Shift by Ginger Scott

6

The biggest perk of being a senior, other than almost being done with this school bullshit, is getting out early. I like the chance to make those last few tweaks to my car before the Straights, not that we ever change anything major. Normally, at least. I need those extra hours today. Tonight’s races are going to have higher stakes.

Tommy has no clue what’s going on. I didn’t mention the boys from Vegas to him. I don’t think he likes the side bets anymore, so it doesn’t really matter. He used to love the money, and he still makes bets sometimes, but not as often. For me, the side hustle is life.

Literal. Life.

I can usually pull down a solid two or three hundred bucks on a good Friday night, and that’s only off the locals and the people who come from the cities to race. You don’t find back roads like we have in the metro. And those Scottsdale kids are easy money with their daddy’s cars and engines they don’t understand. You can’t buy a car that wins. You build it. Fine by me, though; I like taking their money.

I’ve been trying to get the Vegas drivers I met last year out here for months. They worked me up pretty good on the track out in Henderson, but that was under strict rules—rules that I think played to their strengths. There aren’t rules out here in the high desert. I’m looking for a little revenge, but mostly I want their cash.

“We should head out there early, open this baby up a few times and see how the intake holds,” I say as I drop the hood and wipe my hands clean from my tinkering. I meet Tommy’s hard stare, and it takes me a couple seconds to decipher it. Hannah’s home early.

“Hey, can I come along for the test rides?” she asks, stepping closer to my car.

“We’ve got work to do. It’s not a joy ride,” Tommy says, clearly cutting her off to be an asshole.

I let my head fall to my shoulder and breathe out my nose before mouthing “sorry” to Hannah behind Tommy’s back. Normally, I’d stick up for her. Sometimes he gets his big brother pants up his ass. But today I can’t afford extra drama rattling around in my head. If I don’t win my races tonight, I’m losing my car. I don’t have the cash to stake, and I know the rules: if a driver bets a grand or more, loses and can’t pay, winner gets the keys.

I won’t lose.

That’s the thing about me—when my back is against the wall, an acute awareness takes over my body. It’s like muscle memory, formed from years of taking Colt’s bullshit and abuse. I don’t take punches because I foresee them coming, and I don’t get into situations I won’t dominate. Tommy doesn’t understand it, and he thinks I take too many risks, both behind the wheel and with my cash. I know what I can handle though, and I drive myself right up to that line. I’ll never veer over it.

“Let’s go,” Tommy says, snapping me out of my head with a fat palm against the hood.

“Gentle with her,” I tease.

He grimaces and laughs out of the side of his mouth.

“Yeah, like you’re ever gentle with her,” he says.

I roll my eyes as I climb into the driver’s seat. I catch a glimpse of Hannah as I do. She’s moved back to her car and is sitting on the hood, her ankles crossed. She’ll be out at the track by the time the sun goes down, and maybe when Tommy is distracted with all the celebration—after I win—I can take her for a ride at top speed. Just once. As someone who has been in my corner for most of my life, that’s the least I can do to show her how grateful I am for her support.

It takes us about ten minutes to clear the town limits, and the moment we do I open it up to get a feel for the road and adjust to the slight shift in speeds.

“It jumps,” Tommy says as I drop into the next gear. I feel the jerk too so I downshift to make the climb again. We burn a few extra miles going back and forth until I find the perfect sweet spots to punch it into the next gear, and by the time we’re ready for the Straights, I have this thing flying on the pavement.

I catch the grin on Tommy’s face as we round the corner onto the old highway where cars are already lined up, boys leaning on hoods with cash in their hands.

“What you smiling about over there, Tommy Judge?” I throw an elbow at him in jest.

He shakes his head with a short laugh.

“Nothin’, man. I just like going fast.”

I turn my head to meet his eyes and our wide smiles reflect one another. This has always been our space, where the bullshit falls to the sides and Tommy and I get to be two kids who like to race cars. When he smiles like that, I remember all the reasons we became friends in the first place. I hold out my fist and he drops his on top.

“Kick some ass tonight, brotha,” he says, unbuckling as I slow and pull to the side of the road to join the other gearheads out here to tear up the desert.

