“Why thank you.”
Seriously? My face falls, and I throw daggers at him, but he quickly drops the act.
“I don’t know why I just said that. I meant to say…you make me uncomfortable—okay, that also came out wrong.” He steps from one foot to the other..
“Are you still drunk?” I ask, eyeing him. He looks like he’s about to puke.
“It’s quite possible. Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” The one where he caught me trying to hijack his ride before the stupid alarm went off? “I may have had too much to drink last night. I never should have, um…tackled you.” His brow curves up when I accidently allow my disappointment in his comment to show.
“Yeah, who tackles a woman?”
“Don’t say it.”
“Say what?” Man, he’s confusing. And weird. And too good looking for his own good.
“I swear, I’m not a creep.”
I cross my arms over my chest, tapping my right foot. “So, you don’t normally accuse people of trying to steal your car and tackle them? Or is that one of your moves you use to pick up women?”
His face loses some of its sun-kissed color, and I burst out laughing. “I’m just joking with you.”
He swipes his hand down his face. “Okay…phew. I seriously thought you saw me as a creep—”
“Oh, I never said I don’t still think that.” Back to horrified. This guy. “I’m joking. Geez. I didn’t know racecar drivers were so uptight.” I begin to chuckle at his unease, bringing my gaze back to the view before me. “Are there going to be any test races today?” My voice is etched with hope. God, I would love to feel the wind surge past me with each lap as the cars tear up the track. The magical whistling sound of speed as they zoom around at ungodly speeds.
“Actually no, you just missed it. My crew was just coming in as you showed. You can see me in action tomorrow. If you’re still gonna be here, that is.” His eyes silently question me. He wants to know my story. There’s no hiding the way the bright emerald color surrounding his pupils glimmers with interest.
I bring my attention back to the track. “We’ll see,” I reply. He won’t be satisfied with that answer, but I’m okay with that. The real answer is I have no idea if I’ll be here tomorrow. If I get word, I’m gone. “We should get back. Jackson probably has to get back to the center.”
Cash rocks on his heel. “Right. This way.” He puts out a hand, offering I go first as he guides us back up front. We’re silent as we walk through the long corridor, passing the garages. Engines roar to life. When we pass the simulators, I’m tempted to ask if we can check it out, but that opens up more questions and a part of me I don’t need him knowing about.
“Did you want to check it out?” he asks, his voice smooth, sending a wave of goosebumps down my arms.
“No,” I lie, my nose growing at the tall-tale. I jump when his hand brushes against my lower back, sending a shockwave of tingles down to my toes.
“Well, I gotta go in real quick and ask Jimmy how the sim-car is progressing on the aero-dynamics. You can wait here, or you can—”
“I’ll come,” I reply all too quickly, giving myself away. His Cheshire smile proves so.
“Good. Come on.” He allows me once again to go first, the rumbling sounds of heavy machinery becoming more intense as we enter. The moment we step inside the garage, my heart rate picks up, no longer able to hide my excitement. The entire room is filled with racecars. Fast, real-life racecars. I feel like I just stepped foot in the secret warehouse from Fast and Furious, Indy-style.
“S’up, Cash,” a skinny guy hunched over an engine pops his head up, addressing us.
“Jimmy, just checking in on the aerodynamic report. How we doing?”
Jimmy pulls back, grabbing a towel to wipe off the grease from his hands. He approaches us, and he and Cash exchange a knuckle handshake. “Stellar. We put her through the wind tunnel test. We’ve found some issues with the tail wing. The flow to the front of the wheel is reducing the air drag force, so we need to make the wing bypass the tire.”
Jimmy lost me at wind tunnel test, but Cash’s expression morphs into the educator, taking in all the information. “Great. Take a look at the front axles. It’s that or test the strain sensors. I bet that’ll help let up.”
There’s something super hot about a guy, a professional racecar driver, knowing his shit. I tug at my shirt, not realizing I’ve suddenly claimed Jimmy’s attention. “I’m sorry, how rude of me. We haven’t met.” He sticks out his hand, and I shake it, praying he doesn’t comment on my sweaty palms.
