Blitz (Blast Brothers #3) - Sabrina Stark Page 0,34
people's mistakes. It was a rare quality – and another surprise.
Silently, I added another mark in the "not-crazy" column. By now, they were adding up.
I told her, "Listen, I see what you're getting at."
"You do?" She sounded surprised.
Why? Did she think I couldn’t read between the lines?
It was time to remind her who she was dealing with. "Yeah, but I've gotta be straight with you."
"About what?"
"Bad news." I gave her a long, serious glance. "Sorry, but I'm not gonna sell your supplements."
She was silent for a long moment, and then burst out laughing. Her laughter filled the car, warming me to the bone. And for once, I didn't mean the bone in my pants.
I liked the way her laughter sounded against the purr of the engine and the beating of my heart.
I wanted to make her laugh again.
And other things.
I glanced at the GPS. Three more minutes.
And I hadn't begun to bargain.
"Listen," I said. "I'll make you a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
"You tell me what I asked, and I'll agree to the sponsorship."
"Seriously?" She turned in her seat to face me. "You will?"
I'd been leaning that way, anyway. But she didn't need to know that, did she?
I replied, "As long as you answer the questions."
With a breathless laugh, she said, "Sure, anything. I mean, wow. So, um, what were the questions again?"
Chapter 24
Mina
Feeling lighter than I had in weeks, I practically floated up the front steps to my parents' front door. I'd done it. Finally.
My parents lived in a white two-story farmhouse with light blue shutters and a wide, welcoming porch. Surrounding the house were acres of dark, Michigan soil – some of the best in the world for growing all kinds of vegetables.
And yes, this included tomatoes, even if they were technically a fruit.
From the driveway behind me, I could still hear the low rumble of Chase's sportscar, whatever the thing was.
He wasn't leaving. But for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why. Maybe he was making a phone call or something?
My only other theory – that he was waiting to make sure I got safely inside – seemed too far-fetched to consider. But then again, the day had been full of surprises.
As far as Chase's two questions, they weren't even hard. He'd wanted to know why I hadn't called someone for a ride, and what exactly did my mom want to hear.
I'd been able to answer both questions in less a minute.
I hadn't called for a ride because I dreaded giving my mom – or anyone else in my family – bad news about the festival.
And once I'd answered this question, the answer to Chase's second question was obvious.
What did my mom want?
She wanted good news on the festival front, of course.
And now, finally, I was on the verge of delivering it.
With a happy smile, I reached toward the front door, only to have it swing open before my fingers ever touched the handle.
In the open doorway, stood not only my mom, wearing jeans and a basic white blouse, but also my dad, wearing jeans and a flannel work shirt.
Neither one of them said a word, but they didn't look happy.
My smile faded. "Is something wrong?"
My mom crossed her arms. "You tell us."
As the question lingered, my dad stared past me through the open doorway. Sounding distinctly disgruntled, he muttered, "What the hell is that?"
From the front porch, I turned to look. As I did, Chase's car finally began backing out toward the quiet country road. He wasn't even using the turnaround. Instead, he was apparently planning to back all the way out – which wasn't as easy as you'd think, considering that the driveway was longer than two city blocks.
I replied, "You mean the car? Actually, I don't know what it is."
"Well, it's not made around here, I can tell you that."
Yes. He could. And he would, given half a chance.
In his whole life, my dad had owned nothing but Fords, which made my own Chevy Malibu a bit of a fluke, at least as far as my dad was concerned.
Together, we all watched as Chase succeeded in backing his car all the way out to the road with no apparent problems. Afterward, his car roared off at a speed that was a whole lot faster than whatever he'd been going with me.
What was that about?
I was still staring after him when my dad said, "The guy drives like a maniac."