“Always,” I answer. My eyes lock on my friend’s frame as the passenger door closes behind him with a heavy clunk. He’s going to be so pissed when he realizes who’s here tonight. A few of the girls from town have already gathered in the back of a pickup truck though, and that’s where my friend is headed. He’s a grumpy asshole most of the time, but he’s also a ladies’ man.

I rev the engine lightly, just enough to feel the rumble vibrate around me and under the pad of my foot. The power makes its way around the nerves in my body. I coast my way a little deeper through the rows of cars until I find a good spot in the middle of the action to get out and size up the competition.

Keys clutched in my hand, I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the side of my car, taking in the scene before the last of the sunlight goes away in the next thirty minutes. I spot the Vegas guys fairly easily—typical Subaru next to a dropped Tahoe the rest of them probably rode here in. I nod at the familiar face in the crowd. His name’s Alex Offerman, and he’s never without the four guys—who are at least double my size—standing nearby. I have a pretty good hunch that Alex’s family is one of those that deals behind the scenes in Vegas, but I’d rather not confirm my suspicion. I don’t know why I feel plausible deniability is a good thing with him, but I do.

“Hey, Dustin, my man!” Alex crosses the street to meet me halfway. His blond hair is slicked back and his white long-sleeve shirt is tight enough to show off his nipples. It’s creepy. I smell his cologne from several feet away. I’m wearing my old black Thrasher skate shirt with a hole at the bottom, my lucky black jeans, and new Vans. I like the way they grip the pedal and I always get a new pair before a big race.

“Finally made it to my street. How was the trip?” I reach out and clasp his hand, noting the way he twists his wrist to make sure his is slightly on top. Headlight beams from the parked cars glint off his gold ring.

“The strip? Or the trip?” he jokes.

I give him a courtesy laugh for his dumb joke. Least I can do since I’m about to take his money.

“So this is the famous Straights you were telling me about, huh?” He spins slowly to take in the long strip of road that stretches far in both directions. Soon, it will lead to black nothingness to the north, away from town.

“This is my home turf, yeah.” I shove my hands back in my pockets and press the ridges of my key into my thumb to keep myself alert and sharp.

Alex spends a few more seconds glaring out onto the road before turning his focus back to me. I’m not sure whether he’s the one I’m racing tonight, or one of his guys. Doesn’t matter. I see the car they brought.

“So what are you thinking? Five hundred? Thousand?” He doesn’t mince words; straight to the money. That’s good because I need to make a serious profit here tonight. I need seed money to get a basic truck if I plan on moving into truck racing for the circuit.

I swallow and hope he doesn’t see it. I’m glad Tommy isn’t here for this. He’d kill me for what I’m about to say.

“I was thinking more like two.” I cock my head to the side and squint, acting nonchalant about an amount of money that makes me both tingle and want to pass out in my own vomit.

“Ha, two hunny? That’s hardly worth the drive here.”

He’s wrong. I correct him.

“K. I mean two large.” I open my eyes a little more to meet his serious glare. He’s sizing up my pupils, making sure I’m serious and that I plan to back up the bet we’re about to shake on.

“Two grand. You got that?” His brow arches.

“I got that.” I thumb the key fob over my shoulder and flash the lights on my dusty blue Supra.

I can tell by the smirk that crawls up his lip and into his cheek that he’s sold. He’d love to race my car as his own. My ride is the envy of a lot of guys out here. His hand stretches out for me to take again a second later, and Tommy walks up as we’re shaking.

“Oh fuck, what did you do?” My friend already has a beer in his hand and he spits out his recent sip.

“You remember Alex,” I say, completely ignoring Tommy’s question.

“Yeah. Hey, man.” Tommy nods. He’s not a big fan of the Vegas crew.

“So, am I racing you or . . .” I lean to my right to take in the guys hanging out around the front of the Tahoe. Alex turns to look over his group of friends and I catch him gnawing at his lip. I’ve upped the stakes, and he’s not sure any of these guys are good enough.

