Dirty Looks (Dirt Track Dogs: The Second Lap Book 1) (3 page)

But Annie’s words haunted him as he made his way to the corner table to wait for his friends.

Chapter Three

One by one, they stumbled into Red Cap, all within a few minutes of each other.

Rod, or Hot Rod Turner as they called him now, arrived first, looking like he’d already had a few drinks. He was a hometown-famous radio DJ for the regional Classic Rock station. He did their morning show, and had caught some attention nationwide for his no-holds-barred on-air antics.

But the way he looked now, his life didn’t seem as glamorous as Aaron had imagined. He wore a ratty Pink Floyd t-shirt and holey jeans. One American flag Converse shoe was untied and the other was missing the laces altogether. A backwards ball cap sat askew on his head and his dark hair sprouted haphazardly out the loop. Dark growth covered his chin and his eyes were swimming halfway between a smile and lost.

Shit.

He sank into the chair across from Aaron, a wild smile plastered on his face. “Well, looky looky who decided to come back to town.”

His voice was nothing like Aaron had heard on the radio. Hot Rod Turner sounded like a man put together, even when he was dropping half bleeped out F-bombs and telling dirty jokes. But the man before him sounded… like he didn’t give a golden fuck about life.

Rod lifted a hand in the air, giving Punk a nod.

She brought him a bottled Heineken, void of a smile, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Thanks, Punk,” he murmured. “And keep ‘em coming, will ya?”

“Sure thing,” she said. “But only on one condition.” She held her hand out, palm to the ceiling.

Rod sighed heavily, but Aaron thought he saw a hint of amusement. He dug in his pocket and came out with a set of keys, dropping them into her waiting hand.

“
And
you have to play my song tomorrow morning.”

This seemed to sober him. “Damn it, Punk. I told you, I’m not playing Rage Against the Machine at seven in the morning. Or ever, for that matter.”

“Yes. You will.”

Rod threw up his hands. “It’s not even classic. How can I play Rage on my
classic
rock station when they ain’t old enough to be classic?”

She crossed her arms, challenging. “
Killing In The Name
is in its mid-twenties. How classic do you want it? You want fossils hanging off its ass, or what?”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I fucking refuse to admit a song that came out when I was in high school is a classic. Ya hear me?”

“Might as well face it, Roddy Boy. You’re getting…
oooold
.”

“Spshhhh.” He took a swig of his beer. “Not yet, babe. Gonna live forever.”

“Right,” Punk said dryly. “And one of these days you’re going to want something from me bad enough to play my goddamn song.”

Rod stared after her as she walked back to the bar. “Hey, tell Beast I got fifty on him winning Saturday night,” he said with a smirk.

Her answer was a middle finger high in the air.

“Becoming a mother has done shit to sweeten her, I tell ya.”

“Naw. That one’s not meant to be sweet,” Aaron agreed.

“She reminds me of my mom. Hard. Ass.” He took another gulp of his drink. “But Punk’s good, ya know? Been a good friend to Annie all these years.”

Aaron nodded. “I know.”

Rider was next to come through the door, with his dark hair spiked casually like he’d used the leftover grease on his hands from working on motorcycles to style it. With his leather jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans, he looked like he belonged on the back of a Harley. His movements were smooth and full of confidence as he stopped at the bar to order his drink. On his way over to the table, he paused to chat with a couple girls by the old juke box. They giggled obnoxiously, so no doubt, he’d said something flirty.

Rider Daley was a ladies man, and always had been. It was just that now, he also had a bike shop to run on top of helping his Uncle Waldo run the local dirt track.

He dragged a chair over, flipping it around and straddling it backward before eyeing Aaron.

“Where you been, man?” His voice was level.

He’d always been the calm one, the smooth talker. But somehow, Aaron got the feeling his control was paper thin and close to snapping. Not with him, but… like Annie had said, with life. Rider looked like a man who was sick of the daily grind, even if he seemed calm on the outside.

