“Let her drive, she could take you for a ride.” This from my sister, who now leaned against the car in much the same fashion as the driver had been. She grabbed his attention for a moment. I needed that moment to collect myself, to remember where I was and who I was.
“Nobody drives but me.” I mock pouted at the arrogance in his voice and continued my appreciative dance around the car. He gave a lazy chase.
“Looks like she needs to breathe.” I gestured at the car. “Nobody will race you?”
He gave an emphatic roll of his eyes. “Nobody has the balls to run me from a go down the interstate. Too many wannabe Street Kings around here.”
“What if I could find you a race?” I inspected my cuticles by moonlight.
“Not her brother, man, that ’Vette is sick.” From the same kid who’d almost been burned by my sister’s hotness.
“Nah, he keeps his rubber at the track,” Breanna shot back.
“What would I be running?”
“A restored sixty-five Chevy truck.” I shrugged sleepily. The truck was far heavier. He was thinking he had it by several thousand pounds.
“Original steel and chassis?”
“Yup,” Breanna interjected, with more knowledge of the truck than I had. Hell, she’d probably helped him turn wrenches on it. “A rebuilt 405 with a manual four
speed transmission.”
“If I win, you’ll let me take you for a ride?” His gaze slid up and down the length of my body. I swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat.
“If we win, you fork over five hundred?” My voice was stronger than it should have been.
“Easy.” His grin was too close to a leer for my taste.
I shouldn’t compare him to Caleb, he was just a kid. A kid in need of a good dose of humble pie, but a kid nonetheless. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t still in high school.
I was saved by the popping rumble of a familiar old truck. Jordan didn’t pull all the way into the broken pavement, instead stopped at the end of the road and revved the engine. It was adrenaline and speed all wrapped up in an antique and chrome package.
“He street races that?” The kid laughed incredulously.
I bit off the sarcastic reply that almost slipped from my lips. I had my role in this hustle. So did Breanna, she didn’t hold back. “He’ll drag your ass.”
“Sure.” He continued to chuckle. “I’m already picking out the spot I’m going to park with your girl, here.”
How I managed to keep my blood pressure to a normal level was a miracle. It took everything I had not to make a break for it and run for Jordan’s truck. Not that I was scared, not anymore. I wanted to go to Jordan, a simple overwhelming desire to be near him. I wasn’t so sure what I should do with that feeling.
Breanna snorted and signaled Isaac. A ricer engine fired up, followed by a chorus of other engines, some more annoying and insect-like. None of them rivaled the sound of Jordan’s old truck.
We were suddenly the biggest show in town. Mostly, because on the other side of the Wash Out everyone knew who drove that old truck at the end of the road.
It wasn’t everyday a genuine Street King raced teenagers from The Wash Out.
“You want someone to hold the cash?” Mr. Popped Collar said before climbing into his Mach 1. I did, I’d already spotted who I wanted to when I walked up. A girl I recognized, somehow familiar to me. She’d been to her fair share of street races. I could tell from the scuffed-up Chuck Taylors and the way the corners of her lips turned up when Jordan pulled up at the end of the road. Oh, she knew.
“Her.” I pointed to that familiar girl. If we never saw the money again, I was okay with a kid like that walking away with it.
Nah, she wasn’t fooled, but the boys weren’t paying attention. In the moonlight, the reddish hue of curls hanging around her face shimmered. The corner of her mouth turned up as she walked forward. She knew exactly who I was, who Breanna was…who Jordan was.
She wrapped her hand around the roll of bills Mr. Popped Collar slapped into it. No doubt his monthly allowance.
With a nod, I jogged toward Jordan’s truck. Breanna headed the opposite direction toward Isaac. The passenger door popped open before I got there, so I climbed right in.
Jordan leaned back into the driver’s seat. “The ‘Stang?”
“Yeah.” I shut the door behind me. “And you better smoke his ass, otherwise I gotta let him take me for a ride.”
Even in the dim light of his dash lights, I could see Jordan’s eyes narrow to dark slits. The air in the cab grew thick as the jealous anger rolled off him. My pulse sped up, his jealousy was hot. This wasn’t a race he was going to lose.
Isaac’s little Honda could barely be heard over the rumble of Jordan’s truck as he pulled up alongside. “From the flashing light on the highway?” Isaac shouted out his window. “Quarter mile?”
Jordan only angled his head at Vic’s little brother. “We’ll go clear the way.” Isaac’s enthusiasm was
written all over his face. Even my sister sat smugly in the passenger seat.
A row of townies pulled out before Isaac, followed by Isaac and a horde of familiar vehicles. The Mustang was last, he slowed at our driver’s side with his window down.
“Roll out east.” Jordan easily took over the situation. “We’ll start at the caution light where Jefferson highway crosses. I’ll take left and my girl will count it off. The next intersection is exactly a quarter mile. First one there…wins.”
From the passenger seat, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Jordan. Riding out with him, without my brother, without our crew, was never something we’d done before. He’d always kept me at a distance, I was his best friend’s little sister. Now, I was riding shotgun.
I adjusted the seatbelt, I had no interest in a ride in that Mustang. There was no one else I would want to
ride with than the man behind the wheel of the truck where I sat.
“Your girl?” I snickered.
“As far as he knows, yes,” he growled.