Bad Boy's Last Race Read Online Free Page B

them.” I give the stew a few quick stirs. Fortunately, it was cooking at a low enough heat that I haven’t ruined it entirely. I shut off the gas and reached for my sweatshirt. “Can you set the table?”
    Darla grins. “I always hated setting the table.”
    “That’s because Mom was a tyrant about place settings.” I unlock the kitchen door, only to find Ella and Jack already bounding up the stairs. “Man. You guys have some kind of psychic sense about dinner.”
    Ella regards me and says, in a gravely serious tone, “We don’t mess around.”
    I snort and glance at Darla. “Is that from our side of the family?”
    “What, being a smart-a . . . smart-aleck?” She raises one eyebrow at me. “Are you, of all people, asking me that?”
    “Point taken.”
    I help Ella hike up into her chair, then set to work dishing out the stew. God, it feels good to have a routine again, however briefly. Control—that’s what I’ve been craving. I’d lost my personal autonomy, as my professors would call it, for too long. I need to feel like I’m in control of my life again. I hate imposing on my sister like this—she has enough going on, with her kids and work and her marriage—but nothing makes me feel grounded like my big sister. She’s been my anchor through plenty a storm. I only hope I can make her life a little easier, too.
    “No Dave?” I ask, noticing she’s only set four places.
    Darla shakes her head. “Close of first quarter, plus tax season coming up . . . It’s like this every year. I turn into a widow until April fifteenth.”
    “Sorry. But look at you two, with your . . . corporate jobs, and house, and stuff. It’s adorable.”
    “You think it’s boring,” Darla says, the corners of her mouth twitching.
    “I said adorable. Besides. Boring is way underrated.” And that’s the understatement of the century. I shovel a mouthful of stew in my mouth and moan. “Holy—fudge. I’m stealing all your recipes, Darla.”
    “I’ll find the recipes if you’ll cook them.”
    I grin. “I’m gonna gain twenty pounds living with you, aren’t I?”
    “Welcome to life after grad school.” She glances toward her kids, who’ve practically buried their faces in their bowls. “So, you have any plans for the weekend?”
    I shake my head. “Just working on my thesis. I forgot how boring Ridgecrest is, anyway.”
    “Sophie’s going to a race! Her friend invited her,” Jack announces around a mouthful of stew. It’s dribbling down his chin, and already I’m thinking of how I’m going to use the stain stick to get that out of his shirt. God. Already turned nanny in just a few days.
    I shoot him a death glare. “I was invited to a race. And he’s not my friend.” I wave my spoon in the air. “But I am not going.”
    Darla lifts both eyebrows. “And who’s this friend?”
    “His name’s Jagger and he has a cool car,” Jack says. “He was buying a box of c—”
    “Just an old acquaintance. Ran into him at the gas station yesterday.” I shift in my seat, desperate for a change of subject. “ Any way, my thesis is coming along really well—”
    “Old? As in, you knew him from . . . before?” Darla fixes her dark gaze on me. That’s when I know I’m properly fucked. The Big Sister Death Stare can be lethal.
    “No, not . . . before.” I curl my arms around myself and try to shrink into my sweatshirt. “It’s—it’s really not a big deal—”
    “Is he nice?” Darla asks, tone softening. Somehow, that kills me more than the Death Stare. Because she thinks I’m breakable. Thinks I’m broken still.
    “I told him I was going to clean up this city,” Ella says.
    I stifle a laugh. “Yeah, Ella kind of, um . . . ran him over in one of her Wonder Woman frenzies.”
    “Sophie.” Darla reaches across the table and covers my hand with her own. “Do what you want, but . . . you can’t be afraid. Paralyzed, even. You’ve got to get on with your life eventually.”
    “I don’t need