by Dallas Cole
Jagger groans, pulls his empty arm toward his rippling chest, and rolls toward the door. “Hey. That’s no fun.”
“What isn’t?”
“You. Wearing clothes.”
I grin. “For some reason, people generally expect me to be wearing them. Damn social contracts.”
He laughs, tired, into his pillow. “What you said.” His biceps bunch as he lifts his arms overhead with a yawn, and I find myself staring just a little too long at the pattern of tattoos along his arms and torso. I’m starting to memorize them. As well as the contours of muscle beneath them. “You’re not rushing off again, are you?”
“Not like before,” I say. “Just need to get some work done before I head to the center.”
“Good. Maybe we can grab dinner after.”
I hesitate, but then nod. No need to be afraid. Just having some fun. It feels good to have fun—to act for myself again. “I’d like that.”
He looks about to fall asleep again, so I kiss his forehead, excuse myself, and slip toward the front door and down the stairs that lead to Drazic Muscleworks below. The stairs let out inside the garage bay, but thankfully, it’s still dark. I walk on the balls of my feet, none too eager to run into any of Jagger’s fellow crewmates just yet—
But then the fluorescent lights overhead buzz to life and I’m pinned in place. Busted. A tan, dark-haired woman, maybe a few years younger than me, stands in the doorway that must lead to the main shop, a pair of goggles perched on top of her head. Her hands prop on her hips and a huge grin spreads across her face. She watches me like the cat who cornered the mouse.
“Well, well, well.” She strides down the concrete steps toward me, still grinning. “About time we met.”
I blink a few times, flustered. “I—I’m sorry, I don’t—”
She picks up a wrench from one of the nearby open toolboxes and pats the wrench’s head into her palm. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, hon.”
I swallow and step back. What have I done to piss her off? She looks familiar . . . Then I realize. She was the sole female driver in the race I saw. I tuck a loose curl behind my ear, nervous. “Um. Hi. I’m Sophie.”
I start to stick out my hand, but she wraps me in a fierce hug instead. “Elena Drazic. My uncle runs the crew.” She steps back and holds me at arm’s length by my shoulders. “Damn. I always wondered who’d be the lucky girl to tame our swaggerin’ Jagger.”
My face is burning up, but I smile through it. “You assume I’m not the one in need of taming.”
Elena laughs, a bright, brassy sound. “Touché.”
“You were driving in the race last weekend, weren’t you?” I ask. “You qualified, too.”
She beams and gestures toward her Camaro, up on the lifters. “That’s me. And there’s my baby right there. Rebuilt her myself.” She heads toward her toolkit and trades the wrench out for some other tool I don’t recognize. “Actually, I build pretty much all of the crew’s cars.”
“Amazing work. Not only with the cars and driving, I mean—with putting up with all of the goddamned testosterone around here, too.”
Elena laughs again. “Yeah, well, I’m used to it. The guys are my family.”
She says it breezily enough, but I get the underlying message. I better not fuck with her family. As she starts picking through her toolbox and all the scary-looking wrenches and pneumatic drills there, it’s hard not to feel like I’m in the middle of some interrogation. So tell me, Miss Gallagher . . . Vat are your intentions vith our Jagger?
“Are you from Ridgecrest?” Elena asks, circling around to what must be the control panel for the lifters. The Camaro she’d been working on starts to descend with a whine of the gears. “Went to Ridgecrest High School, maybe? You do look familiar.”
“I used to be from around here. Eagle’s View, actually. I’m going to college downstate, but I’m back up here for a little while. Until I finish my master’s thesis.”
I wait for Elena to raise her eyebrows or press her lips together at the mention of Eagle’s View. Something to show her disdain for Ridgecrest’s wealthier counterpart to the northeast; something to indicate she knows I don’t belong around here. But she does nothing of the sort. Just smiles, finds the tool she wants, and drags a stepstool toward herself with her foot. “What’s your thesis about?”
I relax my stance. “Um, let’s see if I can nail it in one sentence. ‘Survey of alternative strategies in counseling at-risk juveniles.’”
Elena laughs. “Plenty of those around here. In fact, I’ve got a whole shop full of at-risk manbabies you can use for your study, if you need.”
We share a quick laugh. This almost feels comfortable, shooting the shit with one of Jagger’s closest friends. Not at all like the walk of shame I feared. I can almost forget about Tyler . . .
“Do you drive?” Elena asks as she slides underneath the car.
I blush. “Nah. Not like you. Jagger showed me how to gun it on a straightaway down on Highway 12, but . . .”
“You should join us sometime,” Elena says. “I’ll teach you to hold your own with these boys.”
“I’d like that.”
Jagger bursts out of the same stairwell I came from, his short hair rumpled, but still incredibly sexy. He looks from me to Elena with narrowed eyes. “What’s all this laughing I hear?” he asks in a playful tone.
