A/N-I told you I'd have the next chapter up quickly as an apology for the not-so-great previous chapter. Enjoy!
"Classes are great," Arya says. "I do have this one professor who talks in this really, low, monotone voice, so he's kind of boring, but it's not a big deal."
"What about dorm life? Don't you miss your own bed?" Arya's mom asks.
Arya looks down. She's in Gendry's bed, wearing a pair of old cotton shorts and a tank top. Gendry is next to her, lounged out on his side, long arms tucked under his head. He's staring at her as she talks on the phone, and Arya smiles as she answers the question. "Not really. The dorm beds are very comfortable."
Last night, after their impromptu, well, tongue wrestling, Gendry had insisted that Arya sleep at his apartment again. He argued that she couldn't afford a motel until she won a race. And for once he was right, so she agreed. They didn't do anything except for kiss, but she did wake up in his arms again, with his warm chest pressed against her back, with his light breath tickling her neck.
And she had thought, I could get used to this, before quickly trying to push the feeling away.
"That's great," her mom continues. "What about the food? I hope it isn't too terrible."
"It's fine. I really like the-" Arya suddenly gasps as Gendry snakes one of his hands underneath her tank top. His fingers brush against the small patch of exposed skin. Arya's belly fills with warmth, but she narrows her eyes and swats Gendry away with her free hand. "Stop it!" She mouths, covering the speaker of the phone.
Gendry smiles, arrogant blue eyes twinkling. "Why?" He mouths back.
Arya hits him again, this time with the bottom of her foot, but Gendry doesn't budge. "What was that, sweetie?" Her mom asks.
"I was saying that I really like the garlic-" Gendry is now leaning over, hovering above Arya. He dips down and lightly sweeps his lips against her neck. He kisses the skin once, twice, before placing his hand back onto her bare stomach, fingers slowly trailing upwards. "Chicken." Arya says, her face flushed. Half of her wants to punch Gendry in the face, and half of her hopes he'll never stop touching her. "The garlic chicken," Arya repeats. "Really good."
"Hmm."
"Look, mom. I've got to go. I-"
"Wait just a second. I need to tell you something."
Gendry is now tracing his other hand along bare leg, and Arya shivers. Desire floods through her. What the hell is wrong with this man, and how does he get me to react like this?
"What is it mom?" Arya asks, hoping to get off the phone as quickly as possible so that she can deal with the very impatient mechanic in bed with her.
"We're planning a visit at the end of the month, so I-"
"You're what?!" Arya sits up suddenly and shoves Gendry off of her. Not expecting the push, Gendry falls halfway across the bed. He looks up at Arya, confused, but she waves him off.
"We're coming to visit! Bran wants to look at the University, and I haven't seen Sansa for so long now. It took awhile to convince your dad. Obviously, you know, San Diego isn't his favorite place in the world, but I told him it'd be worth it to see his children, and he agreed."
"But-" Arya's thoughts are spinning. They can't come visit! What happens when they want to see her dorm room? Or her new friends? Oh god. What if they accidently meet Gendry? That'll be the end of that. There's no way Arya's father will approve of a 24-year-old mechanic. "But why would Bran want to come here? Shouldn't he be looking at Harvard or Yale or whatever other colleges people attend with 4.3 GPAs and 1590 SAT scores?"
"Honey, you know that with your father losing his job, things are tight right now, and some of these schools might be willing to offer Bran a lot of money to attend them. He needs to consider his options just like you did."
Guilt gnaws at Arya's stomach. She didn't really consider her options, did she? She didn't really consider college at all. All throughout her senior year of high school, she knew her plan, and her plan was to deceive her parents, drive out to San Diego, and start racing. She didn't consider her options. She just went with her gut. And was it the right decision? She glances at Gendry who is now sitting on the edge of the bed, looking concerned. Was it?
She came out here to be the best. To be faster. Stronger. And instead of spending every second of every day practicing, she's been wasting her mornings lounging in the bed with some man. Oh all right, not just some man. He's obviously more than that, but he's still a distraction, a reason to not work harder. A reason to ignore her goals.
"Are you still there, Arya?" Her mom asks.
Arya looks down at the comforter, breaking her eye contact with Gendry. "Yeah, I'm still here," she says softly. "I'm sorry. I'm just so busy, and I don't know if I'll have time to see you guys."
"What are you talking about? You'll make time. We're your family, Arya."
I know! She wants to scream. I know I've been selfish. And terrible. I know you're my family. And I know you love me. But I need to do this for myself. I need to be selfish and prove to myself that I can do things on my own.
"All right. Send me the dates, and I'll figure it out."
"I love you, Arya." Her mom sounds concerned, but thankfully she doesn't push it.
"I love you too."
Arya ends the call and looks up at Gendry. He moves forward on the bed so that he can grab one of her hands. "What is it?" He asks. "What's wrong?"
