The Chase (Fast Track #4)(5)
Author: Erin McCarthy

She knew that Kendall had some deep-seeded insecurities, but she always covered them with that steel determination. This wasn’t like her at all.

And it was something Tuesday was going to get to the bottom of. She’d go out on this date with Evan Monroe. And use her journalism skills to get a full confession of what had gone down between him and Kendall.

“I’m not going to make out with him,” she repeated. “I’ll just talk to him. It’s no big deal. It doesn’t matter.”

She intentionally echoed the words Kendall had been spouting repeatedly for the last ten minutes, to see if it would get a reaction. It did.

Kendall made a face. “I’m done for the day. Are you leaving, too?”

“Yep. Last chance to tell me to cancel or explain to me what really happened between the two of you.”

“There’s no story, Tuesday, so save your digging for something newsworthy.”

“Sure thing.” Tuesday glanced at her cell phone. Digging would commence at the wine bar at seven o’clock.

EVAN should have canceled his date with Tuesday Jones. If he had her number, he would have. But he didn’t, and he wasn’t going to stand her up, so he was sitting in the wine bar waiting for her, halfway to drunk already.

His day sucked. His career sucked. His life sucked.

And how in the hell he was supposed to make small talk with a total stranger was beyond him.

This was all Kendall Holbrook’s fault. He wouldn’t even have agreed to meet with Tuesday if he hadn’t been pleased with the idea of annoying Kendall. Which he wouldn’t have been if she hadn’t dumped him on his ass all those years ago.

That might be screwed-up logic, but it was his, and he was going to back it. Sitting at the bar, Evan tugged at his shirtsleeve. He’d gone the striped button-up shirt with jeans route, and he felt underdressed in the chichi place. He was definitely a jeans and a beer kind of guy, and this place was trendy, the patrons were dressed expensive, and the wine list was about seventeen pages long.

He’d ordered a rum and coke instead of the beer he’d really wanted so he wouldn’t really stand out like a sore thumb, and now he was just feeling stupid sitting there by himself. The day had made him feel inadequate enough, he didn’t need some damn pretentious wine bar adding to his insecurities.

What the hell was he going to do about his career?

Eve had been freaking out, and rightly so. It was bad. Losing a sponsorship meant he was seen in the industry as a poor performer. It meant his fan base was dwindling. It meant his team owners were going to be scrutinizing him and wondering if he was worth their financial investment.

He had to drive better. Plain and simple.

But the real question was why he was sucking so bad out there on the track.

He didn’t know the answer to that.

Which was a problem.

“Can I get another drink?” he asked the bartender.

“Sure, no problem.”

“I see you started without me. Am I late?”

Evan turned to see Tuesday slip onto the bar stool beside him, setting her purse down on the bar. She gave him a casual smile before shrugging her trench coat off.

“I was early,” he assured her. “It’s good to see you. Can I get you a drink?”

“Absolutely.” She plucked the giant binder menu off the counter and started perusing. “Hallelujah for the return of the cocktail. I never was a beer drinker.”

Figured. Just looking at her, beautiful and thin and bordering on exotic, her jewelry all expensive-looking and her shoes spiky heels with very pointy toes, Evan knew this was not his kind of woman. Not that he really knew what woman was his type. While he had dated a series of party girls in his twenties, he hadn’t really had a serious relationship since . . . that person. Damn it.

“I’m a beer guy,” he told her.

“Then why are you drinking . . .” She picked his drink up and sipped it, making a face. “Rum and Coke?”

“It seemed like a faster way to get drunk,” he told her honestly.

Tuesday laughed. “Meeting me requires reduced sobriety?”

He hadn’t meant that to sound quite the way it did. “Of course not. No, it’s just been one of those days that has kicked me in the teeth, you know?”

“I think everyone has had those. But generally speaking getting drunk doesn’t help the situation.”

Everyone knew that. He knew that. Didn’t make it any less appealing. “So you followed in your father’s footsteps with sports reporting,” he commented. “Guess I did the same.”

“Yeah.”

He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “So . . . how did you get into the blogging?” From what he’d heard, her website was always accurate, but focused on the gossip in their sport instead of stats.

“It seemed like a void I could fill.”

Well, that was helpful. Evan took a sip of his drink. “Yeah?” He tried to think of something else to say, but he was running on empty.

“Which is it, business or personal, that has you reaching for the glass?” Tuesday flagged the bartender down. “Can I have a lemon drop, please?”

Evan thought about that. “Mostly business. But maybe some personal.” Like why the hell Kendall still got under his skin. And why did everyone else around him seem to have some sort of secret to happiness with a woman that he had no knowledge of. His brother was happy. Ryder was happy. Even Ty, who he would have thought was a confirmed bachelor for life, was following Imogen around with a stupid grin on his face. Hell, those guys were carrying their women’s handbags and getting couples massages.

He had yet to find any woman who even came close to inspiring him to that kind of dorkiness.

Kendall wasn’t the massage type.

Damn it. “No, not personal. Never mind that. It’s just that my career isn’t going exactly stellar at the moment.”

Tuesday waved her hand. “Oh, we all know your driving sucks this year, so what? Everyone has a bad year. The fact that you’re in the cup series means you are technically at the pinnacle of your career. So quit whining.”

Evan turned and stared at her. She was one ballsy chick. He kind of liked and hated her all at the same time. “Well, thanks for the sympathy.”

“I mean, seriously. You know how many guys would kill to be in your flame retardant shoes? I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you at all. I think it’s personal.”

Would it be totally tacky if he paid for her drink and got the hell out of there? “It doesn’t matter.”