“Yeah, you know what? I think I’d like to try out this stretch you’ve been bragging about. But what if we make it interesting?” His grin is etched into his lips again as he turns back to face me. It feels like a sack of rocks just sank my gut.

Tommy grabs the sleeve of my shirt and urges me a few steps to the side. I hold up a finger, my face burning with heat that my friend is making me look weak.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” Tommy’s beer breath floats across my face, and the hairs on my neck stand. I roll my shoulders and shirk his hand off my shirt.

“I’m paying for my future the only way I can. If you wanna go home, go home.” I hold his cold stare for several seconds before his focus flits just beyond me to the crew waiting for me to fail out here tonight. He breathes out a short laugh when his focus comes back to me.

“What, and let you burn out without me here to fix shit?” He takes another swig of his beer, which he knows annoys me, but I give in to the cocky sneer he lets linger afterward. While Tommy might not like the risks I take, he sure as shit likes to win.

I step back to Alex and shake his hand with a firm grip.

“I’m in.” I tilt my head back enough to hold my jaw set and dim my eyes while I anticipate whatever “interesting” addition he’s planning on throwing into our bet.

“We both have passengers. You pick mine, I pick yours,” he says, and I sniff a laugh. I don’t give a shit who’s in my passenger seat. I drive how I drive.

“Yeah, okay.” I glance over his shoulder looking for the right fit, and when I don’t see his brother, I turn to the crowd around us, looking for the most annoying passenger I can find. My mouth snaps shut and curves into a wide grin the second my eyes land on Lawrence.

“Hey, Lawrence! Come here!” The six-foot-five, three-hundred pound lineman and only talent on our high school football team drops his empty beer can on the ground just after crushing it against his hip.

“Aw, hell,” Alex laughs out, moving his feet nervously. He knows I’ve got him trapped with this one. Not only does Lawrence add some seriously dense muscle weight to his car, but the dude is wide as a Cadillac all on his own. Won’t be easy to shift with his left arm encroaching on Alex’s space.

“What’s up?” Lawrence and I tap fists. I point my thumb to my side and Lawrence scans Alex with suspicion.

“Up for riding shotgun tonight with this guy?” I know he is. Lawrence loves speed and danger. I honestly think he’d prefer to chase down quarterbacks without pads and a helmet if the league would let him.

“Oh, hell yeah. In that thing? Sweet!” Lawrence makes his way over to the car, dwarfing it from a dozen feet away.

I cross my arms over my chest and return my gaze to Alex, knowing I’ve got him. I can practically feel the cash in my pocket. All it takes is the delicate brush of a few fingers on the back of my neck to snap me right out of my imaginary victory lap.

“Hey, you forgot these. I know it’s a thing for you,” Hannah says, her breath finding the exposed skin along my neck. I turn to face her and feel the color drain from my face. Alex is already chuckling as Hannah hands me the worn leather gloves. I like to wear them when I drive, not because I need them but they’re just lucky. She bought them for me the first time I drove stock.

“Looks like I found your passenger. Oh, and my cousin Teddy is planning on parking our ride somewhere, oh say about a mile ahead. Just to make it interesting.” Alex pats my shoulder but I don’t bother to turn to face him.

“Nah, this isn’t happening.” Tommy steps in. I grab my friend’s wrist and jerk him back from starting a war we don’t need.

“It’s fine,” I say, meeting my friend’s fiery glare.

“It’s my sister,” he seethes back.

And he’s right. Hannah is family. She’s my weakness. And she showed up right in time for Alex to exploit it.

“I don’t understand,” Hannah interjects, her eyes working between me and her brother.

“No, you don’t.” Tommy’s hostility makes Hannah flinch so I step into the tight space between them. Her hand instinctively falls on my shoulder, and I’m aware how this looks, not only to Tommy, but to everyone around me.

“She’ll be fine. If it comes down to it, I’ll lose,” I say, not certain I really can do that. It’s what Tommy needs to hear, though.

He holds my gaze for several seconds, his back teeth gnashing as his jaw works. His mind is playing out all of the scenarios—especially the gory ones where I don’t see the black SUV in the dark in time and swerve the wrong way. His nostrils flare with a few sharp breaths and he steps in close enough to whisper at my ear.