Arya pulls her hand away and runs it through her short, tangled hair. "Family stuff," she mutters. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Yes, that makes sense. I'll just ignore the ridiculously stressed and distraught look on your face. What would you like for breakfast?" Gendry's sarcasm manages to be light and sharp at the same time, and Arya narrows her eyes in annoyance.
"Look. I said don't worry about it, and I mean it. Just drop it."
"Did I hear something about your family coming to visit?"
"Gendry. Drop it." The lighthearted mood has melted from the room. Minutes ago, they were lounging in bed, teasing each other, touching each other, and now the moment is gone. It's one of the many reasons Arya shouldn't be involving herself with Gendry. She has enough to stress about without having to think about their relationship on top of it.
Gendry's blue eyes flicker over Arya's face, obvious concern in his expression. He goes to take her hand again, but then hesitates and retreats. Arya wants the warmth of his touch as much as she wants to push him away.
She sighs softly and tucks her messy hair behind her ears. "Look. I really need to head out anyways. I've got to practice before the race tonight."
"But are we all right?" Gendry asks.
What are we? Arya wants to retort. Their relationship is a tangle of feelings and half-truths. But as frustrating, as distracting, as the relationship is, Arya can't just throw it away. So instead she'll tuck it into a corner and hope that it takes care of itself.
"We're fine," she responds. She leans forward over the bed and kisses Gendry lightly on his stubbled cheek. "I'll see you at the race tonight, right?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world. Maybe for a Aston Martin One-77, but definitely not for the world."
"Extra whipped cream," Arya tells the barista. "No, like extra, extra." Arya watches as the barista piles whipped cream onto her cup of dark hot chocolate. Once finished, Arya grabs the cup and heads back to her table where Sansa is waiting.
Sansa makes a disgusted face. "How can you drink something that sweet? And that hot? You do realize that it's like eighty degrees outside, right?"
"Tastes like home," Arya says, licking off some of the whipped cream. "You know how dad used to make it. Except they don't have any of those tiny marshmallows."
"No, Starbucks tends not to serve tiny marshmallows."
Arya watches her sister as she takes a sip of her own iced coffee. She looks different. Her hair is the same. Her clothes are the same, but there's definitely something different about her. A sort of fierceness her older sister never had before.
"So what's up?" Arya asks. "Not that I don't like seeing you, but I really need to get ready for the race tonight." Almost immediately after leaving Gendry's apartment, Sansa had called, asking if Arya had time to get coffee. She had sounded pretty worried.
Sansa sighs. "I never thought 'what's up' would sound like such a loaded question, but it is, isn't it?"
"I guess so." Arya shifts in her seat, adjusting her legs so that's she can sit Indian-style. Sensing that Sansa isn't ready to talk yet, Arya says, "Mom called this morning."
"Yeah. What did she want?"
"She's coming up here in a month. All of them are."
"For the wedding?"
Arya's stomach twists with guilt. She had completely forgotten about Sansa's upcoming wedding. If you could call it a wedding. Sansa broke the news to her a couple nights ago. "No. Does mom know about the wedding? Bran's just coming up to visit schools."
"She doesn't know. I thought maybe you had told her or that word had gotten out. I haven't told anyone, really. It just seems too strange to plan a wedding that I pray to god will never happen."
"You don't have to marry, Joffrey. You know that, right?" Arya crosses her arms. "In fact, you should most definitely not marry Joffrey."
"I know," Sansa says. "And that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I need your help."
Despite herself, Arya glances down at her watch. It's getting late, and she should really be practicing right now if she wants to win tonight. The selfish impulse angers her. Sansa. She's your sister, a person with feelings, not a car or a race, Arya reminds herself. "Help with what?" Arya asks, hoping she sounds sincere.
"I want to take down Joffrey. I want to take down all of the Baratheons. And the Lannisters. I want to wipe their scum off the bottoms of my shoes." And there it is, the fierceness that has been bubbling in Sansa all along.
"But how do we do that? I can't exactly just beat them all up, not that I wouldn't love trying."
"No, of course not. That wouldn't solve anything anyways. It would just make things worse."
Arya smiles. "Yeah, but it would feel really good. What's the point of learning to fight if you won't throw a punch every now and then?"
"The fighting is for defense, not offence."
"Now you sound like a soccer coach."
"Arya, can we please get back to the point?" Sansa asks, exasperated.
"Right. Sure. Of course." Arya takes another sip of her hot chocolate. "You want to take down the Baratheons. How?"
"Inside information."
"As in?"
"Dad was fired on unsustainable grounds."
"You mean, grounds of bullshit?"
"Same thing." Sansa leans forward, eyes filled with intensity. "He was fired, and Baratheon Corporations has absolutely no reasoning, no paperwork to explain his dismissal. Obviously he was either fired for something personal or because he discovered something that could jeopardize the company."
"That's a pretty big assumption to make, Sansa."
"I don't think it is. And, if I can get inside the files, maybe I can find something that absolves dad of guilt. And then Joffrey won't be able to hold this over me, over us, any longer."
"I don't know," Arya says. "It sounds risky, and who knows if it will even work? Why would they just leave proof of their douchebaggery lying around the office?"
