by Emilia Finn
“Protect her fucking head and wait until we stop crashing.”
“You got it.” He shakes his head. “Fuckin’ Kincaid genes.” He looks to Maddi with a scowl. “When we have kids, if he’s a boy, we’ll discuss this shit. If she’s a she, we’re locking her up for life.”
“Yeah, because that’s not archaic and sexist,” Em scowls. “Why’s Chuck touching my engine?”
“Making sure it’s not gonna crap out on you when you need it most.” Tucker – or Chuck, his names are fluid – answers with his face buried under the hood. “I won’t let it blow up while you’re trying to use it.”
“And you’re not adding restrictors, right?” Em watches her quasi-mechanic with a lifted brow. “Because that’s not something you would do to your best friend’s baby sister.”
“It’s something I would do,” he chuckles. “You only need fifty horses, not four hundred. So come Monday, I’m probably gonna leash some of them. But not tonight. On the tracks, being too slow is sometimes more dangerous than being too fast.” He stands straight again, and rests his hand on the top of the hood. “You gotta be able to keep up, otherwise you might do more damage.” And then he grins. “No restrictors today. But bring it back to me next week, and I’ll get it sorted.”
“Not likely.” Em dismisses him with a simple shifting of her body – he gets her back, and I get her front. “Protect my head and leave yours vulnerable to damage, and I’m gonna murder you.”
“Don’t crash, and no one has to get murdered.” Bry claps Em’s shoulder so hard that she stumbles forward and reaches out for me to catch her.
It’s crazy that no one thinks about it. No one even notices how her fingers twine with mine – not Bry or Maddi, not Chuck, and worst of all, not even Em herself. And that might be the most annoying thing of all.
“You have to work through the heats,” Bry continues. “We’ll start you slow.”
“You only get three laps,” Tuck inserts. “Three races, then your engine is most of the way fried, and you get a choice between replacing it, or retiring your car and being happy that you can tick this off your bucket list.”
“It’s the second option,” Bry grumbles. “This is a bucket list thing. Win or lose, after tonight, this car becomes a town zip-about and never exceeds the speed limit again, and Emma goes back to being normal and not giving Mom a heart attack every damn day.”
“I’ll probably go skydiving next week,” she smarts. “Something fun and exciting to get my heart pumping.”
“Oh! I wanna skydive.” Tuck lowers the hood, lets it drop until it clicks closed, then coming to a stop at our small group, he nods for Em and winks.
He’s lucky he’s already in love with someone else, otherwise I might rearrange his face for making her blush.
“You’re good to roll,” he assures her. “But nothing is guaranteed. Only a driver knows, and only when they’re already flying. If it feels weird, back off the accelerator and give up the race.”
Finally, EmKat starts taking this seriously. She nods, accepts his wisdom, and files it away for future use. “I got it.”
“Two hands at all times,” Bry adds his bit. “When you’re racing, all it takes is a fucking pebble under your tire to jerk the wheel and send you spinning out, so two hands, except for the second it takes to change gear.”
“Lower gear,” Chuck clarifies. “Use up everything it’s got before shifting up.”
“Don’t get too close to your opponent,” Maddi inserts. “The folks out here aren’t about being honorable. Best-case scenario, they scratch your baby up and snap off the mirrors. Worst-case…”
“I crash. Got it.”
“Music is dealer’s choice,” Bry says. “Some folks need silence. I need music. So I’m not gonna tell you what to do there.”
“Music,” she decides. Her voice is low, thoughtful. “Definitely music.”
Bry looks to me. “Don’t speak to her. Not even if you think you’re helping. Not even if she’s spinning out, and you wanna tell her to turn the other way. She needs to concentrate, and you screaming like a girl ain’t gonna help anyone.”
“I won’t fucking scream. I’m just there to make sure she’s safe.”
“She spins out and gets hurt, but you’re untouched…” Bry’s eyes dig into mine. “That means you failed. You walk away but she doesn’t, you’re a dead man.”
“Bry,” EmKat growls. “Stop it.”
