After the introductions are made and we've looked over the route we're to take, we get into position. “Move Bitch”byLudacrisis blaring from someone's car speaker nearby, pumping up the audience. I don't really care for the song, but it's doing the job.
One of the girls the other guy brought with him steps out in front of us and holds up a pair of lace panties in her hand as the flag. The panties are an indication that she'll fuck the winner.
Focusing my eyes on the road ahead, I blow out a breath.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins like it always does right before a race. The rush I feel here is the only thing I've been living for, for the past few years. Even my palms get clammy with anticipation as I grip the wheel of my Subaru STI WR1, but I'm not nervous. Just ready.
When she drops her arm, we're off. I smoothly shift into first and easily take the lead along the straight and into the first left turn. He gains on the second turn, but unfortunately for him, there's a dip in the road on the third left that always throws drivers off, and he's no different.
I've been driving these streets for four years now and know them like the back of my hand. They do change the area and courses to make it more even for anyone who wants to give it a go. But I'm familiar enough with this area to know which turns we'll struggle on, and I use that to my advantage by taking them slightly slower, which allows me to pull away from them quicker. I shift gears fast and get my hand back on the wheel.
I love the thrill I feel when I'm racing. So many things are unknown – whether I'll win or lose, whether something will happen that'll have me smashing my car, whether this will be the time that the cops turn up, whether my opponent will be a sore loser and end up starting shit afterward. And yet, despite all of that, I still feel in control. I'm in control of my silver beast, and it moves on my command.
This guy is fast and manages to gain some ground toward the end, making it a close race. But in the end, I win. I blow out a long, controlled breath as I slow down.
Reese is quick to come over and open my door once we've come to a stop, singing my praises while a crowd gathers around.
“What the fuck did I tell ya?!” Reese shouts happily at some guy next to him. “No one has beaten this guy inmonths.”
There's an exchange of money and I shove my winnings into my jacket pocket.
A lull in the conversations and chatter surrounding us has me glancing up to see the other driver walking over. Everyone is watching and waiting to see how he'll react. His face is hard and unreadable, so it's hard to tell.
“That was bad-ass,” he says,lifting his hand to shake mine.“If you're ever in Virginia, hit me up. We'll see how good you do when it's not your turf.” He hands me his number and walks off. Thankfully, he ended up being a good sport.It isn't always the case, unfortunately.
The girl who held her panties up, offering herself to the winner, strolls over once he leaves, looking me up and down suggestively. “I've heard good things about you,” she purrs, lifting a hand to my chest.
I try to get myself in the mood – which isn't usually a problem after winning a race. But even knowing she isn't wearing any panties under the skimpy clothing she has on doesn't get me in the mood. Nor does imagining taking her home and doing whatever I want with herandnot having to worry about her hanging around tomorrow because she'll be leaving with her crew. I'm just not feeling it, and I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's just that fucking Brandy left a bad taste in my mouth.
I take her hand from my chest and gently lower it. “As much fun as I'm sure it would be, I'll have to decline the offer tonight. Maybe my buddy Reese here will take care of you.” I gesture to Reese, standing next to us, who's in the middle of a conversation with one of the other organizers.
Her eyebrows rise before scrunching together as if she can't believe I'm actually turning her down. She looks put-out for about five seconds before her eyes land on Reese, and then she steps closer to him, draping an arm over his shoulder. Reese is a good-looking guy who likes to show off the money he has by dressing fancier than the rest of us and never works hard to get a girl.
He abruptly stops whatever he's saying and looks down at her, a grin lifting the side of his mouth. “Hey, gorgeous.” His eyes swing to me in question, but I lift my hand in salute, giving him the go-ahead to take her if he wants before turning around to leave. “You're not hanging around for drinks?” he calls out to me. “I've got some new blow you can try.”
“Nah, not this time,” I answer over my shoulder, and then continue on, getting back into my car to leave before the next race starts. I'm not feeling like hanging around any longer.
I drive along the streets back toward my shit-hole apartment, watching aimlessly as the buildings pass by and fade away into the rearview. It's pretty normal for there to be a low after all the adrenaline of the race, but usually, I'll have a distraction or two to ward it off for a while. I don't know what's up with me tonight, but I didn't even feel like one of the usual activities to take my mind off of things. Instead, there's a mixture of emptiness and restlessness that's starting to take over and consume me.
Pulling up outside the liquor store a couple of blocks from my place, I step out of my car and lock it before walking in. Wade, the guy behind the counter, gives me a head nod as I pass by and then returns to his magazine. He's seen me here enough times that we're on a first-name basis.
I grab a bottle of bourbon and then head toward the back where the fridges are that hold the beer, and then grab a case of Budweiser. Movement in my peripheral has me turning to the right, where my sights land on a woman inspecting a bottle of Prosecco before she puts it back and chooses another to look at.
There's nothing overly flashy about the way she looks. She's dressed in scrubs which tells me she's probably a nurse, and her long dark hair is just up in a high ponytail with no effort put into it. But she still stands out to me. She looks nothing like the girls who hang around at the races, who seem to wear less and less but add more and more makeup each time.
This woman's mascara is slightly smudged under each eye and she looks tired like she just came off of a long shift. It is past one a.m, so it's understandable. Even still, she's, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Trailing my eyes further down her body, I can tell by the curve of her ass, even through her scrubs, that it's most likely spectacular. I'm an ass man.
I watch as she chooses a bottle and then starts walking in my direction. Big chocolate-brown eyes, almost as dark as her hair, float my way, and she offers a genuine smile as she passes me by, nothing else. It's not as if girls fall at my feet every time they see me, but I guess I'm used to the girls at the races throwing themselves at me.
I realize that I'm still holding the fridge door open, so I quickly close it, then I turn to watch her walk away. For the few seconds that I was observing her pick out a bottle, those empty, restless feelings that have been plaguing me all day faded into the background, and the sudden urge to talk to her hits me. I didn't feel like the girls from the race, but I wouldn't mind spending some time withher.
I think of an excuse to interact with her, pull out a twenty from the stack in my pocket and quickly catch up.
Walking up behind her, I tap on her shoulder. “Excuse me.” She turns around, a questioning look resting on her face. “I think you dropped this.”
Frowning down at the twenty-dollar bill in my hand, she shakes her head. “No. I don't think so. I didn't bring cash. At least, I don't think.” She feels in her pockets for some reason. “No. It's not mine.” Then she graces me with a beautiful, albeit tired, smile before adding, “I guess it's your lucky day. You get to keep it.” And then she turns around and continues on.
Well, shit. That didn't exactly turn out how I thought it would. I don't knowwhatI expected to happen, to be honest. But her voice was as soft and sweet as I imagined it to be.
