is close to clocking him. I can see it on his face. Not that I wouldn't love to see it, but he looks murderous.

"Well, it's done wonders for merch. Both of your sales are up, and the crowd is going crazy for it." He finally releases Brayden but slaps his shoulder hard. "Keep it up, boys. This is beautiful."

Miles leaves with his mini-entourage of people who are happy to kiss his ass, and it's just us with Jenny. "God, he's such a fucking tool."

A surprised laugh bubbles from my throat at her statement. I'm not sure why it caught me off guard, but it did. "Yeah. He really is."

She shakes her head and grips the bridge of her nose. "Okay, but if he's happy, I guess we're doing our jobs. You guy should go celebrate with dinner. One drink each. Don't get sloppy."

We both agree without any fight, then leave and grab a ride to the restaurant, just Brayden and me. There are plenty of pictures taken of us as we enter the restaurant, and I suppose that means mission accomplished.

But my mind is on Brayden and Miles. I want to know what happened in the past. I wonder if Miles was always an asshole or if he became more of an asshole after he lost his son. Honestly, I bet he was always like this.

He's greedy and only business-oriented. It's hard to imagine him ever actually having a family he cared about. But grief can do strange things to people.

"What's his deal?" I try to ask casually as I pick at my meal.

"Who?"

"Miles," I say, cutting into my juicy steak. My stomach grumbles. I was starving.

"What do you mean?" His answer is clipped, and it's clear he's uncomfortable. I should probably just drop it, but my mouth doesn't seem to get the memo.

"You seem tense around him. I know you two have history, so I'm just wondering what happened after..."

I wince, not really wanting to make him talk about this again. What the hell is wrong with me? I want to talk? What I should be doing is shoveling food into my face as fast as I can so I can get back to his place and get naked.

But there's something inside me that wants to know more. I want to know everything about him. I want to take my time eating dinner and talk to him... like a couple.

Well, fuck me. This is so not good. And he's not having it. Of course he's not.

"I don't want to talk about Miles," he says, his tone sharp, and I know I've crossed a line with him. His whole body is tense, and he's angry. No doubt.

I really need to get it together. Play it off. We aren't a couple. This is just some no-strings-attached fun. I told him I could handle this, and I have to keep my word. He didn't sign on for some kid catching feelings.

I wince and take a bite of my steak, trying to swallow the bitterness threatening me right now. Threatening to make me say something really damn stupid. Like you know how I said I wasn't going to fall for you, well guess what? Seems like I really am just a dumb kid who can't separate a good dicking from love.

Love.

I laugh at myself now. Let's not go that far. This is fine. It's probably just a little bit of a crush or something. Hell, maybe it's hero worship. As fucked up as that would be, it's better than love.

"Right. Sorry."

He studies me carefully for a moment, probably wondering what the hell has gotten into me. I try my best to change the subject with talks about the race and how I'm going to beat his ass on the track someday soon.

Thankfully, he seems totally fine with this easy sort of conversation.

That's right, Carson. Keep it simple.

You're fucking. That's all it is.

He's here to fuck you until he gets bored and not talk about deep-seated feelings.

Remember that.

Somehow, though, my mood is sour after repeating those thoughts over and over.

It's just fucking.