8. Carson

"Did Jenny talk to you?"

I'm still trying to figure out why Brayden is on my front porch when he asks the question. Surely he's not here to talk about Jenny. I just got back to Kansas City after the first race, and I'm sure Brayden did too.

I'm the first stop?

"What?"

"You heard me." He looks annoyed.

I step out onto the porch instead of inviting him in, closing the door behind me. The house is new, and nothing is unpacked yet. I don't need that judgment. "Well, she texted me and told me to not be a shithead. That was it."

He rolls his eyes at that, clearly annoyed. He sits down on the porch swing I managed to hang up before I left for the airport. I always wanted this. A front porch where I can sit and swing, just doing nothing for a bit. It calms my mind.

I have it now. I maybe went a little crazy with my signing bonus and new contract, but investing in a medium-sized, decent-priced house isn't that wild. Still, I'm sure it's nothing like Brayden's house. The guy likely has a bigass mansion.

"Why?" I have to ask, leaning against the porch railing directly across from him.

"She wants us to be best friends." I raise an eyebrow, not expecting that at all. Before I can ask what the fuck though, he sighs. "Well the PR team wants us to be. I don't think Jenny cares."

That makes a little more sense, but I still don't understand why. "Why?" Not that I mind. I'm not the one that hates him. Hell, I'd be totally fine with more time together. Naked or clothed, I'm not too picky. But seeing the stubborn set of his jaw, he's obviously not that happy about it.

"I have no fucking clue. I guess that's why they signed you. They think we'll be good together. They want some stupid-ass bromance."

I chuckle. "No way you're capable of that."

He glares at me. "I'm going to do it."

I study him carefully, surprised. "You are?" I'm cautious. This has to be a trap. No way Brayden wants to be my friend. The thought is bonkers.

"Of course I am. I'm owned by the team just as much as you are."

Except his contract is up at the end of the year, and mine is for three more years. But I don't dare say that. "It's not like you can't just go to another team, Brayden. Come on."

I'm starting to think this is an elaborate joke or something. But there's something on his face that says it's not. He's clearly upset by this, but he's not going to back down, and I want to know why. "I've been part of this team for a goddamn decade."

I admit that's a long time, but I still think it's weird he's that attached to a team. "Well you could go to another team for another decade." I like to give him shit about being an old man, but Brayden isn't old. Not even close. He has a lot of years left in him.

"I'm not going to another team," he grits out between clenched teeth. Okay, I obviously struck a nerve.

"Look, Miles is a fucking dick," I try again because even I know that. Yeah, he was being overly nice to me when I signed, but I'm not an idiot. The guy is slimy. Only cares about money, and I have no doubt he'll cut Brayden if we don't do exactly what he wants.

"He is, and he isn't." I'm shocked he didn't full-on argue with me just to argue, but he seems to actually believe what he's saying. I raise an eyebrow, staying still and studying Brayden. Waiting for him to say more, and holy hell, he actually does. "His son was a racer on this team."

"Was?" I ask, my jaw suddenly dropping. "Oh my God, did he fire his own son?"

Brayden's face is grim, but it's not like the yeah, he fired him kind of grim. It's darker than that. Sadder. "No. He was my friend."

"Was?" I ask again, then my eyes widen as reality hits me. "What happened?" I know you aren't supposed to ask, but my curiosity is too great not to.

"An accident." He's looking away, his eyes stormy and distant, but then he looks back at me. "On the track."

I gape at him. "How did I not know about that?"

He stands up from the swing, clearly over the discussion. I'm surprised he's told me this much. "You were probably still in diapers. It was a long time ago."

I want to ask him more. He's only ten years older than me. Did it happen when he was a rookie, or before? He said they were friends, but there's more to it. The guy looks haunted as he walks toward the stairs.

"Look, I'm going to play their stupid-ass games. I don't want to leave this team. I won't. So I'll do this. When we're on the track, we're best friends. I'll try my best to teach you what I can and smile for the damn camera."

"If they truly want us to be best friends, wouldn't that mean we need to be friendly off the track too?" I can't help dropping my voice a little, flirting shamelessly because I really can't help myself.

The glare he gives me isn't surprising at all.

It still makes me laugh.

"Don't do that. They want us to be friends, but believe me, there's a line we aren't allowed to cross."

I stand up a little taller, staring him down and wondering if he'd cross that line. Sue me—he's gorgeous, and he really is exactly my type. I fucking love the big strong brooding type.

It's like my goddamn catnip.

"Aw, but you want to, don't you?" I beam at him. "Admit it. You totally saw something you liked." I waggle my eyebrows at him, way over-the-top, and it makes him only brood even more.

He just walks down the stairs and toward his car, grumbling the whole way— something about me being a goddamn kid. And I can't keep the smile off my damn face.

Friends.

Best. Friends.

I toss my head back and laugh.

Totally doable.