“If you lose, you’ll lose.” He steps back and flattens his palm against the center of my chest with a thud that knocks some of the air from my lungs.

“So I won’t lose. It won’t even be close.” I steel myself. Any other scenario and there wouldn’t be a single ounce of doubt in that statement. But Hannah is the one percent.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Tommy grits out. His voice is loud enough that I’m sure Hannah heard him. Her fingers curl against my shoulder and her nails dig into my skin.

Tommy staggers back a few steps and spits to the side, his beer still dangling from his left hand. He takes one more swig then tosses the bottle into the open brush. He’s making a show of it to spite me. I don’t drink. Don’t smoke shit, either. Figure you can grow up one of two ways when you come from a house like mine—just like the parents who made you, or as opposite from them as humanly possible.

“What’s going on?” Hannah asks. I drop my head and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Nothing. You’re getting your ride, is all,” I say. I only glance at her before walking away with nothing but the feel of her hand skimming down my arm as I leave.

I squeeze my eyes shut and head straight for the car, glad to see Tommy already under the hood when I reopen them. He’s thorough, but he’ll be more systematic now that his sister is going to top one-sixty with me.

Shit.

I figured Hannah wouldn’t drop the subject. It only takes her seconds to step between Tommy and me. I’m clutching the gloves she gave me, coating them in my sweat. I never sweat.

“What do you mean I’m going for a ride?” she asks.

“You’re racing?” Hannah’s friend Bailey’s voice is full of giddy jealousy. She’s clueless about this world.

“No, she’s not racing. And if I had my way . . .” Tommy stops his words but stands and meets my gaze. He wipes his hands on his work towel then tucks it in his back pocket before grabbing the keys from me and moving on to the work we just finished last night.

“Dustin, what’s going on?” Hannah’s hand brushes my arm again, and I jerk in response as if she burned me with a match. My heart instantly races. This is so not the state I need to be in!

“It’s fine. I promise you’ll be safe. It’s a bet I made with a guy I know, and he likes to race with passengers. It’s . . . a mental game for him. He’s trying to get in my head.” I’m right; that’s totally what it is. And I bet it works against most racers. If it weren’t for Hannah, it would be meaningless against me. Hell, I’d drive the same with Lawrence eating a steak in the seat next to me as I would racing solo. Nothing can distract me when I’m in my zone.

But Hannah is different.

Without warning, a hand fires across my right cheek, knocking my head off its axis in a whiplash. I cup the sting and stare at Hannah’s Doc Martin-wearing feet on the ground before me.

“What the fu—” I flit my eyes up as she cocks her arm to take another swing at me, and I step back.

“Do you need more?”

I blink twice because how the hell do I answer that? What does she even mean?

“Are you pissed?” she asks.

“Kinda. Yeah.” I work my jaw under my hand. I’m one-hundred percent positive there’s an imprint of her palm on the side of my face.

“Good. Think about that then and drive fucking fast.” She shoves her tiny backpack into Bailey’s chest and rounds my car, flinging open the passenger door to get in. My mouth hangs open, mostly because I’m making sure it still works, but also because damn, I can’t believe she did that.

Rumbling vibrates in my belly and I turn to catch the first duo about to go at it behind us. Two of the older guys from town with hot rods they only bring out here to show off line up as a crowd gathers around. It’s a respect thing, one of those things people in this town do as this rite of passage moves from one generation to the next. Tommy drops my hood and moves to stand next to me. He chuckles at my side.

“You saw that slap, huh?” I say.

“Sure did.” He rubs his palms together, loving that his sister smacked me.

“Make you feel better?” I give him a sideways glance as two classic Fords fire up a few hundred feet away and peel down the dark strip of roadway.

“Only for a second,” Tommy says with a hardened stare. His eyes are like glass, cold and piercing.

“Well, don’t worry. It worked,” I say, rubbing my face one final time before slipping my hands into my lucky gloves. My thumb pokes out on the right one and Tommy laughs at it as he hands me my keys.