“Hi. Luna. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.” He clicks his tongue. “Any girlfriend of Cash’s is a friend of—”
“Oh, we’re not…” and “He’s not…” fumble off our tongues.
Jimmy waves us off. “Sure you’re not. I’ll just lie and say the heat in here is from the engines.” He winks at us and slaps Cash on the shoulder. “I’ll take a look at the beams and shoot you a call.” Then he walks back over to the cherry red car and disappears under its hood.
We don’t instantly move. I think the saying, cat’s got both our tongues is relatable right now. Attraction? Is that what’s causing the electronic vibe that’s buzzing between us? No, it has to be in my head. I’m obviously still concussed from the accident. Not thinking right. He’s not attracted to me. There’s no way. A famous racecar driver attracted to a drifter? Ha! It’s almost laughable. Borderline asinine!
“Hey, I don’t know what he’s—”
“There you two are. Luna, you about done with the tour? I really need to head back. Unless Cash wants to drive—”
“All good! I’m ready.” Stick around to let him finish letting me down gently? No thanks. We come from two different universes. That share a passion for racing. Women with money, families, and no criminal records are his type. Not me. I’m sparing us both the embarrassment. “Well…nice meeting you.” I wave and hurry past Jackson to get as far away from Cash Huntington as I can.
I need to find a race. Tonight.
“Dammit!” I grunt, slamming my phone on the bed. The private channels are too quiet tonight. No one’s buzzing about a race. Maybe it’s because I’m under an alias username. But I’m too scared to use my old one. What if someone’s looking for me? What if they are looking for me? They’re not. You left no trails behind. What if they got to people? Jade. I shake with worry, desperate to know if he’s okay. But without using my old username, there’s no chance people are going to let me in private chats. It took me years to gain access into some of these forums. I’m barely scratching the surface of underground sites with this new alias.
I throw my phone on the bed and fall onto the mattress, allowing the comfort of the thick comforter to sooth me. How did everything get so messed up? It’s always been messed up. Once upon a time, when I was a little girl, it wasn’t—a time when I was too young to truly understand my mother’s love wasn’t love, it was addiction. I was seven when she overdosed, and I was placed into the system. I was eight when I was finally placed with a family only to be spit right back out when they realized they weren’t up for a troubled kid. One after another. A father who got too touchy. A sibling who set my hair on fire while I slept. A mother who hit. The stories are all the same—all leading me back to centers until they could place me somewhere else. Luckily for them, I turned eighteen and wasn’t their problem anymore. I spent a year drifting from home to home, living on friend’s couches I’d met along the way. Spent a few months on the street. It wasn’t until I met Jade that I felt hope. He introduced me into the underground world of street racing and all the glory it could bring. Money that equated to a warm bed, food to eat, and prestige being behind the wheel. He taught me how to hijack a car. He taught me the ins and outs of a car. And by the time I tapped into my first race, I could have done it blindfolded. It was as if racing was my calling.
Every time I slid into the driver’s seat, it was like making love to the car. W
ith every move, twist, and turn, I held that steering wheel as if it were my baby, stroking it as the wheels choked through each sharp corner, caressing on the gas pedal as I stared at my competition in my rearview mirror. It was orgasmic.
In two and a half years, I’ve won every single race—except one, the one I lost to Jerad. I’d let my own cockiness get to me. I was on top. I wanted that race. But Jerad wanted it more. And he chose to play dirty in order to win it.
The warehouse race was to win my money back. Little did I know I was hijacking a car filled with heroin. I close my eyes, begging for this to all be a bad dream, to wake up in my shitty apartment and go about my normal day. As the hours pass with no notification of a race, I can’t help but sink into the nightmare of my reality. It doesn’t help that my mind keeps drifting to a certain racecar driver. I snuggle deep under the covers, resting the back of my head against the pillow.
Cash Huntington. Even his name is hot. But, god, does he know it. Cocky, weird, attractive. I still feel the burn of his palm on my lower back from earlier today. The way his voice hummed as he spoke, sending a jolt of electricity through my whole body. The mental picture of him in a racecar has me fidgeting in the bed, the comforter all of a sudden too warm.
