Ah. Imogen didn’t see the logic in that at all, because wouldn’t men generally assume that a woman like Nikki was always wearing a thong? And if they were allowed to actually gain the knowledge of the thong for themselves, she suspected they wouldn’t care one way or the other what Nikki had on over them. But there was no point in launching a further discussion with Nikki. Imogen suspected Nikki had made up her mind and that was that.

“Of course.” Imogen settled into her own seat and looked out at the track. A pack of cars went whizzing by before she could blink, none of which were identifiable to her by either decal or number. She should have bought a program so she could attempt to educate herself.

Nikki was rustling around in her handbag and Imogen glanced over to see the blonde tearing into a bag of mixed greens. She pulled out a piece of spinach and popped it in her mouth like it was a potato chip.

“Want some?” Nikki held the bag out to Imogen.

Imogen shook her head. “No, thanks.” She had zero interest in chewing on greens sans salad dressing. Watching her waistline was as important to her as the next person, but she wasn’t about to sacrifice at least some kind of flavor for skinny jeans.

Not that Imogen was really the skinny jeans type. She had probably exited the womb wearing Ann Taylor coordinates. The clean lines and understated harmony of classic clothes made her happy, and she was fortunate to have inherited her mother’s naturally thin figure. Of course, the flip side of that was a serious lack of breasts, but it was what it was and she had no interest in buying herself a larger cup size.

“Does that actually satisfy your hunger?” she asked Nikki curiously.

“No. But it keeps me from buying nachos.” Nikki had balanced her salad bag in her lap and she was digging a notebook-sized book out of her bag.

“Is that a race program?” Imogen asked. She wanted to look up Tamara’s husband Elec, and okay, she could admit it, Ty McCordle, so she could monitor their progress around the track.

“No, it’s a book I’m reading.”

Imogen gained a whole new respect for Nikki. She was reading at the racetrack. Clearly she was there to show support for her boyfriend, but had brought a book to occupy herself in the long hours alone as the cars did something like five hundred laps.

“Oh, what book is it? Fiction or nonfiction?”

Nikki frowned and pushed her sunglasses up. “I don’t know. I can never remember which one means it’s real and which one means it’s fake.”

Huh. “Fiction is a story; nonfiction is based on facts.”

“Then I guess this is nonfiction. I think.” Nikki held up the book for Imogen to see the cover.