“Yeah?” I swung around, interested.
“Hells yeah,” B said. “I’ve been getting texts all week. Everyone wants us to get tickets for them for the first race of the new division.”
“We don’t even know when that is,” Trent said.
“The way Gamble works and the amount of interest he’s stirred up in this short amount of time?” Romeo scoffed. “It’s going to be soon. Gamble’s the kind of man to strike while the iron’s hot.”
That made me excited and nervous. I wanted to get in a lot of driving time before the season started. Just because I was a good driver didn’t mean I was the best. I wasn’t a guaranteed win. I needed to work hard just like everyone else.
It made me hate my day job even more. I could be spending that time driving instead of sitting behind a computer.
“What time is the interview?” Ivy asked, drinking her coffee.
“Ten.”
She gasped and leapt up. “Andrew Wayne Forrester!”
I glowered at her because she knew I hated when she used my middle name.
“It seems so obvious now why a Mustang would be your favorite car,” Braeden cracked. “Seeing is how you’re name has roots in the Wild West. Wayne.”
And this was why I hated when she used it. B always had something to say.
Trent laughed.
I glared at him. “What are you laughing at, frat boy?”
“We don’t have time for this,” Ivy demanded, standing up to put her hands on her hips. Blond hair fell around her shoulders in a sleek curtain. How the hell my sister always looked put together was beyond me. “Please tell me that is not what you’re wearing.” She gave my sweats the stink eye.
I was highly offended.
“Nova thinks I look good, don’t you?” I said to my niece. She gave me a toothless grin, then held her arms out to Trent. “You little traitor.”
Trent laughed and pulled the baby out of my arms. When he did, his hand brushed my arm and goose bumps raced down my spine. Before tucking the baby into his side, he gave me a quick look that told me he’d felt it, too.
“You gotta stop growing, midge,” Trent told her. He called her midge because she was a tiny combination of Braeden and Ivy.
“You need to be here more,” Romeo said.
Trent’s mouth thinned a little. I glanced at Romeo and gave him a WTF look. He was riding T’s ass lately about family time. Romeo met my stare almost in a challenge, and I bristled.
Trent had enough going on in his head without Romeo making him feel bad for not being around as much as usual. I was about to call him out right there in front of everyone, but Ivy grabbed my arm.
“Please tell me you aren’t wearing that.”
“They have stylists there, don’t they?”
She groaned like her life was over. “Probably, but you can’t go there looking like that. Have you no consideration for your image?”
“My image?” I echoed.
Ivy glanced at Rimmel, and the girls shared a look.
I groaned. “Not you, too, sis?” I asked Rim. “You’re supposed to be my un-fashionable soul mate.”
Rimmel snorted. “Sorry, I’ve had to learn all about public image. It’s your turn now.”
I gave her my best sorrowful look, and she laughed.
Since she was the wife of Maryland’s most popular athlete, she had graced the pages of a lot of national magazines, and had paparazzi following her all the time, I guessed she did have to learn about image. My sister was her personal stylist, so even though she preferred sweats and not combing her hair, she didn’t go out like that very often.
“Fine,” I muttered. I gave Trent a look, and he winked at me. The second he did, his gaze averted, embarrassed.
“I’m at your mercy, sis,” I said, bringing the attention back to me and my apparent state of mess.
It worked, and no one mentioned if they saw Trent wink.
“Trent, you’re on baby duty!” Ivy called while she towed me out of the kitchen.
Up in my bedroom, I sat on the bed and drank the coffee T made me while she dug through my closet and drawers.
“Ugh!” she hollered. “This is a disgrace, Andrew! I’m a stylist. I write a column for People for crying out loud. I run a YouTube fashion channel!”
“What does that have to do with me?” I wondered out loud.
“People are going to think I can’t even dress my own brother.”
“I’m pretty sure people will realize I’m a grown man who dresses himself,” I pointed out, highly amused she was so upset about my clothes.
“Well, no one would think I would pick this stuff out,” she muttered.
“They’ll have a stylist there, right?” I asked again.
“I’m sure. But you need to show up looking good. First impressions mean a lot. Especially when you’re dealing with the press. I wasn’t kidding when I said we need to think about your image.”
“I don’t have an image.”
“We’re going to fix that,” she declared as she pulled out clothes. “We need to go shopping.”
I drained the rest of my coffee and blanched. “Please, no.”
“Fine, then I’ll go shopping without you. You can try it all on when I get home.”