Sansa looks up, blue eyes flashing with determination. "I don't know, Arya, but it's worth a try, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess so. But what do you need my help with? I can't exactly just waltz into Baratheon Corporations and go snooping around, can I?"
"Of course you can't. I'll be handling all of that. Don't worry about it. I just need you to keep Joffrey distracted. Rile him up. Mess with his head at the races. The more time he spends concerned about that circuit, the less time he has to watch my every step."
"But won't that make him mad?" Arya asks. "I don't want him hurting you again, Sansa. Not even if it means giving us a chance to redeem our family."
Sansa smiles. It's a different smile. Cruel, self-assured, intense. Almost like a snarl. "He won't hurt me again. You can be sure of that."
"I can't believe I have to race against you," Arya mutters. She's sitting on the hood of her car, and Jon is standing in front of her. They have a few minutes before the race starts, and the crowds, larger than ever, have already gathered on the side of the road.
"Why? Scared I'll beat you?" Jon asks, smiling.
"No, just scared you'll never speak to me again when I beat you."
"That's not going to happen."
"If you were smart, you'd bet on me. You wouldn't want to lose the race and the money, now would you?"
"That cocky mouth of yours isn't going to make your car go faster."
Arya smirks. "You sure about that?"
Jon suddenly glances to the side, the playfulness disappearing from his expression. Joffrey is approaching them with quick, short strides. He looks ridiculous, Arya thinks, distaste rising within her. He's wearing a suit and tie. At a racing circuit.
"Nice outfit," she says, not being able to contain herself. She jumps off the hood of her car so that she can stand before Joffrey. "The color of your suit goes really nicely with the burnt tire marks and the chewing tobacco on the ground."
Joffrey sneers at her. "I had a business arrangement earlier, and I didn't have time to change. Not that I need to explain myself to you."
"Did you knot that tie all by yourself?"
This time Joffrey ignores her. Instead, he turns to Jon. "I see you've made an acquaintance with our new driver. A true gem, wouldn't you say? If only she would take off that cap so that we could see her ugly mug."
Jon shrugs his shoulders, obviously trying his best not to get into the middle of things.
Arya thinks about what Sansa told her just hours ago. Rile him up. Distract him. Annoy him. Annoying people is something Arya has been great at since she was just a little girl. "Not racing, tonight?" Arya asks Joffrey.
"No."
"Why not? Scared?" From the corner of her eye, Arya can see that Jon is giving her a warning look. Since she hasn't told him about Sansa's plan, he has no clue as to why she's provoking Joffrey. "You got lucky last time, but don't think for a second that I'd let that happen again," Arya continues, pleased to see that Joffrey is already fuming.
"It wasn't luck. It was talent. Something I'm sure you've never heard of."
"If you're so talented, than why was I beating you by over a car-length until I hit that stupid ditch?"
"Strategy," Joffrey says. "Again, something I'm sure you've never heard of."
"So you think you could beat me again?"
"Not think. I know. Because I'm a driver, a racer, and you're just a-"
"Puny little girl? Yeah, I know. I've heard it before. Well, if you're so confident, why don't we make a little bet? In two days, we race each other. Just each other. No crowd. No cameras. Just us, the road, and a judge. Then we'll see who's better."
Arya bites back her smile, pleased by how she's so easily pushed Joffrey into a corner. He has to take the bet. If he doesn't, he's a coward. But at the same time, he knows how good Arya is. He knows she almost beat him the other night. He knows she threw the race.
But what he doesn't know is who she is or why she has it out for him. And that is all to her advantage.
"Fine," Joffrey finally snarls. "Two nights from now. Cajon Cross. We'll each bring one witness."
"Great," Arya says, smiling under the brim of her hat. She loves how uncomfortable Joffrey is, how desperately he's trying to assume confidence. She loves that she can finally do something useful to help her family. She loves making him squirm. "Now if you don't mind," Arya continues. "I have another race to win."
She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out $300. It's the last of her money without having to dip into her dangerously low bank account. She hands over the thick pile of cash to Joffrey. "Three-hundred," she says, "On my name for winning tonight. I trust that you can put this into the right hands."
"Of course," Joffrey says, his voice coated with annoyance.
"What are my odds, by the way?"
Joffrey looks up at her, eyes hard and cold. "For Cat of El Cajon? Ten to one."
Arya smiles. "Perfect. I could use the money."
"You realize those odds are against you, correct? You were educated in rudimentary math, weren't you?"
"Math doesn't drive my car. I do. And I say that I'm coming out winning tonight. Enjoy the show, Joffrey." And with that, Arya smiles once more, tugs down her cap, and gets ready to race.
A/N – Thank you to Heliotropa & Harwins for making wonderful fan art for this story. You guys can check it out through my profile page or my tumblr ( )
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I have a question for everyone- how do you feel about the San/San relationship? I'm struggling on whether or not to make it romantic, non-romantic, or borderline. Please let me know if you have any thoughts.
As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!