Boost by Vi Summers
Chapter 25
-Raf-
Standing in the watchtower over-looking the raceway, I balled my fists inside my jean pockets while Colton prepped Arlo in the pit lane below. This was his first taste of legally going as fast as his heart desired, and fuck if I wasn’t nervous for the kid.
A part of me panged for what could have been if I’d been gifted the same opportunity as Colton, way back when. But fuck, being here emphasized just how out of place I was within the pro circuit. This simply wasn’t me. Give me the streets any day. Give me the sense of doing something I shouldn’t. The edge of risk that heightened the ever-present adrenaline flowing through my veins whenever I slid behind the wheel. It was a drug. An addiction. A part of me that would never die until I did.
The V6, twin-turbocharged Indy car with Arlo behind the wheel purred up to the checkered line painted on the tarmac, and paused. While I didn’t ‘get’ the obsession of speeding around a tight fucking circuit for five-hundred miles, apprehension for the kid swirled in my gut. So much rode on today’s practice; it was Arlo’s first exposure to the track at speed. While he’d had a few practice runs to acquaint himself with his new Indy car that handled completely different from his Toyota 86, this was the first time Colton was allowing him to open the throttle and blur the boundaries between this life and next.
Beckett—Colton’s closest and most trusted friend, and pit crew chief—bounced his leg restlessly. The entire team seemed to hold a collective breath, and the tension twisted my insides. I paced the length of the large window that overlooked the circuit while listening to the conversation between Beckett and Arlo through the headset.
“Take it easy for the first few, kid. Those corners are going to sneak up a helluva lot faster at one-eighty miles than what they do at sixty.”
“Received,” came Arlo’s shaky voice.
“Colt, you good to go?” Beckett asked.
“When Arlo is,” came his serious reply.
“Arlo, when you’re ready. Treat it like any other time; a couple of pace laps, then on my word, open ‘er up.”
“So, I can go?”
I sniggered and ran my hand over my smirk. Impatient and cocky as per usual.
“You can go, Linetti.”
On Beckett’s confirmation, Arlo’s car revved a couple of times before gaining speed along the opening straight. He sailed effortlessly through the first turn, and through the hairpin. I had to hand it to him; for all the times he ran his mouth, he was taking his tuition on the track extremely seriously. Colton had given the hard word right from their initial meeting, which left Arlo under no illusion that he wasn’t being offered this opportunity to fuck around. It was all or nothing, and Colt and his team wouldn’t accept anything less.
As Arlo tracked around the circuit, Beckett guided him in a firm but calm voice, expertly reading the screens around him and confidently relaying advice or instruction to the kid.
“Last pace lap, Arlo. Next time you pass the start line, race is on.”
“Received.”
Shit, this was the only time where the kid had minimal to say. He’d been under Colton’s guidance for a few weeks now, and every step of the way Arlo had passed the progressive assessments with flying colors. He’d even made mention about seeing out the semester at University, then pulling the pin on his studies—ultimately giving us no doubt that he was grabbing this opportunity with both hands and willing to fight to keep it.
On passing the start/finish line again, Arlo’s speed increased, and once through the first curve, he accelerated along the back straight under Colton’s watchful eye and Beckett’s careful guidance.
I had to admit; it was pretty fucking impressive to see the kid running with the big boys, and while I’d never witnessed Colton race, I was under no illusion that the cocky bastard was every part as good as he claimed to be.
Round and round Arlo went, pushing himself to the limits until Colton finally called him into the pit lane. They were working on increasing his endurance to the level needed to endure five hundred miles at breakneck speed without losing concentration. A mammoth feat in itself, and one I didn’t envy.
I followed Beckett down the steep stairs and arrived in the pits as Arlo climbed from the car. Colton was by his side to steady his stagger, and then the helmet came off to reveal Arlo’s sweat-reddened face and wild hair. While visibly fucked, his eyes burned with the echoes of the Devil himself.
“Did you fucking see that?” he crowed to me.
“Not that you’ve got a big-ass head or anything.” I slapped him on the shoulder as the crew worked around us.
“Got a way to go yet, Linetti, but that was a fucking good nudge. How are the arms?” Colton asked as we moved off to the side.
Arlo unzipped his coveralls and plucked at his sweaty shirt beneath. “Like Jello. And this is rank.”
Colton chuckled. “It’s always that gross. You’ll get used to it. Go shower, then we’ll debrief.”
With Arlo on his way to the bathrooms, I turned back to Colton and raised a brow. “So?”
A pleased grin pulled at his mouth wide. “I’ve a good feeling about him, Raffie. If he’s willing to put in the hard yards, he’s got what it takes to go big.”
Pride swelled in my chest even though I had no right to it. Hell, three months ago I would have laughed at the idea of helping the kid hit the big time; he’d been nothing but a self-righteous pain in my ass. Now that I knew Arlo better, he was as loyal as they came, and hell-bent on proving himself.
The hustle around us closed in as the pit crew pushed the car into the garage, and it indicated my time to leave.
“I’ve gotta bounce, Colt, but keep me updated, yeah?”
He slapped his hand in mine. “Fuckin’ A. All going well, Greer will be making a press announcement in a couple of week’s time.”
Immediately my eyes narrowed. “Do I have to be there?” Because fuck that.
“Nah, Raffie, you’re good. Just me and Arlo; they’ll want the full scoop with sponsors and shit.”
“Thank fuck for that,” I murmured with a smirk. “I’ll catch ya ‘round, brother.”
He waved me off and promptly got swept up in the activity around him.
Boosting out of the parking lot with the music blaring set me free, just like every other time I got behind the wheel. If I was riding, I was living, and it took horsepower under my foot and wind through the open window to remind me of that. The success at the track today got me pumped, and couldn’t wait a second longer to ring Boss Lady. It was, after all, in the best interests of business.
“Landon-Michaels PR, Greer speaking.”
Shit, thinking about her and hearing her sweet voice were two different things entirely, and it momentarily kicked me for six.
“Hello?”
I cleared my throat. “Boss Lady.”
“Raf? Hi!”
“Hey,” I replied casually.
“Uh, can I help with something?”
My jeans started to tighten as indecent thoughts gathered in my head. “Wanna meet up tonight?”
It was official—my balls had retreated to form ovaries.
I swear I heard a giggle come through the phone. “What did you have in mind?”
“Lots of things, mamacita,” I drawled, as I concentrated on merging with the flow of traffic. “I’m heading into the city, so I thought I could swing by the office and do a little somethin’ with ya.”
“A little somethin’?” she teased, easily playing me like a stick-shift, and all I could do was sit back and be shoved to and fro.
I let out a rolling laugh. “Yeah, baby girl, a little somethin’.” And hopefully, that would include getting a little down and a lot dirty.
“I’m at the office. I’ll see you soon, then?”
“You will.”
“Bye, then.”
“Ciao.” I hung up and rolled my tongue along the curve of my lower lip.
Damn, it felt good knowing I’d satisfy the craving soon. The ache intensified in my chest and I rubbed at it with my knuckles. It was the type of cramp I got after visiting Mamá, except staggeringly different. Deeper, perhaps. While I didn’t recognize it, I knew it held significance, and had everything to do with Greer Landon.
She made me breathless yet alive at the same time. She had me chained yet liberated from the rusted shackles of my past. She jumbled my thoughts, yet made them so vivid it was startlingly oblivious where her smooth edges sanded away my roughened ones. Voodoo pussy, as Colton called it.
Voodoo. Fucking. Pussy.
And I was beginning to fall further under a spell I couldn’t pull away from.