Aaron rubbed his palm over his jaw. “Lots of places I guess. But I’m back now.”

“For good?”

“That’s the plan.”

Rider nodded slowly. “Been gone a long time, asshole.” The asshole part was said affectionately.

“Yeah. I think I’ve had enough of the running,” Aaron admitted. “Trying to get my shit together now.”

Rider let out a humored laugh while Rod tipped his bottle at him, and drawled, “Well, hell. None of us have our shit together either. ‘Cept maybe Adam, I ‘spose.”

Rider dipped his head in agreement.

Adam. Aaron knew very little about what had become of his other friend. Only that he worked as a mechanic in a nearby pipe factory.

“Where is he, anyway?” Aaron asked. “Isn’t he coming?”

Rider dangled his bottle from between two fingers over the back of the chair. “Not sure. He uh…” He shot a glance at Rod who shrugged and took another swig of beer. “He said he didn’t want nothing to do with you. But I’m pretty sure he was just having a shit day.”

But he’d barely gotten the words out when the final member of their group strolled through the door. Adam Kennedy wore his gray uniform shirt, complete with his name embroidered on a small rectangle patch above his heart. A streak of grease slashed across one sleeve, and his dark jeans and steel-toe boots let the world know he’d just come from his shift at the factory.

He eyed the room like it was a pit of vipers, but his gaze locked in on the corner table when Rider held his beer up high. Adam didn’t stop to chat with anyone. He didn’t nod at Punk or Annie. He didn’t order a drink. He walked straight to the corner table, sat his ass in a chair, and then met Aaron’s gaze with a steely one of his own.

“What do you want?”

The dark scruff along his jaw and his tired eyes weren’t familiar. Of the four of them, Adam and Aaron had been the closest. He considered the man his best friend even if they’d only spoken once or twice in the last decade. But now he stared across the table, feeling so out of reach.

Like they hadn’t gone through shit together before.

Like Aaron hadn’t been the one to take the rap when they’d broken into the high school chem lab for a sorta dangerous senior prank. Like he hadn’t covered for him when he took Susie Hatter to Lee Creek instead of hanging out at the track with the guys. Like he hadn’t gotten him the money for that hunk-o-junk race car and then spent countless hours working with him to make it driveable. Or slipped him free beer after work. Or hell, just listened to him moan on about his plans to marry and have a family.

He’d been there for Adam. Maybe not lately, but how could you just discount so many years of friendship?

Aaron cleared his throat. “What are you drinking these days? It’s on me.”

Adam blinked. “Don’t want nothing from you.”

Rod rolled his eyes. “He’ll take a Bud. Like always.”

Aaron flagged down Punk and ordered. When she was gone, Adam spoke again.

“Heard you were around at Christmas.”

Aaron nodded, leaning his chair back until it balanced on two legs. “For a minute. Had to see my sister.”

“But not your friends.”

“It was more a matter of…” How was he going to explain this? “I was into some bad things and trying to get free before I dragged anyone down with me.”

Yeah, that didn’t really cover it, but he couldn’t very well tell them about the paranormal world he’d been tossed into.

“Ah,” Adam said blandly. “And so now? Why are you here now?”

Aaron blew out a long breath and shot a quick look at the others. They seemed just as curious about his intentions as Adam. Was this what coming home was supposed to be like? The third degree and the stink eye and hey, ya sorry bastard, we don’t want none.

He supposed it was, as long as you cut out of town with no goodbye.

“I’m here to find myself again,” he rushed out. It sounded corny, but honesty was going to be the safest bet with his boys. They could smell bullshit a mile away. “I’ve come home to make things right with Annie. And… you know, I could use your help. My friends. I could use my friends right about now. But you know, if all you wanna do is glare at me like you’ve never made mistakes, then fine. I can take it. I deserve it. It’s fine.”

“I see,” Adam murmured, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “So you’re here to make things right with us too. Is that what you’re trying to say? You want to say your sorries, and us to say ‘
hey, no big deal, buddy
’, and we all go happily on our way, arms linked, skipping down the fucking dirt road like there isn’t a care in the world. That it?”

