would drive.”
They spent fifteen minutes wandering up and down the rows, deflecting an overeager salesperson, stopping to inspect a vehicle that caught her eye or his. They agreed on little concerning the cars, but Mark could think of few things better than simply being with her, their fingers intertwined, and catching a glimpse of her beautiful smile every so often.
“Hey, this is cute.” She stopped at the end of one line, peering into a lime green Beetle. He paused at the trunk and frowned, his attention captured by what was transpiring one row over. Well, didn’t that just beat all?
“Mark?” She joined him, laying gentle fingers on his arm. “Isn’t that Bubba Bostick?”
“Yeah.” Mark’s mouth firmed. Bubba stood deep in conversation with a salesman while Paul circled the performance package F-150. “And that kid does not need that truck, not the way he drives.”
Tori slid her hand down to entwine their fingers. “Maybe Scott Barlow will suspend his license after this last citation.”
“Maybe. Might be the best thing.” Obviously, Bubba didn’t intend to stop the kid driving or even slow him down, not if he was buying that vehicle for the boy. Troy Lee’s insistence that Paul was a fatality waiting to happen echoed in Mark’s head. Man, he hoped the kid didn’t end up dead in an accident.
“Mark?” Tori pulled him from the musings. “What do you think of the Beetle?”
He eyed the nearly neon paint job. “I think I don’t get why someone would want a green car.”
She wrapped her arm about his waist. “Come on, then. Let’s go look at more cars until I expire from boredom.”
***
He’d screwed up, again. Considering his track record, that in itself wasn’t surprising. Troy Lee bounced the basketball off the free throw line, set his mark and shot. The net swished and he loped to retrieve the ball.
The whole “just for a good time” angle with Angel? Massive miscalculation. The caveat, while he was pretty sure it had been what had ultimately induced her to say yes, provided her with no incentive to see him as more. However, since she obviously regarded him as too young to be seriously worth her time…well, that only exponentially compounded the problem.
He shot from the sideline, the net swishing again.
“Not bad for a white guy.” The gravelly voice, only recently deepened, held equal notes of friendly mockery and admiration. Devonte Richardson stood at the opposite sideline, dribbling the ball from one hand to the other in a “V” formation.
“Yeah? Last weekend, it was not bad for an old guy.” Troy Lee held up his hands for the ball. Devonte ignored him and floated the orb toward the hoop with the effortless grace and power that had college scouts crawling over themselves to sign the seventeen-year-old senior.
Troy Lee retrieved the ball, already feeling the flow of anticipation and competition. Weekend pick-up games of one-on-one had been a ritual for the pair since Troy Lee had first moved into the tiny one-bedroom apartment next door to the mirror-image unit Devonte shared with his grandmother.
“Not bad for a snot-nosed kid.”
“Snot-nosed kid’s going to whip your old, white po-po ass.” Devonte moved in to block him, gliding, arms spread wide as his smirk.
Troy Lee quelled his own grin. “Better not let Miss Francie hear you talking like that. She’ll have your hide.”
“Yeah? Hide this.” With a swift, practiced lunge, Devonte stole the ball in mid-dribble and took it to the goal in a beautiful lay-up.
The move set the tone for the aggressive game, and a half hour later, Troy Lee collapsed against the chain-link fence, an arm over his midriff. He bent double a moment, staring at the glittering shards of a broken beer bottle. His chest heaved, his heart trying to thud out of his ribcage and sweat dripping from his slick skin. Playing ball with this kid was almost like running hills.
“Whatsa matter, dawg?” Grinning and completely
They spent fifteen minutes wandering up and down the rows, deflecting an overeager salesperson, stopping to inspect a vehicle that caught her eye or his. They agreed on little concerning the cars, but Mark could think of few things better than simply being with her, their fingers intertwined, and catching a glimpse of her beautiful smile every so often.
“Hey, this is cute.” She stopped at the end of one line, peering into a lime green Beetle. He paused at the trunk and frowned, his attention captured by what was transpiring one row over. Well, didn’t that just beat all?
“Mark?” She joined him, laying gentle fingers on his arm. “Isn’t that Bubba Bostick?”
“Yeah.” Mark’s mouth firmed. Bubba stood deep in conversation with a salesman while Paul circled the performance package F-150. “And that kid does not need that truck, not the way he drives.”
Tori slid her hand down to entwine their fingers. “Maybe Scott Barlow will suspend his license after this last citation.”
“Maybe. Might be the best thing.” Obviously, Bubba didn’t intend to stop the kid driving or even slow him down, not if he was buying that vehicle for the boy. Troy Lee’s insistence that Paul was a fatality waiting to happen echoed in Mark’s head. Man, he hoped the kid didn’t end up dead in an accident.
“Mark?” Tori pulled him from the musings. “What do you think of the Beetle?”
He eyed the nearly neon paint job. “I think I don’t get why someone would want a green car.”
She wrapped her arm about his waist. “Come on, then. Let’s go look at more cars until I expire from boredom.”
***
He’d screwed up, again. Considering his track record, that in itself wasn’t surprising. Troy Lee bounced the basketball off the free throw line, set his mark and shot. The net swished and he loped to retrieve the ball.
The whole “just for a good time” angle with Angel? Massive miscalculation. The caveat, while he was pretty sure it had been what had ultimately induced her to say yes, provided her with no incentive to see him as more. However, since she obviously regarded him as too young to be seriously worth her time…well, that only exponentially compounded the problem.
He shot from the sideline, the net swishing again.
“Not bad for a white guy.” The gravelly voice, only recently deepened, held equal notes of friendly mockery and admiration. Devonte Richardson stood at the opposite sideline, dribbling the ball from one hand to the other in a “V” formation.
“Yeah? Last weekend, it was not bad for an old guy.” Troy Lee held up his hands for the ball. Devonte ignored him and floated the orb toward the hoop with the effortless grace and power that had college scouts crawling over themselves to sign the seventeen-year-old senior.
Troy Lee retrieved the ball, already feeling the flow of anticipation and competition. Weekend pick-up games of one-on-one had been a ritual for the pair since Troy Lee had first moved into the tiny one-bedroom apartment next door to the mirror-image unit Devonte shared with his grandmother.
“Not bad for a snot-nosed kid.”
“Snot-nosed kid’s going to whip your old, white po-po ass.” Devonte moved in to block him, gliding, arms spread wide as his smirk.
Troy Lee quelled his own grin. “Better not let Miss Francie hear you talking like that. She’ll have your hide.”
“Yeah? Hide this.” With a swift, practiced lunge, Devonte stole the ball in mid-dribble and took it to the goal in a beautiful lay-up.
The move set the tone for the aggressive game, and a half hour later, Troy Lee collapsed against the chain-link fence, an arm over his midriff. He bent double a moment, staring at the glittering shards of a broken beer bottle. His chest heaved, his heart trying to thud out of his ribcage and sweat dripping from his slick skin. Playing ball with this kid was almost like running hills.
“Whatsa matter, dawg?” Grinning and completely
Similar Books
