Page 4 of Austin

“I’m sorry.” I hold my hand up to my ear as if I couldn’t hear him and then drop it. “You don’t have a say in this. You want to continue to race here, you do as I say.”

I can see Beckett’s mouth open to argue just as Gregg walks onto the line with Julie by his side. Beckett looks at Gregg to see if what I’m saying holds ground. Gregg gives a nod, which causes Beckett to let out a series of expletives.

“You’re not really gonna let him do this, are you?” the girl yells to Beckett.

And, just like the douche I know he is, he throws up his hands and hops into his car. Her jaw drops as her milky complexion turns red in a nanosecond.

“Guess your knight in shining armor isn’t going to help you tonight. Now, get in. Let me show you what a real man can do.” I guide her to the front seat.

I’m not a total asshole. If she put up a fight, I would stop. I just wanted to get under Beckett’s skin. But there’s something about the way she opens the door with determination and falls into the passenger seat of my car that makes me wonder if she’s secretly thirsty for this race.

“You might want to buckle up for this.” I slam the door once she’s secure.

After I enter on my side and close the door, I take my helmet off and quickly put my hat and hood back over my head. I hold the helmet out to her, trying to ignore the way she smells like a sweet peach. “Put this on.”

She looks at it like I just handed her a tablet of acid. “So, now, you care about my safety?”

“Put it on and shut up.” I drop the car into reverse and back up to the line. “Oh, and I’d hold on if I were you.” After putting the car into neutral, I rev the engine, causing the metal to shake, sending vibrations up my spine.

She lets out a little squeak as she slides the helmet on. I try to ignore how adorable it sounds and get back in the zone.

I briefly close my eyes, clearing my mind and preparing for the race. With my hands tightly gripping the shifter, my right foot hovers over the brakes while the other presses the clutch.

Seconds tick away as Kyle walks to his place in front of us.

After nodding to each of us, his hand rises, and it’s on. The light shines bright, and I slam on the gas.

My tires spin for only a second before I speed down the quarter mile to where another flashlight lies on the ground. My body becomes dense in my seat. My heart and lungs feel light as air when the speedometer hits a hundred twenty miles per hour. It’s a blast of euphoria as I cross the finish line—one I can only assume is synonymous with taking a hit of your favorite drug.

Eleven seconds are all it takes for me to win the race with not just one, but two car lengths ahead of him. Even with his girl as added weight in my vehicle.

There’s a thumping sound as I slow the car down. It takes a second too long to realize it’s the girl’s helmet as it hits the passenger window. I’m glad as hell I made her put that thing on.

I fist-pump my hand as I scream out my release, only to hear the sirens in a distance.

“What’s that?” Beckett’s girl asks.

I drop the car back in gear. “That’s our cue to leave.”

“Don’t you dare—” she starts to argue, but there’s no time.

I take the back road around the warehouse and onto the side streets that lead away from the highway, where the police would be coming in. My foot is lead on the gas as I move us through the Lower Bottoms neighborhood in Oakland.

“Stop the car!” she shouts as she grasps the oh shit handle above her window.

I run through a red light. “No can do, sweetheart. This is a do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars moment.”

“Great, so I’m gonna die at the hands of a guy who makes Monopoly references.”

A speed camera flashes, causing her head to swivel to the right so fast that her dark hair whips from the base of the helmet. “You just got caught. They’ll run your plates off that picture and see the car is registered to … who the hell are you?”

“Dirk Diggler,” I state calmly as I whip the Camaro so hard to the right that her tires burn on the pavement.

She lets out a sound of disgust. “You registered your car in the name of the porn star from Boogie Nights?”

I pat the steering wheel of my baby. “This beauty is void of any identifying marks. Notice the DMV big number five sticker in the back window. That stops me from getting pulled over for no plates. I can do whatever I want, wherever I want, and no one will know who did it.”

Something about my comment must really tick her off because she starts kicking her feet, banging them on the dash, while her fists pound the roof. She’s screaming as loud as she can, which is really fucking loud. “Stop the car. Stop. The. Car! Let me out!”