“Ya know what?” He tries to step between us. “I’ll go with her.”
I shove him back, and feel mildly guilty for the way Maddi is forced to squeak and jump out of the way. “I’m going,” I declare on a low growl. “That seat is mine, and if you want it, you’ll have to take it from my cold, dead hands.”
“For my sister,” he steps forward and challenges me. “I would. I love you, bro. But not like I love her.”
“And I love you, bro.” I shove him back again. “But not like I love her.”
“Enough.” EmKat pushes between us and shoves us apart with a hand on each of our chests. “Rob is riding with me, because he’s my ride or die. Bry, you can watch and act as air traffic controller.” She looks around, unsure as the crowd builds. “I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go.”
“I’ll lead you.” Maddi takes Em’s hand and pulls her from between us. “You’re up in a few anyway. Let me introduce you to Manda, I’ll explain the rules, then you’re up.”
Emma
Adrenaline Never Tasted So Good
Am I ugly? Unlovable? Worse: invisible?
And why does it take me risking death at a hundred and something miles per hour for Rob to stand up and demand his place by my side?
My outfit barely piqued his interest. My shoes. My jeans that I know for a damn fact make my ass look fantastic. I tried to talk sex, then I tried to make sure he knew Grace was a non-issue for me. I stood against him in a fucking tree, and when we got to the bottom, I didn’t even jump away like a weirdo.
I’ve been sticking, staring, challenging him every chance I can get. So why won’t he take a hint and jump across to the branch I’m standing on?
Metaphorically, of course.
I get it, okay. I get that we’re best friends, and kissing friends is usually weird. But it’s not like neither of us know how to kiss, it’s not like we’re sixteen-year-old virgins anymore – my lie about Calvin stopped being a lie a year or so after prom.
Unfortunately for me, nice guys don’t always finish last… and Rob’s thirty-pump brag sounds almost unbelievable, now that I have firsthand experience with a man.
Do I have to get more obvious? More forward? More – gulp – forceful?
“Focus.”
Rob’s voice grew deeper, heavier somewhere back in ninth grade. And before that year was done and gone, he’d already begun growing hair on his jaw. Soon after that, his too-skinny limbs started filling out. But even back then, when I was looking a little longer than I probably should have been, I didn’t understand why I was looking. I mean, it’s not like I was staring at Bry when he was in our pool, or laid out on our couch, feeding his face and making a pig of himself while still maintaining a perfect set of abs.
No. It wasn’t until this year that my possessiveness of Rob extended from friendship into something more.
Perhaps it was because I’d gone through the steps: Calvin, then Gage, then Trent, then Calvin again, then another guy who asked me out just a month before my own senior prom – which meant I was no longer dateless, which… unfortunately, meant I would not be attending prom with Rob. Though, of course, he and I still spiked the punch and tore up the dance floor together.
Maybe it’s because I work with guys all day now, or perhaps because I’ve yet to go to bed with a man that can actually make me come. I thought it was me; worse, I worried I actually had come, but that it wasn’t as magical as everyone made it out to be.
But nope, a single night spent with a battery-operated toy, a few minutes touching the right pla
ces, thinking about the right person, and I was made brutally aware of what a real orgasm feels like, and better yet, that I was able to reach that peak.
Which meant I was not broken. The guys I was dating were.
Now I stare at Rob’s abs all the effing time, and I snuggle up against his chest and make myself comfortable for hours on end while we watch movies. I lay my head on his stomach every single day while I draw, and when he fingers the ends of my hair, I purr – I friggin’ purr!
So why won’t he come a little closer? Why won’t he give me some kind of green light so that I’m not sitting over here all by myself, terrified that if I jump first, he’ll be horrified at the thought, and I might ruin the most important friendship in my life?
Why, Robert-Dumbass-Hart, won’t you put aside your poker face and show me how you feel?
“EmKat.” His voice is a deep growl that annoyingly makes my stomach tingle. “Focus on what you’re doing and stop daydreaming.”