“When are you going to spend some of your gambling winnings on a new pair of gloves?” he jokes.

I shake my head.

“Nope, these stay. Superstitious bastard that I am. And it isn’t gambling.”

“No?”

“That would mean there’s a chance I lose. And there’s no way in hell.” I don’t bother meeting his gaze again. I don’t want him to chip away at my swagger.

I get in the car and do my best to forget about the citrus-scented girl sitting next to me. I focus on my mirrors, my flexing forearm as I reach for the gear shift, the trip of the knob under my hand. I flex my fingers and feel the stretch of the glove, the way it crackles where it’s most worn as I squeeze then stretch.

“You do this every race?”

I stare at the numbers imprinted on the metal knob and imagine myself shifting from second to third to fourth, then . . .

“Sorry,” she whispers.

My eyes close. This is impossible.

“It’s fine. Please try to not talk. I’m in my head.” I’m in my head more than I should be.

“Zipped. Got it,” she says.

I’m a sucker because I know she’ll do it if I look, so I give in to a quick glance as she runs her pinched fingers along the line of her lips and fakes a lock before tossing the invisible key out the passenger window.

“Great, now we’re going to have to go find that in the dark,” I joke. She smirks but waggles a finger, reminding me that she’s no longer talking.

My eyes roam back to my dash, but I caught enough of her bare knee to scorch the back of my mind with the temptation to look even more. I use it as a reward, only looking to my far right after I’ve gone through my mental checklist and adjusted my mirrors one last time. I swear Hannah has owned those shorts for years, but for whatever reason, the way her body fits in them now is entirely different. The fringe from the cut-off denim tickles against her upper thigh, rips exposing the pockets and a flash of her pink skin even higher up her leg—higher than any guy should ever see. She’s tall enough that her knees poke up in my bucket seats, which means there’s more of her bare leg to see, and my eyes make the trip up and over the hill of her knee then down her calf. She’s wearing a pair of Tommy’s old socks, the blue and yellow stripes bunched up where the length sticks out above the tops of her combat boots. She has a belly ring, and I indulge in looking for it while her focus is on the crowd outside our window. She’s wearing this thin white shirt that falls off one shoulder, but it’s cut short enough that when she lifts her arm, her midriff is exposed. All it takes is one small stretch and the silver stud she put in six months ago makes a quick appearance.

I look back at my wheel just before I sense her turning my way. My hands grip the wheel and run along the curves, feeling every ridge. The turn is going to be tough, especially if I hit the two-mile mark at the same time Alex does. I already decided that if it’s too tight I’ll give him the extra yards and take my turn after the mile marker, just to be safe. I know I can catch him.

The next set of cars is ready to sprint down the road, but nobody’s looking at them. Eyes have started to wander over to me. The sun has dipped below the line of mountains to the west, and the faint purple in the sky is quickly fading. The stars out here are spectacular. I’m tempted to say that to Hannah, but she knows. She grew up out here too, and she’s on this road every night I am. It’s just that we never sit next to each other.

My attention turns to Tommy as he pats the hood and moves toward my window. I lower it and lean close as he kneels to talk.

“Okay, he’s got the rules. The second mile marker and back. I don’t like this whole Tahoe thing, but I trust you can handle it.”

“Not even a worry,” I lie.

“All right. Well, we’re up next. And I put a hundred on us, so if you lose that’s two things you owe me.” He points at me, and I know he’s being both funny and serious.

“Start counting your winnings now,” I say, rolling up my window.

Hannah’s knees are locked tight, and tiny bumps cover her skin, lit up by the LED glow of my interior lights. She’s nervous, and I wish I could say something to calm her. But I’m in character now; I have a job to do, and easing her discomfort can’t be part of the description. Besides, she’s a big girl. She can handle this.

I pull my seat belt out from my chest and let it fall snug against my skin as Hannah does the same. We’ve both seen enough go wrong when people don’t wear them. I give the Supra gas and it sings under my feet. God, that sound is sweet.

