Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) by Eden Connor Read Free Book Online Page A

risk they assumed.”
    “Drag race?” Mr. Kossel sat his wine glass down and gave Dale a wide-eyed look. “Worst problem I had with my daughters was with the youngest. She liked to sneak out of the house after we went to sleep. But drag racing?”
    Dale laughed. “I mighta set it up for her. She done real good, too. Things just went a bit sideways after she crossed the finish line.” He lifted his shoulders. “That’s racin’.”
    Mom gave the wine bottle a longing look, but kept her mouth shut. Mr. Kossel leaned back in his seat, but peered at me. I smiled.
    “Turns out, getting ready for a drag race is a great way to keep your mind off what Santa’s bringing. We should make it a family tradition, Dale.”
    “You keep winnin’ high-dollar cars and ol’ Santa’s gonna get to retire.” Dale beamed, then shoved his hand inside his jacket. “Oh. That reminds me.” Pulling out an envelope, he extended it across the table. “Caine said you—rightly so—lit his ass up about usin’ your design on that Camaro without permission. I’m kinda partial to that graphic, though. I’d like to license it from you, sweetheart, along with the rest of them you done for Christmas. It’s a percentage deal. Paid twice a year.”
    “Got a pen?” Carrying a purse was a luxury I’d foregone since breaking my arm. I turned to Mom for a writing instrument, and Robert—the younger—took it on himself to tug the envelope from Dale’s hand. To my astonishment, he opened the envelope and slid the contract out.
    “I reckon I was drivin’ ‘fore I got straight with the state on that license, so,”— Dale’s smile had the dangerous edge I recalled from the drag race, when he’d traded words with Kolby over the engine swap—“be my guest, son.”
    I yanked the contract from Robert’s hand. “He’s my dad. He’s not gonna cheat me any more than I’d sue my family.” I darted another glance at Dale, but he leaned over to kiss Mom on the cheek, then took a peek down the front of her blouse. I bit my tongue to keep from saying more.
    While I scrawled my name, I darted another glance at Senior. Mom had dropped ten pounds since Christmas. Her haircut was new and extremely flattering, but I doubted our host had noticed her face. The low-cut neckline of her dress had Senior every bit as spellbound as Dale.
    The arrival of the waiter saved the Kossels from anything I might have said. I handed the signed document back to Dale and pounced on the delicious bread.
    “Oh, look.” I grinned when I spied the small dish on the waiter’s tray. “Here’s your tomáto purée. Turns out, do you get what you ask for.”
    Senior asked for the wine steward. We struggled through another few minutes’ conversation. I perked up when I spied the server bringing our appetizers.
    As soon as my plate hit the table, Mom leaned close to whisper. “Here, Shelby, let me cut that up for you.” She shifted her knife and fork over my plate.
    I stiffened. “It’s a mushroom, for fuck’s sake. I can handle it.”
    “It’s not steak?” Mom’s brow furrowed.
    “Did you not hear me order the sautéed Portabella cap?”
    “I thought those were the size of a quarter. She leaned so close, her head touched mine. “Don’t be rude. It looks like a filet mignon.”
    I whispered back. “But this is the appetizer course. The trailer park’s in your rear view. Isn’t that what the new house and pushing me toward Robert is really all about? Try to keep up. Somewhere, Bliss is writhing in shame.”
    Her cheeks flushed. Hurt flashed in her eyes. I had a similar soft spot in my armor about paying our rent with Section 8 vouchers.
    Until Dale. How dare she act ashamed of him?
    The sommelier returned. Senior ordered a second bottle of wine. It arrived along with the main course, but at least nobody offered to cut my damn meat. We all passed on dessert, and at long last, Dale and Robert dueled over the bill. Senior won. Dale threw down a hundred-dollar