Rod raised his hand. “I for one, won’t be linking arms with any of y’all assholes. Let’s just get that straight right here and now.”

Adam turned to look at him. “Man, are you drunk already? It ain’t even dark yet.”

With another swig of his beer, he gargled out, “Nope. Jus’ gettin’ started. And ya know, I hold my liquor like a virgin holds his first girl. Tight.”

Rider snickered.

“Right,” Adam said dryly before turning his attention back to Aaron.

“Look, man,” he started. “I’m sorry I cut outta here without telling you guys, okay? I really am. I know it wasn’t right, but my head was fucked up and it stayed that way for nearly a decade. Hell… it’s still fucked up. I just want to come home and be
normal
again.”

“Normal.”

“Yeah. The last time I remember feeling normal was hanging around with you guys.” Before the storm and subsequent flashflood that killed his parents. Before the world crashed down on him like the dirtiest ass mudslide in existence. Before changers became his currency and the monsters from his nightmares became real. “But if a beer or two and shootin’ the breeze for an hour is too much for you then…” Aaron ended with a one shoulder shrug.

Adam stared hard at him, his gray eyes challenging. Hell, maybe they just needed to punch it out real good like they used to. Take out that frustration in blood and then be done with it. But damn it all, Aaron was tired of fighting.

Punk brought Adam’s beer and he gritted out a polite thank-you. The bar was filling up for the evening and the extra help was bustling behind the counter taking and filling orders and delivering food while the music cranked louder and the balls on the pool table clattered to life.

Adam took a long drink, his eyes never leaving Aaron.

“Naw, man,” he said evenly. “It’s not too much for me. I can drink and shoot the breeze all fucking night.”

“Well, not
all
night. You gotta make it home for bedti—” Rider said, but Adam cut him a ruthless glare.

It was tense. Not surprising. But they were here and they were willing to hear him out. It was a start.

“Alright then,” Aaron said, holding his beer up. “We all got some catching up to do. To A squared R squared.”

Rider and Rod raised their drinks, and reluctantly, Adam followed. “Yeah. To that I guess.”

They all drank, and Rod let out a slurred hoot that could barely be heard over the juke box.

“Boys are back in tow-ow-owwn.” He sang off key, and to the tune of a completely different song. “Hey, Punk-a-dunk,” he called, “Let’s get some wings over here, whaddaya say?”

“I say, if you ever call me that again, you’ll find yourself punk-a-dunked right into the toilet bowl head first,” she answered, and then asked, “Original or extra spicy?”

Rod frowned. “Wait. You talkin’ ‘bout the wings or the toilet?”

“The wings, asshole.”

He looked relieved. “Oh. Extra spicy then.”

“Coming right up.”

“I’m gonna tip her good,” he said, grinning. “She’s fun.”

“She’s taken,” Adam snapped, and Rod’s smile faded.

“Damn, Kennedy. I know that. I don’t go dipping my biscuit into anyone else’s gravy awright? And she ain’t my type anyway. I jus like ‘er. So fuck off.”

“Not your type, eh?” Rider smirked. “Good thing. Pretty sure Beast would eat a man alive if he looked at her any way other than respectful.”

Aaron’s head snapped around to gauge Rider’s words. Did he know something about the wolfshifter Aaron didn’t? His hunter habits had him wondering if the Dirt Track Dog mated to Punk was actually dangerous.

“True that,” Rod agreed. “I’d do the same with my woman. Nobody better be looking at what’s mine with any foul intention, tell ya that right now.”

Aaron relaxed, realizing they weren’t talking about Beast wolfing out and biting anyone.

Rod guzzled some more beer. “No siree. I be puttin’ bubble wrap and stuff all around my little woman so no grubby fingers can touch her.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “You gonna feed her puppy chow too and make her drink out of a bowl? You sound like you’re talking about a pet. Or one of those fucking dolls my mama kept in a hutch.”