Page 1 of The Fast Lane
ONE
Note to self:
When padlocking yourself to a tree, make sure you have the key.
Friday, three weeks, two days before the wedding
Two Harts, Texas
“I want her arrested.” Peter Stone glowered down at me where I sat propped against the best tree in the entire world, a heavy silver chain wrapped around both of us several times. While this may have been a spur-of-the-moment decision, I liked to be prepared for any situation.
One should always have heavy chain laying around for such things. It also works well for chaining one’s neighbor’s lawnmower parts to various immovable objects after one has disassembled said lawnmower because the neighbor wouldn’t stop using it at six in the morning when one’s sick grandmother was trying to sleep.
Hypothetically speaking, of course.
I narrowed my eyes and jutted my chin in the air. My father called me Ali the Mule when I wore this expression because it meant I planned to dig my feet in. He was not wrong.
Peter, the mayor of Two Harts, and all-around jackass, brought this side out in me and I’d made it my life’s mission to annoy the crap out of him whenever the chance arose.
“I’d rather not arrest her,” said the man next to Peter. Mario Alvarez was the county sheriff; he was also my dad’s best friend and my brother’s boss.
“I’m doing nothing wrong. It is my constitutional right to peacefully protest.”
The chains rattled as I tucked a piece of flyaway hair behind my ear. I hadn’t exactly had time to dress for the occasion. Whatever I was supposed to wear to a protest, it probably wasn’t green basketball shorts I’d stolen from my brother Frankie a million years ago, hot-pink running shoes, and an oversized Spock for President t-shirt. My hair was still in the exact same state as when I lifted it off the pillow this morning. It was possible I’d slept in these clothes.
Peter yanked a hand through his floppy, dark-blond hair. “How did you know?”
“Know what?” I blinked at him in what I hoped signaled innocence.
I was totally not innocent. His assistant was Maria Connell, my cousin Patrick’s ex-wife, and although she hated Patrick with the passion of a thousand fiery lakes, she still liked me. Probably because I made sure to keep her well-stocked with homemade baked goods. In return, she made sure to feed me bits of information now and then. Like Peter’s 11a.m. meeting with land developers to discuss selling this park to fund the stupid expensive high school stadium he was obsessed with.
With a growl, Peter glanced at his phone. His face turned a satisfying shade of greenish-white. “They’ll be here in ten minutes. What the hell am I going to do?” He stabbed a finger in Mario’s face. “Get her out of here now.”
Mario hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and tracked Peter with narrowed eyes as he stomped toward the parking lot and disappeared. Then with a sigh that could be heard in the next county, he crouched beside me. “Alicia.”
“Mario,” I replied with all the sunshine and rainbows I could put into one word. Stay positive. Talk fast. Mostly tell the truth. Words to live by.
“You need to get out of here.”
“Absolutely. There’s just a tiny, itty-bitty little problem.”
With a slow shake of his head, Mario’s eyes slid shut. I knew that look, of course. This was not the first time Peter Stone had demanded Mario arrest me. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time this month.
I spoke before he could. “Problem’s not the right word. Just a little…issue.”
“With what?”
“It seems the key may have not made it here with me.” I could already picture it sitting on the kitchen counter where I set it while loading my backpack with three bottles of water, which I’d already chugged, and it wasn’t even midday yet.
Note to self: Next time I chained myself to a tree in protest, consider how in the world I was gonna be able to pee.
Truly, I was usually more prepared than this, but Maria had texted me just before nine this morning with the details of the meeting, and I hadn’t had time to plan properly. To be fair, it was also the first time I’d ever chained myself to a tree. A few hiccups were to be expected.
“Well, get yourself unchained. I do not want to call your mother,” Mario said, a distinct note of pleading in his voice. “Please don’t make me.”
My mother, Stephanie Ramos, did not have a chill bone in her body. A true smother of the highest order. Nothing got her more worked up than when anyone messed with her sweet angel—her youngest and only daughter—me.
I really, really didn’t want her help.