Spectators peel away as I crawl from the side of the road to the pavement. The lights from the last two racers glow in the distance. They’ll be back in seconds. Nobody cares. Money flashes around me. I catch rolls of it exchanging hands in my periphery. I knew Vegas would bring in the money. I only hope the cops keep their unspoken promise and stay away tonight. We have a no-harm-no-foul agreement that’s never been uttered out loud but is understood, mostly because the chief’s son has been racing out here for years.

The cars in the race before ours hit their brakes several hundred feet away, and the one on the right smokes and fishtails from his inexperience. It takes a few minutes for the driver and his friends to get it to the side of the road and crack open the hood. While we wait, I glance over to my competitor, amused as he’s smooshed against his door in an effort to give his right side the room it needs to work. I lean forward a little more and wave to Lawrence, who gives me a thumbs up as he rocks back and forth to whatever music he’s pumping through his earbuds.

“What are you doing after this, sweetheart?” Alex shouts. His voice permeates my entire body. My eyes narrow on him after I see Hannah squeeze her legs together tight.

My hand reaches to the right, gripping the shaft with enough force that I may yank off the metal ball.

“Letting Dustin take me shopping with all his winnings,” she hollers back without pause.

Alex rolls his eyes and shakes with laughter I know is an act. He doesn’t like being disrespected like that. The one thing I know for certain from the short time we spent together in Vegas is that Alex has zero problems getting women to fall at his feet. That cologne of his must stop working past the state line.

She rolls up her window before Alex can think of a good comeback, and her eyes lock on the road ahead. She’s stoic, like me. Learned behavior from miles and miles of watching me do the same thing.

Atta girl.

Ava Cruz strides between our cars, her long nails dragging along the chrome and glass as she passes through and continues several feet until she’s far enough in front of us that she’s clear to see. Looking at her, you would never know she’s a mom of five and in her forties. Earl’s her father, and Ava’s been known to drag on this road a time or two. I’ve heard stories from Tommy’s dad about the hell she raised back in high school. She’s royalty on the Straights, and if it’s a race that matters, she still comes out to start it.

I nod at her through the windshield and tighten my grip before relaxing into my zone. For the next four minutes, nothing else matters. I breathe in the mix of warm desert air and cooled AC that’s trapped in here with me—with us.

No. I have to remember that I am here alone, even if I’m not.

Alex’s engine revs and I allow one last glance to my right. He’s locked in, and it seems he convinced Lawrence to chill out and sit still in the tight space next to him. My eyes scan along the dash and I will myself to forget the passenger in my car. I am all that matters. I breathe out, the air spilling slowly through my slightly parted lips. One blink. Two.

Ava holds her arms high in the air, the bright yellow scarf wrapped around her wrist as the tail flaps in the breeze above her. My hand caresses the knob of the shifter, my touch light and seductive. You can’t punch a car into driving past its limit; you have to coax it. And faster than the other guy.

I rev.

Alex revs.

The scent of burnt oil and toxic gas fills the air, permeating through the vents and filling my lungs with my secret serum. When I feel like this, I am unbeatable.

I count the sways of Ava’s hips. I’m too far away to see the smirk on her bright red lips, but I know it’s there. This is my home court advantage, and I know it’s the reason she’s here. Six sways and the yellow will fall. My muscle twitch is ready, the rhythm in my lungs as calm as an early morning lake prime for fishing. Nobody is here—no Tommy; no crowd. It’s just me and a yellow scarf that will drop in three . . . two . . .

My foot takes over and my hand follows. My limbs dance together, each knowing what to do independent of the other yet coming together when they should. The wheel feels good, ride smooth despite the roar hugging me through the leather seats. I don’t need to look to my right; I already see Alex’s lights. The desert dust catches everything, and it tells me all I need to know. I only have him by inches, but I have him.

The next series happens fast. The climb from third to fifth is effortless, and I push to sixth sooner than I should because I’m feeling it. The drag isn’t there, and I blow out a hard breath because I took a risk and it paid off.

“Come on, baby,” I mutter, glancing down then up over and over as my speed climbs over a hundred, one-oh-five, one-ten. Dust particles, insects, and the glimmer of desert brush lit by my headlights whir by and the light to my right dims. I have him by feet now. Not many, but I have him.

