The man extends his calloused hand. “Name’s Fish, ma’am. Cruz sent me.”
“Mack?” I ask, trying to piece it all together. He told me he’d have someone at the airport to pick me up, but didn’t give me any specifics. The fact this man knows my name helps, but I’m still a little hesitant to just follow along. I may be small town, but I’m not stupid.
“Here,” he says, digging his phone from his pocket. He pulls up a photograph of Mack. He’s wearing his fireproof suit, his hair askew, and face smudged with dirt and sweat. The man standing next to him, with his arm thrown over his shoulder, is the one who’s in front of me. Fish. “He also said to check your phone. He sent you a message,” Fish adds, leaning back against the wall as if he has all the time in the world.
I dig out my own phone and remove the airplane mode setting. As soon as I do, a message pops up on my screen from Mack.
Mack: I’m sending my spotter, Fish, to get you. I’m attaching a photo of him so you know who to look for. I promise he’s harmless, just don’t let him try to convince you he’s the brains of our operation.
I glance at the man with his back against the wall. He’s clearly the same guy in the picture, and I’m sure neither of them would have gone to all this trouble just to cause me harm. So, against my better judgment, I extend my hand out, like he did just a handful of moments ago. “Why do they call you Fish?” I ask the moment he places his huge hand in my own.
The man smirks. “Last name’s Fisher, ma’am. Cruz isn’t very clever and shortened it to Fish,” he says with a chuckle. I reach for the handle of my suitcase, but he pulls it back and winks. “Do you have everything? Cruz is gonna start blowing up my phone soon, and as much as I like to piss him off as much as possible, he’s a bit of a bear right now, so we best get goin’.”
I step up beside him and wave my hand. “Lead the way.”
We make our way through the airport and to the parking lot. “So, Fish…how do you know Mack?” I ask. I already know he’s Mack’s spotter, but that’s it at this point. Plus, I have no idea how long before we arrive at our destination, so I might as well get to know him. Or at least dig for information on Mack so I know what I’m walking into.
Fish laughs as he backs out of the parking spot. “Oh, Cruz and I were paired up from day one. I remember going into a meeting with Colton to introduce us to our new driver. I was fairly new too and had no idea what to expect. It sure as shit wasn’t cocky, had no clue how to drive an open-wheel race car, pretty boy, Mack Cruz.”
I can’t help but smile at his description. Before I can even stop the words, I ask, “Was he that bad?”
“Oh, darlin’, you haven’t seen bad until you watch his footage. I have some at my place. I’ll show you sometime. He was all over that track, practically bouncing between the wall and the white line. Horrible,” he says with emphasis.
“But he obviously got better,” I argue, knowing Mack’s stats like the back of my hand, though I’d never admit that aloud.
“Oh, he did. Took a lot of work, but I got him there. I’m the brains of the operation,” he says, a cocky smile on his face. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, I burst out laughing. “What?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Oh, nothing,” I retort, trying to keep a straight face, recalling Mack’s text.
“He told you he was the brains, right? Pfft. Damn drivers. They think they’re all that,” he replies like a sassy girl, and adding his obviously Southern twang, he sounds ridiculous. “Anyway, we’ve been buds since. Lived together when we first started off here. Then, he got all famous and bought a house, told me I was cramping his style,” he adds with a chuckle, but I can tell by his tone and his facial expression, he’s not serious.
Then another thought enters my brain. Mack entertaining ladies, probably by the dozens. I once ran across an article online featuring him. It went on to ask questions