“Elena’s going to teach me how to kick your ass on the circuit,” I reply.
Jagger laughs and pulls me into an embrace, then presses a kiss to my temple. “Good luck with that. I thought you had to be on your way.”
“I had to check her out first. Make sure she has only the most of dishonorable intentions for you,” Elena says.
Jagger tightens his grip on my hips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got dishonorable covered.”
My whole body must be blushing now as I arch my back against him. Shit. “I—I really do have to go, though.” I pull away from him with a sigh. “It was great to meet you, Elena.”
“You’re coming to the semifinals, right?” Elena asks. “Down in Rose Grove Saturday night?”
I look back at Jagger. “I didn’t know . . .”
Jagger grabs my hand and clutches it tight. “Fuck, yeah. She’s joining us.”
I grin. “And be your track bunny? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
8
Jagger
Sophie rides with me out to Rose Grove in the southern edge of the state for the Tristate Circuit Semifinals. The high desert whips past us while Sophie belts out some of her favorite ‘90s songs from her phone. I’m grooving right along with her, and even when she can’t hit the high notes, I feel myself falling for her a little more. She looks so happy, so gorgeous, so alive that I can’t complain about a damn thing.
I’m amazed she agreed to come at all. Amazed that this . . . whatever we have between us is working still. It’s not my usual M. O., and that’s putting it lightly, but there’s something intoxicating about her that makes me wonder if it might not be so bad. Maybe I’d be tempted not to be pinned down if she didn’t make everyone else in the world just look so . . . bland.
We head through the outskirts of Rose Grove, following in formation behind Elena and Drazic ahead of us in Elena’s Camaro. Rose Grove is situated around a dozen different buttes, their rocky crests the only feature on the otherwise flat desert landscape. To the west, the sun looks like it’s melted into one of the buttes, spilling pink and indigo everywhere. We round the butte and find our public awaiting us there—hundreds and hundreds of spectators, dancers, DJs, and more.
I roll to a stop in the lineup, scanning the cheering crowd muffled by my soundproof windows, and turn toward Sophie with a grin. “Showtime, baby.”
“Need me to flash my tits?” she asks, grinning back.
I kiss her forehead. “Maybe after the race.”
Then I flip my aviators down and climb out of the Firebird, flashing dual peace signs to the crowd. It’s a wilder group than Ridgecrest, and there
’s a dark bass beat pulsing in time with my heart. I grin, drinking in the rowdy atmosphere.
“Hey, Jagger!” some chick in a halter top screams. “Wanna sign my boobs?”
“Whatcha doin’ later, Jagger?” Another girl snaps her gum, uncomfortably close to my face. She’s dangling something at me—oh. A pair of panties. Well, of course. And they’re looking slightly used.
I shoulder away from her and cup my arm around the small of Sophie’s back. “Letting this hot babe sit on my face,” I reply. Sophie snorts under her breath.
“Oh.” Panties lowers her arm. “Can I watch?”
I steer Sophie toward our crew’s huddle. “Not a chance!”
Sophie tucks one hand in the back pocket of my jeans. “I guess there’s stiff competition on the track and off, huh?”
“Not even close.” I nuzzle my nose against the hollow of her throat. She smells like warm summer breezes. “Though if it’s stiff you want . . .”
Sophie giggles and squeezes my ass. She looks fucking incredible backlit by the desert sunset that I can almost forget the cheering crowds, revving engines, pumping dance beats. All I see is Sophie.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“After you crush the competition,” she says.
I groan and squeeze her ass in return. “Fine. I expect you ready and waiting the moment I step off the finish line.”
“Jagger!” Drazic shouts. “Cut the foreplay and get your ass over here.”
I press a quick kiss to Sophie’s temple and join the huddle while Sophie stands off to the side. Elena looks like a nervous wreck, but Lennox is rubbing a reassuring hand against her shoulder. Drazic is a lot sterner. Nash claps me on the shoulder and pulls me in to the huddle between him and Cyrus, our navigator.
“All right, listen up,” Drazic says. “I know we’ve pored over the map, but this is our first time seeing this new layout in person.”
“It’s not too different from the configuration they used last year. But there’s the new leg that opened up with the highway expansion,” Cyrus says. “I’ll guide you home safe and sound.”
“Not a problem. We can handle it.” Lennox nudges Elena. “We’re all more than capable.”
“Watch out for that tricky turn around the third butte,” Nash says. I can tell by his hardened gaze that he’s still sour about Drazic not picking him to compete for the Tristate this year, but he’s got plenty of other races coming up. We’re still mending the crew after all the drama that went down with him, Lennox, and Elena a few months ago, after all.