I lock my arms and hold the line, feeling the road, knowing the posts we’re blowing past by heart. The flip is coming, and it’ll come fast, but I think I’ve got the edge. I won’t need to give up my lead. Alex doesn’t deserve to feel comfortable.

The familiar stretch in my lips inches up and my breath steadies in and out of my nose. My chest barely moves. My muscles are locked, holding their position for thirty seconds, for twenty, for ten. My hand knows exactly where to go, gripping the shifter while my legs work the clutch, the brakes, the gas. The spin to double back happens so fast I barely remember going through it, the only proof I ever spun at all the stench of burnt rubber and the faint trail of smoke illuminated by the red of my taillights.

I don’t know where Alex is, but he’s close behind. His headlights light up the road to my left now, the specks on the pavement too bright. He’s too close. I lean forward ever so slightly, wanting to be ready for the unknown. The Tahoe’s coming up ahead. I don’t know whether it’s heading right at us or if it’s parked, but I know it’s there, and I know the lights are off. It’s going to be a matter of seeing it first and gaining the position. Only one of us will be able to pass. Whoever gets there last will have to slam the brakes.

My palm instinctively pounds the wheel, willing my baby to go faster. My jaw clenches as relaxation loses out to grit. I don’t like this, not knowing. I grip the shifter on a gut feeling, and the glow to my left gets brighter.

“No fuckin’ way,” I fume, my foot heavy on the pedal. My body rocks forward and back as my eyes scan the road, the mirrors, the road, my left, the road—the Tahoe. It’s just a hint of the bumper, a faint reflection that most people wouldn’t notice, but I see it. It’s there, and it’s directly in front of me. I’m either going to have to beat him outright or give up my position to get behind him and pass to the left.

If I do that, I lose. And I don’t lose. Not ever.

I inch closer to the line between us, my tires warning me of the action, the constant drumming of reflectors being ripped from the ground under my tread. I move in closer, sensing the nearness of my back tire to Alex’s front. He’s holding his position, and there’s time, but not a lot. My mind races through the calculations as I lean back and let feel take over. Tommy wasn’t completely wrong. This is a gamble. And this is the moment it all comes to a head. What I do and what Alex does, both independently and in response to one another, shatters into a dozen possible outcomes: he hits my tail and I spin out; he hits my tail and rolls into the desert; I hit the brakes and he sails by, which is not an option; or he chickens out and I beat him outright.

What kind of man are you, Offerman?

I commit to my choice before the next beat of my pulse. I veer left, and nothing about my movement is subtle. It’s a decision, and it will either hold or not. The Tahoe is growing closer. I could slow down and try to push Alex out right now, but he’s too good. He’ll take advantage of that and swerve into me. I won’t have a choice. The only option is to hope he gives in. Even if he doesn’t, I’m not changing my plan.

We’re nearly touching, and the thought of jacking up my right side to prove how crazy I am flashes across my mind. Lots of details pass in a flash. The road so rough, vibrating my hands on the wheel and my thighs in my seat. My leg jack-knifed, knee locked as I press the pedal through the floor to take the lead. My engine roaring so loudly that the sound makes my ears feel full of cotton. Tires swerving and the stench of brakes working hard. The Tahoe in my headlights, then gone—in my taillights.

I roar the rest of the mile in a trance, blowing past the crowd honking horns as headlights light up the road where everything ends. I keep going, everything numb, the joy still behind held at bay. My mind has gone where it goes, a level that’s almost insanity but one that ensures I never lose. The rush is coming; it gurgles in the depths of my belly. The burn hits my chest.

Fists pound against the top of my steering wheel, and I press on the brakes as I let out the air in my lungs.

“Yes!” I shout, my hands letting go of the wheel as I fishtail. I grip the wheel to whip around and jerk to a stop. The smoke from my tires colors the road.

“Fuck yes!” I shout again, pounding the wheel a few more times as my eyes gloss over from adrenaline. The road ahead is a blur, the lights from the cars like one of the Impressionist paintings.

Tommy is running down the center of the street and I kick open my door, ready to join him in celebration when everything from the outside comes soaring in.

