Boost by Vi Summers
Chapter 17
-Raf-
I wanted nothing more than to hear Greer moan into my neck as I made her come. Tearing myself away was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. Infinitely harder than…
I shook the ghosts from my head. It had been over sixteen years now, and while we were free, I still couldn’t completely shake the residual shadows that lingered in the deepest parts of me.
In an effort to get Boss Lady out of my head where she continually punished my libido, I set my sights on tracking down the kid. Thankfully Shades’ suspicion over him being the snitch turned out to be all for nothing. I’d done some digging and found absolutely nothing. While that was good, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to find myself loitering in the parking lot of UCLA like a fucking creeper looking for my next easy target. And my presence was beginning to attract attention.
Ignoring the fuck out of the curious stares, I kept scanning the waves of university students as they moved around campus.
“Yo, man, can I help?” came a voice from my right.
A confident guy in sweats and a polo jogged over as if we were brothers from way back. Despite wanting to tell him to fuck off, I decided he looked like the kind of guy who would know Linetti.
“You know Arlo Linetti?” I asked.
The guy’s large eyes narrowed into slits. “Why?”
That was confirmation enough. “Where can I find him?”
“Why?” man-kid asked again.
“‘Coz I’m his fucking dad,” I snapped, getting a little testy at getting nowhere fast.
The guy let out a massive laugh and bent at the waist. “Dude, I’ve met Arlo’s parents, and trust me, you ain’t nothing like them.”
“You wanna watch your fucking tongue?”
He immediately realized his mistake and held up both hands to placate my temper. “I didn’t mean it like that. You already seem ten-times more chill than his olds. Stuck-up snobs are what they are.”
A penny dropped in my mind as another puzzle piece of Arlo’s background clicked into place. Just from that one sentence alone, I’d categorized Arlo as ‘rich kid rebelling against mom and dad.’
“Is he in some kind of trouble?” the guy asked.
It was my turn to narrow my eyes. He knew more than he was letting on. “Why would you assume that?”
His eyes cut from my GTR, to the ink covering my arms and hands, and then to the sly smile forming over my mouth. Oh yeah, he knew something, for sure.
“No reason.”
I chuckled and dug in my pocket for a business card. “Look, give him this for me. Tell him he needs to call me. And no, he isn’t in trouble. I have a proposition for him. A legal one,” I added, to combat the suspicion written all over this guy’s face.
He read my name out loud. “Rafael Ortiz.”
I waited for a reaction, and he didn’t disappoint; his jaw dropped and his eyes sprang wide again. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Sniggering because, fuck yeah, he had heard of me, I held out my hand. “The one and only.”
“Timmy McWade.” He shook my hand firmly. “I’ll get my boy to call you as soon as he gets out of class.”
“You guys tight?” I asked, refolding my arms across my chest.
Timmy grinned. “Tight enough for me to know what he gets up to with that fancy-ass car his parents bought him. They didn’t even question why he wanted to modify it so bad.”
Bingo. “Tell him to call me,” I reiterated, as I opened my driver’s door.
“Will do, Rafael. Good to meet you, man.”
I gunned the engine, satisfied that Timmy would come through for me and mentally betting money on the assumption that I would hear from Linetti before the day was out.
* * *
“Hey.”
That one word made me snort into the phone, so I threw it back at him. “Hey.”
Linetti huffed. “You wanted me to ring? Look, if it’s about last night, then… thanks. You really saved my ass.”
“It’s nothing. You got your car back?”
“Yeah, I went back after the Police left. Thought it was gonna be impounded, but I guess I got double lucky. So what do you want?”
Fuck, he needed to chill. “What are you studying?”
Arlo snorted. “Do you really care?”
“Nup,” I deadpanned, while inspecting my fingernails.
“Bioengineering.”
“Fuck! Cool shit.”
“If you say so.”
The lack of passion in his voice spoke volumes and gave added weight to the importance of my offer.
“You heard of Colton Donavan?”
An impatient growl came through the phone. “Nope.”
“Look him up. Do it now while I’m talkin’ to you.”
Arlo huffed again. “This had better be going somewhere. I’ve got a shit-ton of study to catch up on tonight.”
I chuckled. “Oh, it’ll be worth your while.”
Arlo mumbled aloud as he skim-read about Colton. “He’s hot shit, huh?”
“We’ll if you ask him, he’s the hottest,” I drawled.
“Indy’s King,” Arlo mused.
Fuck, this was boring the hell out of me now.
“Here’s the deal, kid. My man Colt has set up a foundation for street racing youths who have potential to turn pro on the Indy circuit. Give back the opportunity he received as a teenager and all that shit.”
“And?” Arlo asked slowly. Suspiciously.
“I can put you in contact with him.”
I practically saw the stars in Linetti’s eyes from across the city. “He thinks I’ve got potential?”
I didn’t bother hiding my snigger. “No, at least, not yet. I think you’ve got potential.”
Linetti’s voice spiked. “Wait! You, the great Rafael Ortiz, think I’m fucking awesome and should turn pro! Holy fuck!”
I held up a hand despite being alone. “Kid, you’re getting way-the-hell ahead of yourself here. First, I gotta know if you’re interested. If you are, I’ll pass on your deets to Colton, then he will take it from there.”
“Yeah, man, I’m interested!” He all but cracked a high into the phone. “When?”
“Now that I’ve got your number, I’ll leave that for Colt to organize. So, you’re down?”
“Dude,” Arlo exclaimed, “I’m fucking down!”
Christ, I didn’t exactly like him, but at least he had enthusiasm. “Is this gonna be an issue with your study?”
“Man, I’ve been looking for an out for a while. This offer is a fucking Godsend.”
I pushed to my feet and started to pace my living room. “Christ, just, don’t do anything rash! It’s not set in stone.”
“So, you’re gonna tell Colton now that I want to give this a shot?”
“After this.”
“Well, what are ya still doing talkin’ to me!”
“You need to calm your ass down, cocky little twerp,” I muttered. “Go do your school shit, and let me do my shit.”
I disconnected after he said an overly enthusiastic goodbye, then ran a hand over my short hair. Jeez, the kid was hopped up as if he’d taken two tabs.
With a fresh beer in hand, I kicked back on the couch, called Colton, and set the wheels in motion.