K.C. sauntered over to me as I leaned back on the hood of my car. “Hi, ya.”
Tate followed behind with….fucking Ben Jamison. I let out a low sigh and averted my eyes to K.C.
“Hi, yourself.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, but I had no idea why.
K.C. and I were still keeping up the pretense of a relationship, but while she wanted to piss off Liam, I didn’t know what I was getting out of it.
“Hey, man.” Ben nodded at me.
I wanted to make him bleed from his eyes.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I asked and turned my attention back to the track before he had a chance to answer.
A thick silence filled the air, and my jaw twitched with a pent up smile.
You could feel the tension like a blister ready to pop, and I was enjoying the hell out of it.
I didn’t care if K.C. was comfortable, and I didn’t want Ben or Tate at ease, either.
In no universe would I be okay with her seeing him.
Or anyone, probably.
But K.C. decided to push.
“And Jared, this is Tatum Brandt,” she introduced us sarcastically. “Say ‘hi.’”
Yeah, we’ve met.
I slid my arm down around K.C.’s waist—because I’m a dick—and I let my eyes slide over to Tate slowly as if I couldn’t care less.
The air coming out of my nose heated up, and I couldn’t do anything but tip my chin at her and look away.
She was probably relieved that I could be that civil, but it was all an act. My insides were hot, and I wanted to kiss something and hit everything at the same time.
Ben thinking that he actually had a shot with her pissed me off.
And her outfit really pissed me off.
She was wearing a short, black school-girl skirt with a thin, white shirt—probably a tank top—and a gray jacket over it.
“And we’re ready!” Zack called out from the track, and I looked over to him as everyone started clearing the dirt road where Liam and Madoc would race.
Tate took a few steps towards the track, and I immediately took my arm off of K.C. and reached in my pocket for the fossil necklace. It wasn’t something I carried on me regularly, only on Sundays and for races.
“Ready?” some girl called out from the track.
The crowd cheered wildly as engines revved. Most of them probably had no idea that this was a shit race.
Madoc’s GTO against Liam’s Camaro?
Not even close.
Camaros could get the job done, but Liam was cluelss when it came to modifying his ride. Madoc had this.
“Set?” The girl yelled, but my eyes were glued to Tate who had turned to watch the take-off.
“Go!”
Cheers erupted, and everyone’s bodies blocked my view of the track as I stayed back against my car. It didn’t matter. I knew who was going to win, and there was only one person I wanted to watch right now.
Tate stood with her back to me, and for once, I didn’t have to pry my eyes away. I wasn’t guilty about wanting her anymore, and I was going to look.
She stood on her toes, trying to peer over the other spectators’ heads. The muscles in her legs flexed, and I wanted my hands on her.
The smooth contours of her skin and the memory of how, just two nights ago, those legs were wrapped around me, made me want to get her into the same position on the hood of my car.
I realized a long time ago that Tate wasn’t fourteen anymore. I mean, even at that age, she was beautiful, but we’d both just been kids.
The little desires and urges that used to sneak into my head had turned into full blown fantasies.
And now, we were old enough to entertain them.
“Shit!” K.C. cursed a few feet in front of me. “I spilled beer.”
Tate twisted around to see what happened, and the whole world stopped when she found my eyes instead.
That’s how she was different from other girls.
I liked it when she looked at me.
Taking off her jacket, she tossed it to K.C., who I still hadn’t looked at. I guess she messed up her shirt and needed something to cover it.
And holy f**k.
I swallowed hard.
Tate’s white tank top was thin, tight, and I could see her ni**les hardening against the night air.
I looked to Ben who had done a double-take. He was trying not to look at her, but it was hard.
Goddammit. I clenched my teeth.
The idea of ripping over there and hauling her all of the way home was tempting.
And if he kept f**king staring at her like that, I was going to dig out his teeth with a spoon.
They both turned back to the race, and K.C. put on Tate’s jacket.
Madoc and Liam finally rounded the fourth corner, but Madoc had a heavy gain. Crossing the finish line, the crowd clapped and waved their hands in the air, clearly pleased with their bet and the show.
Ben smiled down at Tate, who laughed at the rush of air brought on by the cars. She hated Madoc, so I assumed she was just fascinated with the scene rather than his winning.
They laughed and talked, looking completely comfortable with each other.
Really?
Tate didn’t want comfortable. She wanted to get pushed. She wanted someone’s hands and mouth on her, driving her insane. She wanted to be made love to in the rain.
And right now, she was trying to be someone she wasn’t.
Grabbing K.C. at the waist, I pulled her into me, and her eyes widened in surprise.
“For Liam, remember?” I whispered, not doing this for her in the least.
Trying to make Tate jealous was idiotic, but I wanted to see if she’d react. She’d certainly gotten good at that during the past month.
K.C. looked nervously to Tate, and I was afraid she was overthinking. Playing around in front of Liam was fine, but she probably had a huge problem doing anything in plain sight of Tate.
After a few moments, though, she gave in and wrapped her arms around my neck. I took the invite and dipped down to kiss under her jaw.
I buried my face in her neck, trailing soft, slow kisses up to her ear, my brain telling my body what to do.