Hannah.

My head swivels to the side and I briefly catch Hannah’s form, her eyes forward, hands on her knees, gripping them tightly, blood drawn on her skin where her nails dug in. She’s rigid, and I don’t get to stare long enough to tell whether or not she’s breathing before I’m yanked the rest of the way out of my car and pounded in the face not once, but twice. My nose is bleeding and I stumble backward several steps as my head jerks to the side. The cut on my lip tastes like metal. What’s with the Judge kids hitting me in the face? I deserve this one, though. I know I do, and it’s the only reason I leave my hands out to my sides and stand my ground, preparing for more pummeling.

Tommy runs his sleeve across his nose while I do the same. Mine leaves behind a streak of crimson. His eyes are wide with fury, his hair is wild, and sweat soaks his T-shirt. Beads of sweat dot his forehead too. It’s warm out but not that warm. He’s hot from nerves and anger.

“Fucking careless! You could have killed her!” His voice curdles with anger.

He’s right. I could have.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, more reality seeping in. What the hell was I thinking?

Tommy turns and stalks away, his hands threaded behind his head and elbows splayed. He makes it a dozen feet before spinning and pointing at me again.

“You drop this thing you have, whatever it is. With my sister? That’s a hard no, Dustin. You understand? N. O. Hannah never gets in that car again.” He charges a few steps closer and our eyes lock. My mouth is heavy on the corners, the weight of my risk sinking me into the ground. I’ve never felt the sting of having something to lose. Tonight . . . I could have lost Hannah. Not my car, or my pride.

Hannah.

“I understand,” I say to my friend. My arms dangle limp at my sides and I hold the stare that is meant to imprint every word on my soul. Those words were threats and rules—they were law when it comes to his sister.

I didn’t only cross the line.

I obliterated the line.

“Alex’s cousin has your cash,” Tommy barks out. He pinches the bridge of his nose and glares down at the pavement between us. “Nice fucking race.”

He turns and marches away, back into the lights to the kegs and weed that he will no doubt get lost in both to forget me and to spite me. I’ll wait and drive his ass home. Sick as it is, I can’t help the tiny smile that itches the right side of my mouth. My chest puffs with a single laugh, part exhale of stress and part appreciation. As pissed as Tommy is, he’s still in my corner when it comes to my gift.

Nobody beats me. Nobody. And one day, nobody in the world will.

I kick at the road a few times and breathe out all that’s left in my chest before rolling my head to my right. Hannah’s eyes are waiting for me. She hasn’t moved much, but she watched all that go down. Hard not to, I suppose.

I climb back into the driver’s seat and drape my hand over the wheel, as if we’re out for a Sunday drive. My body is poised the exact opposite of how it was only minutes ago. All of that aggression has passed. It’s like sex, driving like I do. I’m satiated. And as wrong as it was to put her through that, it also felt right.

“Hannah—”

“That was the single most amazing feeling I have ever had,” she glees, cutting me off. “Ever.”

My grin returns, bigger this time, and I jerk with another short laugh.

“I almost got us killed.”

Turning slightly in her seat, her hands release their grip on her legs. Her eyes square with mine and her gaze locks on mine for several wordless and breathless seconds. Reaching to her side, she clicks the safety belt free and lets it coil away from her body before leaning over the center console and pressing both of her hands on my burning hot cheeks.

“You would never hurt me, Dustin Bridges. I know it. I trust you with my life—every . . . single . . . time.”

I barely have time to unravel the mystery of her words when her lashes sweep down and kiss her cheeks as she leans in and presses her cool pink lips to mine. It’s the faintest touch, a taste of heaven and all its angels that sends a chill down my body and through every inch of my veins. She pulls back slowly, our lips almost clinging to stay connected.

“I’ll walk back,” she says in a hushed tone, the smirk on her lips just enough to seal the mystery in place.

Hannah Judge is all grown up, and she thinks I’m all grown up too. I see a woman and she sees a man. And we are doing a lot of things we promised Tommy we wouldn’t do. I don’t think I can let the taboo stop here. I’m already buzzed on her kiss.