He’s way out of my league. So far out of it, I can’t even use the phrase. I roll to my side, tucking my hands under my cheek. I yawn, trying to fight sleep, and grab my phone to search deeper into the dark web for leads. I need to get out of here. Another yawn breaks across my face. “Two seconds,” I tell myself as I allow my eyes to close. Exhaustion wins, and I fall asleep.
I shoot up in bed, sweat pouring down my face. My shirt is soaked. I throw the blankets off my feet. I was having a nightmare. The same one as yesterday.
Pop. Pop. Pop….
The life in his eyes fizzle out and he drops to the ground.
A knock on the door has me jumping up and searching the room for something to protect myself with when Jackson pops his head in. “Hey! Glad to see you’re still here. I’m heading out to Fontana if you wanted to catch a ride to the speedway.”
Still discombobulated, it takes a minute for his question to register. “Oh…um…yeah, sure. I’ll…uh, be out in a bit.” He nods and closes the door. No questions asked. Not that he’s not used to seeing kids in here all sweaty, with night terrors still etched across their sleep deprived faces. I stand frozen for another minute, trying to catch my bearings, then realize I fell asleep before getting a ping and quickly search for my phone. When I bring the screen to life, it’s blank. “Dammit.” Grabbing my backpack, I shove my phone in the front pocket and head toward the showers. My mood is dark, my nerves rattled. The longer I stay in one place, the more time it gives them to find me. If they’re looking for you. I don’t know if they are, but who wouldn’t want to collect on a bajillion dollars of drug money? I can’t imagine they’re sitting around agreeing to let the nice girl who stole their car and set their shipment on fire go. Not even the steaming hot water calms the chills racing down my arms. The sharpness of the man’s grip around my neck feels all too real. I swipe at the water pellets, the weight of my anxiety causing my chest to tighten.
I’ll fuck you until I split your cunt in half.
Detach your arms, then your legs…
I smash the faucet nozzle with my fist, shutting it off, and jump out. I hold my chest, struggling to get air into my lungs. “You’re fine. They won’t find you. Calm down.” I grab for my towel before anyone comes in and catches my erratic behavior. The last thing I need is for someone to tattle to Jackson that they found me acting like a freak and kick me out.
I hurry and quickly dry my hair, then slip on a clean pair of jeans and my Mötley Crüe V-neck shirt Jade gave me for my twentieth birthday. When I feel more put together, I slide out of the bathroom and spot Jackson waiting by the front. “There you are. Ready to hit the road?”
His carefree smile and giving eyes calm the nerves eating away at me and my anxiety slowly dissipates. I return his smile and step in line with him as we walk out into the brightness of the warm sun.
Cash
I’ve lost my mind. Or maybe just my wits. I stare at myself in the mirror. “Welp, good thing my impeccable good looks are still intact.” I swipe gel into my hair, maneuvering each strand to its rightful spot. And why are you doing your hair when you have to wear a helmet half the day? Deny. Deny. Deny.
She didn’t say she wasn’t going to be back. She didn’t say she was either. Not that it matters. She was a bit much for me. A spitfire. Those are hard to tame. I like my women compliant. Willing. Eyes of honey and defiance… “Pull it together. She tried to steal your damn car.” Why…I never got an answer to that. Maybe she doesn’t want to admit she was trying to sneak into my car to get a piece. Fat chance. She seems about as interested in you as—
“Who are you talking to?”
“Shit!” I grab at my junk and my blow dryer…as if I’m going to feign off an intruder with it while securing my most prized possession. “Jesus, Katie!” I snap at my neighbor. “How the hell did you get in here?”
“Uh…I have a key. I needed coffee. I was calling your name, but you didn’t answer.”
Because I was busy having a one-on-one with myself about a girl who should not be taking up as much headspace as she is. “Why the shyness all of a sudden? Not like I haven’t seen it before.” She gestures to my junk.
“For the record, I was really drunk. He tends to shy away when too much whiskey is involved.”
