Guntur appears at our table with a huge tray in his hands, laden with food. He starts placing the plates in front of us. Then, another waiter puts down a green leaf before me.
“Banana leaf,” Carrick tells me when he sees me looking at it. “It’s instead of a plate.”
“Oh, right. Cool.”
After all the food is laid out, I stare at the rices, meats, vegetables, and other things I don’t even know how to describe, and Guntur tells us to enjoy our meal.
Looking up, I say to Carrick, “So much for your healthy eating.” I smile, so he knows I’m teasing.
“You see any overweight Malaysian people around here?”
I give a glance at the few people seated in here. “Nope.”
“Well, there you go then.” He grins.
“Okay, Jabba,” I tease. “So, what should I try first?”
He gives me a look and then muses over the dishes. He picks up a rice dish. “Try this.”
We have a great time over dinner, eating and talking. We chat about school, friends, and random stuff, like favorite music and books—just everything and anything.
We’re there for hours, the time just disappearing. It’s one of the best days I’ve ever had with someone.
When we’re done, Carrick pays, again refusing to let me pay or even go half. And I don’t bother arguing, saving myself the how-much-did-you-earn-last-year speech.
“Thanks for today, the karting and the food,” I say as we walk back out into the early evening sunshine.
“Anytime.”
We walk back through the market and to the car. When we reach it, Carrick tosses me the keys.
I grin like the cat that got the cream.
“Back to the hotel?” I check, climbing in the driver’s side.
“Yeah, but take the long way.”
I put my seat belt on and turn the engine. She purrs like a kitten. The stereo comes to life with the pumping sound of Philip George’s “Wish You Were Mine.”
“You ready for the ride of your life?” I tap my hand on the steering wheel as I turn my face to him, and I find he’s already looking at me, his expression unreadable.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
Something in his tone makes my heart bump against my chest.
I slide the car in gear. Checking my mirrors, I pull onto the street. Pressing the pedal to the metal, I drive us out of there.
“SO, WHAT DID YOU THINK?”
Carrick and I are in the living room of his hotel suite, and we’ve just watch Cars. I finally talked him into it. I’m sprawled out on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table. Carrick’s at the other end of the sofa, and there’s a huge bowl of half-eaten ice cream between us. It was the best ice cream I’ve ever eaten. It reminded me of the mound of ice cream that Macaulay Culkin had in Home Alone.
Clearly, Carrick is on a hiatus from his health kick. But I’m giving him a pass tonight because it was race day, and he came in third. It’s unusual for him. He’s usually first or second. Rarely third. He said the car was understeering. Ben and I checked it, but we couldn’t find anything wrong, so I don’t know what happened out there.
But Carrick has understandably been in a shitty mood about it ever since. He’s competitive, and he doesn’t like losing.
When he said he wasn’t up for going out, I said I’d stay and hang out with him while Petra and the guys went out.
I don’t mind since we all leave for Bahrain tomorrow, but Carrick has to stay on for some press and sponsor things, and he has to film an advertisement. I won’t see him for a few days until he joins us there, so I’m happy to spend this time with him before I leave.
We ordered a mix of food along with the ice cream from room service, and we’ve had a fun night.
But then, every night I spend with Carrick is fun. It’s fair to say that we’ve grown closer recently. A lot closer. I see him most days, and if I don’t see him, we text or call.
He’s fast becoming the best friend I’ve ever had.
“It was okay,” he muses.
“Just okay?” I give him a look of mock disgust.
He spent a good majority of the film laughing. I even saw him get misty-eyed at one point.
“Yeah, just okay.”
“You lie.” Sitting up, I remove my legs from the coffee table and curl them under me, facing his side. “You loved it. Admit it.”
“I said, it was just okay.” He frowns.
His mood is still off. I thought the film might help, but the edge is still there.
I need to make him laugh.
“Tell the truth. Say you loved Cars, and it was the best film you’ve ever seen, or you’re gonna get it.”
“I’m gonna get it?” That raises his brow.
“Mmhmm.”
“And how exactly how am I gonna get it?”
I eye the bowl of ice cream and then grab it. Lifting the bowl up to chest level, I pull the dripping spoon from the ice cream, letting it drip back into the bowl. “Admit that Cars was the best film you’ve ever seen, or you’re getting creamed.” I give him a cocky look.
His brow lifts higher. Feet off the coffee table, he sits up, eyes alert, turning his body toward me. “That so, Amaro? You do realize that I can move really fast. I’ll have the bowl out of your hands, and I’ll be covering you in ice cream before you even get a chance to flick that spoon in my direction.”
“That so?” I raise a brow. “That’s a bold statement to make.”
He gets up on his knees on the sofa, facing me. “Not bold. Fact.”