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The guy in the white car beside me pulls himself up through the window of his car and sits on the edge. “Dude,” he says over the top of his car to Nate. “Fuck off. We’re racing.”
Nate ignores him and keeps his ferocious glare trained on me. “Get the fuck out of the car,” he demands again. “You’re not fucking racing this dickhead. He’ll run you off the track in two seconds.”
“What the hell do you care?” I seethe as Aaron comes running down onto the track.
“What the hell is going on down here?” he demands, looking between me, Nate, the woman, and the other driver. “When I schedule a fucking race, I expect to see one.”
“She’s not racing,” Nate tells him. “Over my dead fucking body.”
“Sorry man, but you know the rules better than anyone,” he says. “Once your tires are on the track, that’s it. You race. No matter what.”
“Fuck, man,” he growls, putting the fear of God in the scrawny guy’s eyes. “You let her do this? Look at her. Do you think she looks like a fucking racer? She’s going to get killed out there.”
Aaron shakes his head. “I’m sorry, man. It’s not my problem. She said she wanted to race and there was a spot. It’s not my job to filter through teenage girls’ emotions when their boyfriends piss them off. The race is going ahead. I don’t give a shit who’s driving, but that R8 will race.”
Nate groans and storms towards me before practically tearing the door off the frame. “Move the fuck over,” he demands.
“No fucking way. I can handle this. I got myself in this mess, I can get myself out of it.”
“Move, Tora.” The look in his eyes tells me that this is the last time he’s going to ask, next time, I’m not going to like what’s going to happen.
“What the hell is going on down here?” another voice says.
I look over to find Jackson on the track and look back at Nate to see him seething. “You put her up to this,” he accuses before racing forward. Jackson’s eyes briefly flick to mine before he winks and I see it for it is. A distraction.
I look over to the other driver. “You ready?” I murmur as Jackson yells at Nate, keeping him distracted, which honestly, with the fury pulsing through him, it’s not a hard task. It’s definitely a dangerous one though.
The other driver nods and settles back into his car. The woman with the handkerchief raises her hand and drops it a second later. I hit the gas as Jackson dives for Nate, hauling him off the track as I fly past him.
Holy shit. He’s going to kill me but the grin on my face makes it worth it and I can’t help but wonder what my dad would think of this. I mean, this takes ‘acting out’ to a whole new level.
A second into the race, it actually dawns on me what the hell I’m doing. The white car speeds past me and suddenly all thoughts of sticking it to Nate fly right from my mind. My adrenaline is pulsing through my body and despite how dangerous this is, there’s no way in hell I’m sitting back and losing.
I press down on the gas harder and push my R8 to its limits. I start gaining on the white car as my hands begin to sweat. This isn’t me but it feels so damn good.
The other guy hits the first corner and backs off, but I’ve watched Nate do this so many times. You don’t back off, you accelerate through the corner and hope to God you don’t spin out.
I hit the corner and do exactly what Nate would do. My back tires go wide and I pull hard against the steering wheel, trying my hardest to keep control. My heart races and I hold my breath the whole way around, but eventually, I somehow come out the other end unscathed.
I briefly wonder what’s going through Nate’s head right now watching me do this, but I couldn’t care less. He can go fuck himself.
Coming out of the corner, I manage to sit right behind the white car. As if he’s watching me, he presses down on the gas and I do the same.
The overwhelming need to prove myself rages through me. I want to win. I need to win and no matter what, I’m going to win.
We fly around the next two corners with me right on the guy’s tail. He’s starting to get nervous that he can’t shake me and I love it, no matter how dangerous that makes him. He can’t have a girl beat him on his first race. It would kill his chances before he even gets started.
I pull wide and hit the gas. My R8 creeps forward and just as the next corner comes, I’m toe to toe with him. I could probably look over and see him scowling at me, but I wouldn’t dare lose my concentration like that. I’m so out of my depth that a simple act like that would probably kill me.
