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‘No. It’s your track day. You drive.’
‘Come on then.’ I tug him with me and throw a grin over my shoulder to Harry, tell myself to quit overthinking everything and being so oversensitive. ‘Thanks, Harry! She’s a beaut.’
‘You’d know; you take her out every time. Not that you’ve bought her yet!’
‘There’s always today.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ He laughs as he shakes his head and walks off into the stands.
I look back to the line-up and the adrenaline is already pumping fast through my veins. The physical appeal of the cars all the more profound for the power beneath their bonnets, just waiting to be unleashed. ‘Which one do you reckon wins on looks alone?’
I’m making conversation now, anything to put his strange mood behind us and get him involved.
‘The Aston.’
I’m almost surprised he’s answered me, and I smile, look at the vehicle in question. It’s deep turquoise and sexy as fuck. A sheer muscle car and so very him. ‘I might have guessed.’
And when I look back at him I see a spark in his eye, a spark that’s been lacking all morning, and I feel better already. ‘In that case, you get to drive that one...first at least...’
He meets my eye, a second’s hesitation, and then, ‘Okay.’
Better and better...
We walk up to the McLaren 720S, its colour a mystical blue that makes me want to smooth my hands all over it like I’m afflicted with some weird fetish, and I laugh over my own thoughts. ‘You ready for this?’
He smiles and shakes his head at me, much like one would when indulging a child, and I grin back at him, pull open the door as he does the same, and climb in.
The second I’m in the seat, buckled and looking at the empty track ahead, I take a breath, calm my pulse that’s working overtime.
‘Here we go...’ I flick him a look, start the engine and test the accelerator, let the engine roar and feel it vibrate through the car, through me. ‘Nothing beats that sound!’
I sneak another look at him and the excitement swells; the spark is well and truly there now. ‘Doesn’t she sound amazing?’
He nods. ‘She does.’
‘Hold on tight.’
He promptly grips the grab handle in the door.
‘I didn’t quite mean literally. Jesus, Valentine!’ I roll my eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you have a thing about women drivers?’
‘No. Not at all.’
I don’t believe him and his hand still gripping the grab handle proves it. The little girl in me, the one that was told she had no place under the bonnet, comes alive. Miffed. Underestimated.
Well, I’ll show him.
I know this track like the back of my hand. And I’ve been trained to drive it as well as the best. Every corner, the preparation it takes, the split-second shift in gear, when to brake, when to accelerate...
And I go for it, loving every second. The rush, the speed, the noise...
‘Okay, okay.’ He waves me down. ‘You’ve proved your point; you can ease off.’
I glance at him. ‘You sure about that?’
‘Yes!’ he rushes out. ‘In fact, I’d go as far as to say you’re a better driver than me.’
I laugh, high, giddy.