“I’m not daydreaming.” I scowl and flex my hands around the steering wheel. There’s a pair of cars sitting in line in front of mine; another pair is racing now, then the people in front of me will go, then it’s my turn. “It’s night, for starters. And second, I wasn’t. I was thinking about prom.”
I don’t look away from the bumper of the car in front of me, but I feel Rob’s gaze, his questioning demand. “Prom? Which one?”
“The second one,” I force a snicker. “Our senior prom.”
He sneers. I can feel it in the air. “You said yes to that idiot. What was his name? Cliff?”
“Cliff.” I nod. “Yeah. He was nice.”
“He said nasty shit about you in the locker room.” Rob sits back, deep into his seat, and settles in as the current race ends, and those in front of us roll up to the line. “I clocked him, and retrained his brain.”
I snort. “Of course you did. And Luke helped you.”
“Luke just wanted to fight.” He finally relaxes and laughs. “He didn’t even know why we were going after the guy until we were in the principal’s office. And then he wanted a second shot to avenge your honor.”
“He’s my knight in shining armor,” I snicker, and when the car in front of us moves, I push mine into gear and roll forward. “I wonder when he’ll finally find himself a girl.” I glance across in the darkness and smile. Flirt, you socially inept twig… me, not him. “Do you think she’ll be crazy like him? Or his opposite; quiet and grounding?”
Considering, Rob shrugs and lets his jaw flex.
I love that about his face. The way his jaw moves, even when he seems at rest. It’s his tell. His way of telegraphing he’s pissed, or happy, or ready to fight. It’s his pre-game tell that I’m not sure many people on this planet know about – except me.
“I’m not sure who he’ll pick,” he finally murmurs. “Or if he ever will.”
“He will.”
I glance back to the car in front of us, wait, and smile when the chick between them lowers a flag – or, uh, perhaps it’s a pair of panties – and the cars jet away from the starting line.
Their engines roar, and dirt flicks up and nicks my hood. The sound is deafening, making it impossible to think, let alone talk, so I wait them out, count my breaths, and swallow down my nerves at what I’m about to do.
“EmKat?” Rob taps my thigh. “Hey?”
“Huh?” I look to him and shout to be heard over the engines. “What?”
He laughs. “You said Luke’s gonna settle down. I asked how you know.”
“Oh.” I exhale and roll forward a little when the lady with the clipboard – Manda – waves me in. “Because he’s a slut for love.”
“What?!” he exclaims on a laugh. “What does that even mean?”
“It means, he’s a player, right? He likes to act like he’s some kind of ladies’ man. And, I mean, he’s doing a good job of it. He looks good, and women trip on their tongues when he’s around. But—”
“Wait.” His single word is a command. An angry bull readying to sprint. “You think he looks good?”
“Well…” I look around the inside of my car. Him, me, the dash, and the crowds outside. “Yeah. Of course I do. He’s sexy.”
“Are you fuckin’ serious?” he explodes. “You think my brother is sexy?”
“I’ve never been subtle about that! The Hart twins are sex on a stick. Everyone says so.”
“You think my brother is sexy? EmKat!”
“You are identical twins!” I laugh. “What the hell are you mad about? You look exactly the effing same.”
“No man wants to hear that his girlf– best friend,” he chokes out. His face pales, and his jaw does that thing – it’s like a pulsing. A rhythmic, flashing red light. “You’re my best friend.” He lowers his voice, and visibly tries to calm himself. “You’re mine. You’re not allowed to think he’s hot.”
“But…” I turn just my face, and taunt him with my smirk. “You. Look. The. Same. I feel like you’re missing an important point.”
“Are we interchangeable? Him and me; if I died or was conscripted into war, would you become his best friend and forget about me?”
“Depends.” I roll up to the line where Manda stands, and feel that rush of adrenaline. I’m about to race a friggin’ car!
“What the fuck do you mean it depends?” he growls. “Dammit, Emma.”
“Well, why were you conscripted, and he wasn’t? Is he a draft dodger, or is it, like, take one from each family, leave one at home to make babies?”
