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Loaded question. “She’s mine. ”
“Nice,” he says again. “Have you ever raced her?”
I shake my head. It feels strange to talk to guys. I’m the girl who hangs on the periphery. The other girls who attend the most expensive private school in the state don’t want to discuss cars, and most guys get intimidated when I know more about their car than they do. When it comes to any other type of conversation, my tongue often grows paralyzed.
“Would you like to race?” the guy asks.
Our gas nozzles clink off at the same exact time and my heart flutters in my chest with a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline. I’m not sure if I want to faint or laugh. “Where?”
He inclines his head away from the safety of the freeway and down the four-lane road—deeper into the south end. I’ve heard rumors of illegal drag races, but I thought they were just that—rumors. Stuff like that only happens in movies. “Are you for real?”
“It doesn’t get any more real than where I’d be taking you. Stick with us and we’ll help you get a nice race. ”
I have four brothers, and one is the type that mothers warn their daughters against. In other words, I’m not that naive, but to be honest, his proposal intrigues me. But I’m also sure this is how horror movies begin.
Or the best action flicks on the face of the planet.
I lift the nozzle, place it back on the pump and scan the guy’s car out of the corner of my eye. A University of Louisville student parking tag hangs on the rearview mirror along with a maroon-and-gold tassel. Only my school has those god-awful colors.
But to be safe. . . “Where did you go to high school?” I ask.
“Worthington Private,” he says with the arrogance most guys from my school use when saying the word private.
“I go there. ” And I don’t bother hiding my grin.
Neither do they. The car owner continues to be the spokesman for his duo. “What year are you?”
“A junior. ”
“We graduated last year. ”
“Cool,” I say. Very cool. My brother would be a year behind him, but West has made it his business for people to love him. “Do you know West Young?”
“Yeah. ” He brightens. I’ve seen that look before with guys as they talk to other girls at school. ’Vette boy thinks he’s so close to scoring. It’s hysterical that he has that expression with me. “He’s a hell of a guy. Do you two party together?”
I laugh and I can’t stop myself. “No. He’s my brother. ”
Their smiles melt quicker than a snow cone on a summer’s afternoon. “You’re his baby sister?”
“I prefer to be called Rachel. And you are?”
He runs a hand over his face. “Going to get my ass kicked by your brothers. I saw the last guy that pissed off West Young and I’m not interested in a nose job. Forget I said anything about racing, or that we even saw each other. ”
As he inches to his car, I spring over the small concrete barrier. I only meant to make sure the guy would keep his distance, not sprint for Alaska. “Wait. I want to race. ”
“Your brothers don’t play around when it comes to you, and aren’t you supposed to be sickly or something?”
Stupid, stupid brothers and stupid, stupid rumors and stupid, stupid hospital visits when I stupid, stupidly was so panicked my freshman year I had to stay overnight twice. “Obviously the whole sick thing is wrong and if you don’t take me to the drag race, I’ll tell West about tonight. ” No, I won’t, but I’ll try bluffing.
Owner Guy looks over at his friend hovering near the passenger door. His friend shrugs. “I bet she’ll keep her mouth shut. ”
“I will,” I blurt. “Keep my mouth shut. ”
Owner Guy curses under his breath. “One race. ”
Chapter 5
Isaiah