Honestly, I’d rather be kissing Madman, but I could feel Tate’s eyes on me.
Stop, I told myself. If Tate sees you pawing her friend, she won’t let you touch her.
“Everyone clear the road!” I heard Zack shout, and I snapped my head up, too eagerly. “Trent and Roman, get your asses on the starting line.”
I ran my hand down my face.
Fuckin’ finally.
Walking around and climbing into my car, I started the engine, feeling the thunder under my body. I lived for two things: tormenting Tate and tearing up the track.
Even though everything I made at the Loop went to my father, I still loved racing. My foot twitched at the feel of the pedal, and my hands had mastered the maneuvers of my car perfectly. I could work the wheel and get the machine to steer, slide, and turn the exact way I needed it to.
It was two minutes, once a week, when I loved my life.
Still Swingin’ by Papa Roach screamed from my speakers as I pulled my Boss 302 onto the track. My black Mustang was charged, fast, and completely me. It was the only thing my mother let me buy with the money from my grandfather’s house. It was paid for and my only outlet when I needed to get away from people and get lost.
Derek Roman, a freshman in college and former classmate, made it back to town once in a while to race. He pulled his 2002 Trans Am up next to mine, and my fingers tightened on the wheel.
He carried some weight. Some people bet against me tonight in favor of him. Kind of insulting, but it served my needs. The smaller the odds, the bigger the payoff.
“All right!” Zack called out, his voice deep and commanding. “Clear the track for the main event of the evening.”
Chapter 20
With the college kids back at school, we had fewer races happening now than during the summer. Madoc’s and mine were the only ones tonight.
Reaching into the pocket of my jeans, I dug out the fossil necklace and hung it around my rearview mirror. I caught sight of Tate watching me through the rearview mirror, and my throat got thick. I didn’t know if she could see, but I definitely didn’t want her to. The necklace, her mother’s, would be hard to explain.
Devon Peterson, one of the few hot girls I wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, sauntered up in front of our cars in her short school-girl skirt and spaghetti strap shirt. She was a year behind me in school and had made it very obvious that she was available if I was interested.
I wasn’t.
She was actually down to earth and nice, but she was nice to everybody. That was the problem. Sometimes you just had to know when a good time wasn’t worth the risk.
“Ready?” she called out, her eyes sparkling at me.
Come on. Come on. My left knee bobbed while holding in the clutch.
No girls, no parents…just me, running from all of them.
“Set?”
Roman and I revved our engines.
“Go!”
My legs jerked into action, one easing off of the clutch, and the other hitting the gas with full force. The tires spun for a brief second before Roman and I took off down the track. My stomach dropped, and I smiled at the feeling.
I loved this shit.
Gripping the steering wheel, I pounded in the clutch again as I shifted into second and then straight into third. I’d often forget and try to skip gears the way I did when I wasn’t racing, but you can’t do that on a track. My mother got aggravated last year when she bought a new car—a manual—and I taught her how to drive it.
“What do you mean, I can skip gears? Jared, they wouldn’t put them there unless you’re supposed to use them.”
I just shook my head at her, realizing it wasn’t worth the aggravation.
The Boss jerked again when I slammed down into fourth, and I let the music and the car tear me up into a thousand pieces and scatter me to the wind. I couldn’t think or worry about anything, even if I wanted to.
This is where I lived. The Boss wouldn’t fight me. I owned it, inside and out.
Roman and I charged head to head, but the first turn was coming up. I had a slight gain, but he wasn’t slowing down.
Fucking prick.
Someday I was going to have to give this guy the beating he deserved. We wouldn’t be able to make the goddamn turn together, and he knew it. One of us would have to slow down, and it wasn’t going to be him.
And he knew that I knew that.
I strangled the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes, pulling behind him and onto the inside lane. Right on his ass, I breathed hard and shook my head, trying to keep my lead foot from ramming his car.
Pulling the wheel to the left, I rounded the first turn, kicking up dust and feeling the car’s rear slide as my heart pounded in my throat.
But Roman’s car slid more.
Shifting back into second and hitting the gas, I turned up Godsmack’s I Stand Alone and f**king took off.
Each second, my blood vibrated through my veins stronger, and I didn’t care whether I won or lost. Nothing could ruin this for me, and nothing could make it better.
Through each turn, Derek Roman cut me off and made me pull behind, or I spun out more than I wanted. Either way, I wasn’t gaining a lead, because the ass**le would rather play bumper cars than race.
Asshole. I was breathing a thousand breaths a minute, not because I was nervous, but because I was f**king pissed.
He’s rather see our cars totaled than see me win.
Laying on the gas, I gripped the wheel as Roman and I charged ahead. The crowd flew past the car, and my stomach fluttered as we finally crossed the finish line.
I let out a breath and gritted my teeth, slowing the car. I wasn’t sure if I’d lost, but I wasn’t certain I’d won, either.
And at this point, I really didn’t care.
I wanted to hit something, and Roman was it.
Bolting out of the car, my arms were as rigid as steel bars as I rounded the car and met him halfway.
“You’re an ass**le,” I ground out.
