Page 9 of Hurricane Love

“How do you know Cody?” Wylie asked, tucking away the vape and crossing his arms over his chest. Nice biceps too, Diego noted.

“We grew up in the same neighborhood. Used to be tight. Haven’t seen him in a while. He’s changed. Guess I have too.” Diego should probably explain some of what Cody had mentioned, his time in prison at least, to reassure Wylie that he wasn’t violent or dangerous, but he really didn’t have it in him at the moment, and thankfully, Wylie wasn’t asking.

“Must have been a shock,” Wylie said, still looking at Diego, steady though, not like he was trying to pry information out of him but giving him an opening nonetheless.

“Yeah.” If Diego hadn’t been forced to detox, what might his future have looked like? Would he still be using or doing increasingly bad shit to afford his habit? Would he be dead in a ditch from an overdose? All questions he didn’t really want to contemplate.

“You want to talk about it?” Wylie asked like it was up to Diego to share. Or not.

“Not really,” Diego answered honestly.

“Fair. We’re pretty much done here for the night,” Wylie said as he stood and offered a hand. “How about I drop you off at home?”

The warmth and generosity Wylie had shown him was something he’d need to process later, on his own. In the meantime, he didn’t need any more favors.

“I live close by. I can walk.”

“It’s on my way,” Wylie insisted.

“How would you know?” Diego asked with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t be a dick. Just take the ride.”

Thatalmostmade him smile. Wylie must have seen right through him–all bark, no bite. Diego wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he took Wylie’s hand, appreciating the strength of his grip, his steadiness too.

“Fine,” Diego said, feigning reluctance.

“Good man.”

Diego had spiedWylie’s ride a few times before from inside the pit and had admired the way Wylie would swerve into the parking lot, windows down, music blaring with one hand on the wheel and a vape hanging from his mouth, all cool confidence and swagger. The Dodge Challenger had a crisp orange paint job and black racing stripes that followed along the clean lines of its sculpted body. Then, like now, Diego was a little turned on by both the car and its driver.

“Like my whip?” Wylie asked, probably noticing that Diego was a bit starstruck.

“Your what?” he asked. Since getting out of prison, it seemed the younger generation spoke a different language at times. Even with just the five years between them, there was a linguistic divide Diego had yet to bridge.

“Charlene, my whip, like when you whip your car around atight corner.” Wylie made the motion of swerving with one hand.Right.

“I’m a little rusty on what the kids are saying these days,” Diego admitted, and Wylie was clearly bright enough to figure out why.

“Lucky for you, I’m here to help you out.”

“Debatable,” Diego replied while running a hand over the car’s front fender, but he did appreciate Wylie’s not-so-sly attempts to catch him up on what had been going on in the world since he’d last been part of it.

“She’s a V8.” Wylie offered him his key fob. “Want to drive?”

What the…? Was this man crazy? “What is wrong with you? Handing off your keys to a stranger? Don’t you love and adore her? What if I was a car thief? Or just a really bad driver?” Diego asked with incredulity.

Wylie cackled at his little outburst. “You seem like a pretty careful guy, and I know where you work.”

Just like that, easy as pie. Diego was a little jealous of the man’s optimism, his assuredness that things would work out well for him. Diego had been reckless in his youth and had thought he was invincible, but this was something else. This was the confidence of someone who had been truly loved and seen for who they were. Diego bet Wylie’s parents adored the shit outta him.

“Tempting, but nah.” Diego was still shaky from his encounter with Cody and didn’t need the added pressure of performing. It’d been seven years since he’d driven a car. What if he crashed into something?

“Some other time then,” Wylie said with a wink.

The man was flirting with him, right? Was Wylie really interested, or did he just like to mess with him? He knew that Diego had been to prison, and he’d been pretty nonchalant about that too. Maybe Wylie’s fatal flaw was that he had shitty taste in men.

Diego stuffed down whatever feelings he might have about that wink or the promise of a next time and climbed into the cozy two-door coupe. The interior was immaculate, with black leather upholstery and a spotless dash and console, lovingly maintained. It still had that new car smell, even though it was more than a decade old. Leather mixed with cloves and a masculine spice that belonged to the owner himself. Diego wished he didn’t like the smell so much, wished he didn’t want to run his nose along its source and suck his–