“I’m telling you now, if you make babies with my brother, I’m murdering you both.”
I snort and push my car into neutral. It’s almost my turn. Almost time to hurtle us around a dirt track and tempt the fingers of fate, all for a little fun.
“I’m not going to forget about you. And if you die, though I suspect he and I will become closer – mutual mourning and all – I doubt he’ll live long. There can only be one alpha in this pack, and he’s arrogant enough to think it’s him. But he’ll learn. Ohhhh,” I drag the word out. “He’ll learn.”
“Wait…” His tone changes again, away from pissed, and back to thoughtful. “Of me and you—”
“I’m the alpha.” I say it quickly, confidently, and laugh when his chest grows with the start of another fight. “You know, Fart. You know who is king around here.”
“Yeah,” he drawls. “Me. Now shut the fuck up and drive.”
“You’re adorable when your feelings are hurt.”
The cars that took off just minutes ago end their race with an ear-splitting zoom across the finish line. The crowd cheers for the victor, and boos the loser. Manda takes note of what she needs to, tens of thousands of dollars – and perhaps the pink slip to a car – is exchanged, and then Maddi steps to a space at the front of my hood. She stands between my car and my opponent’s, and when our eyes meet, she nods to my left.
I glance over to Bry. To his hard stance, and the way his eyes scream that he’s barely holding himself back from tearing me out of this car.
He’s all about living, about taking risks and having fun. But he’s also an overprotective big brother. His internal war drags him in two directions, tearing his heart in half. And I suspect Tucker’s hand on his shoulder might be the only thing keeping him there, and me here, safely inside my car.
I glance back to Maddi to acknowledge that I see her, I see Bry, and that yes, I’m going to be careful.
“Be good,” Rob murmurs. “Be safe. Be the fucking winner.”
“Wanna talk chess for a second?” I glance across in time to catch his frown.
“Huh?”
“Chess.” I turn back to study Maddi. She’s starting my race, and if I’m not even looking when it begins, then I lose. “In a chess game, there’s a king, right?”
“Right.” Rob swallows, audibly, then he chants, “Don’t crash. Don’t crash. Don’t crash.”
“Every king needs a queen.” I risk one more glance over and catch his shocked
gaze. “We can both be alpha, Rob. Me and you. Because everyone knows, a great king needs a strong queen.”
“Emma Katherine!” Even above the roaring of engines, the shouting crowd, the music playing on my stereo, and my closed windows, Maddi still manages to shout loud enough to draw my attention. She kills me with a glare, pokes her fingers in my direction, then back to her.
She doesn’t even have to say it for me to understand. Watch me, and pay attention, fuckface.
Nodding, I leave Rob to work through my words on his own, flex my hands around the steering wheel, and when Maddi lifts a scrap of material in the air, I swallow and use the controls on my steering wheel to turn my music right up.
‘Hypnotize’ by Akon isn’t a song I would normally play for high-octane fun, but it works for me right now. The bass is deep enough to pulse in my chest, and it makes Rob sit taller. It makes him pay attention.
Though the fact we’re about to race might be enough to do that on its own.
“Hey, Fart?”
“Oh fuck,” he bites off on a groan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“I’m not gonna crash.”
I press my foot down and rev the engine. Maddi moves in slow motion, her hand high in the air so her makeshift flag flutters in the soft breeze. But my opponent… he may not even exist in her mind. She stares at me, penetrates my brain with her heated stare.
“Fuck,” Rob chants. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Say it, Rob! I said ‘hey, Fart’.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Robert!”
“What?”
“I love you.”
“Aghh!” he shouts as Maddi’s arm comes down. “I love you too, EmKat. Forever.”
As soon as the flag is down, I release the brake and slingshot my luxury racecar-dressed-up-as-a-regular-hatchback away from the starting line with a howl of laughter. First gear, then second. My steering wheel vibrates under my hands, and Rob clings to the door with one hand, and with the other – surprisingly – my thigh. He doesn’t hinder my movements, but I guess if we crash and are flung through the windshield, he’s already got a hold of me.