“They didn’t make up the saying ‘whiskey dick’ for nothing. Anywho…I’m stealing some coffee. I’ll get you back. Also, your milk is expired. And you really should get some real food in your fridge. That takeout is about to walk out of your fridge.” She waves me off and disappears back where she came from. I really need to get my key back from her. But then I remember the countless times she’s saved me when I’ve come home loaded and lost my key, or some crazy fan has taken it off my key ring thinking it will lead her to my place.
I get ready to head out to the speedway. Becks is going to have my ass for being late again…not that I’m ever on time. Something’s going on with him lately. He’s been extra moody. Only thing that makes men act like women are women. I get dressed, shoving my legs into my boxer briefs, tucking the big guy away for later, hoping I land at a bar snuggled up with a plush blonde.
The drive to the speedway is quick. I bring my baby up to a solid one hundred miles an hour as I fly down the expressway. The sun is a fireball in the sky. It’s gonna be a blazer today on that track. When I pull up, I scan the parking lot, spotting the regulars, but not seeing Jackson.
“Well…shit,” I grumble as I climb out. Not that I care. I don’t even like brunettes. Your bestie below did. “Shut it,” I scold my cock and my conscience. Tequila makes me like a lot of things. Like brunettes. I ignore the fact that I was sober yesterday when I was fighting him to stay down the entire time she was in my presence.
As soon as I walk through the entryway, I hear whistling. “Damn, Romeo, what’s with the fancy do?” Jimmy sticks his head out of the garage. “Beckett is on the rampage today. Better hope your good looks swoon him outta his crabbiness.” And he’s gone.
Beckett is always in a bad mood. And what’s the big deal if I—
“You late because you had your mom over to do your hair? Got a glamour photoshoot after this or something?” Becks gripes at me from down the hall, holding his clipboard. When I get closer, I notice the scowl on his face. “Car’s ready to go. Get changed.” He pivots and takes off toward the track.
My disappointment of not seeing her weighs heavily on my mind. Fuck, I should have asked more questions yesterday. Asked her out. Say what? Okay, maybe not asked her out, but gotten more out of her. All I know about her is her name. Luna. Mysterious like the moon. Mythical goddess. Luna, my favorite song by The Smashing—
“Hey.”
“Gah!” I squeal like a girl and jump three feet in the air. “Jesus Ch
rist!” I think I just pissed my fire suit briefs. I swing around to see her standing in the doorway of the garage in a pair of dark jeans ripped at the knees and a Mötley Crüe t-shirt making a nice display of her chest.
“What are you staring at?”
I am a creep.
“Nothing. I thought there was a fly on your shirt. What are you doing here?” Jesus, I know why she’s here. Pull it together. “I mean…hi, good morning…decided to show up?” What the fuck is wrong with me? “I have to go race now.” And re-educate myself on how to act in front of a woman. She doesn’t say another word, thankfully, and I walk away and into the locker room. I suit up, trying to replay that whole conversation in my head and the billion ways I would redo it. Not that it would matter since I can’t rewind time. Stepping into my race suit, my mind keeps going back to that shirt. I love Mötley Crüe. You love her rack. She at least has great taste in music. And a nice rack. “La-la-la!” I need to shut this down. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I think this chick has possessed me. Hopefully she’s gone when I come out and I can focus on the track and the updates Jimmy did in the wind tunnel… and nope…still there.
“Are you okay?” That’s a negative. Her voice is like the perfect melody. Whenever I hear her speak, it’s like a flute playing for my snake to get up and dance.
“Yep. Fantastic. Do you like The Smashing Pumpkins?” She stares at me, confused. Yep. Creep.
“Um…some of their stuff. Why?”
“Oh, just thought we should—never mind. I have to get on the track. My team is waiting for me.” I pick up the pace, needing to put distance between us. I’m not sure what she uses to bathe, but she smells good and it’s fucking with my head.
“Yeah, I was hoping to watch you…if that’s okay.” I forgot about our conversation yesterday. It surprised the fuck out of me that she was actually into racing. Maybe that’s why my nuts have been sucked up into my stomach since we met. It’s a rarity that chicks dig more than just the driver behind the wheel. But she seemed to know her shit. And that was seriously fucking sexy. “Unless you don’t want me to—”
Junkie: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World) Page 5