“Trust in Cyrus’s and Nash’s voices in your ears,” Drazic says. “You’re going to do just fine. Elena—watch your corners.”
“On it.” Her cheeks flush red.
“Jagger, don’t fear the Calaveras boys. They always wuss out at the last minute.”
I smirk. “They’re going to be choking on my exhaust for weeks.”
“And Lennox—grab onto those straightaways and speed for all you’ve got.”
“All right, folks, it’s time to let these ponies run free!” Kylie, the Rose Grove organizer, shouts through a megaphone. “Bets placed, engines revved, line up and get ready to ride!”
I pull my Bluetooth earpiece from my pocket and stride over to Sophie. “You know, it’s bad luck not to kiss me before the race.” I grip her by her hips and pull her toward me.
“I dunno,” she says. “You seem to have done fine so far without my help.”
I laugh and rest my forehead against hers. “Maybe this is what I look like without good luck.”
Sophie presses her lips to mine. Her tongue darts against mine, hungry. I know the feeling. She tastes so goddamned sweet that I want to keep tasting it forever, deepening the kiss. Her mouth scorches me and I pull her closer and her whole body curves into me and she sucks at my lower lip and I get a little dizzy and fuck. What is this girl doing to me?
Now I get to find out how to race with a bad case of blue balls.
Sophie slaps me on the ass and steps back. “Go get ‘em.”
I climb into the Firebird, pop my earpiece into place, and become one with the engine’s purr. Let the noisy onlookers and the other drivers melt away until it’s just me and the road. I slow my breathing, though it’s hard, after Sophie’s kiss, and get ready for the race.
“Three! Two! One!”
My foot hits the accelerator with just the right amount of weight. The Firebird leaps forward, eager to obey me.
Everything’s clicking for me tonight. I find the flow of the race immediately, but I’m not content to just ride it. I need to surge ahead. Besides, might as well look good for Sophie. I spot one of the Sungs in their Hyundai and keep my focus on him as I rev up the Firebird, and then I sail past him just before the first butte.
“Careful, Jag,” Cyrus warns me in my earpiece. “You’re probably going to lose some ground on the switchback.”
“Not if I can help it.”
The Firebird’s tires squeal beneath me and the stench of burning rubber fills the air. Sung’s trying to nose up past me, but I’m determined to keep him in my rearview mirror. Even as my steering wheel starts to fight me, I hold firm.
The back of the Firebird starts to fishtail as I swing around the switchback, so I yank up on the emergency brake to even me out. More screeching; somewhere behind me, metal crunches with plastic as two of the drivers collide. Their fucking problem, not mine. I release the brake and keep plowing down the line.
By the third butte Nash was so worried about, the other drivers are fucking specks of light behind me. Either the pileup caused a bigger mess than I thought, or I’m on goddamned fire. I’m guessing it’s a little bit of both. I blow a kiss to one of the drones as it buzzes past me and ease my way toward the finish line.
First place. The rest of those jackoffs aren’t even close. I squeal the brakes after the finish line and pop out of the Firebird’s side with my best panty-dropping grin. Everyone’s screaming my name, there are camera flashes going off, confetti pouring down, and a vortex of sound pouring out of the DJ’s turntable.
Finally the other drivers start to trickle in, but as soon as I spot Sophie in the crowd, I don’t even notice. She races toward me, the biggest grin splitting her face, and squeals as she gets close. I hoist her up in my arms and set her on the roof of the Firebird.
“Fucking brilliant,” she says.
I laugh and nuzzle her throat while the crowd cheers and tires whines around us.
“You fucking show-off,” she teases me, hooking her arms around my neck. Then she pulls me in for a kiss. A deep, toe-curling, cock-hardening kiss. And I redefine the meaning of show-off for her as people whoop and holler around us.
Someone pops a bottle of champagne, launching the cork into the crowd, and splashes it my way. Sophie laughs and covers her face, but I take the brunt of it on the back. “Great job, Jagger!” the track tramp chorus starts up. I ignore them all.
Finally the rest of the crew gathers around us. Drazic claps me on the back. “That was some genius driving, man. First place. So glad one of ours could do it.”
I look toward the rest of the crew, suddenly aware I have no idea what the rest of them placed. “What about . . .”
“Lennox took fourth,” Elena says loudly, her face taut.
Uh-oh. Top five qualify. So Lennox is in too, but . . . “What about you?” I ask.
She grimaces. “Seventh.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry, El.” She’s been busting her ass to prep for this bracket—her first as a driver. But then, it is only her first go. I clap her on the shoulder. “Seventh in the semi-finals, in your first year doing this? Shit. Next year you’ll be giving even me a run for my money.”
Elena snorts and gives me a curt nod. “Thanks, Jags.”
“And we have two drivers in the finals,” Drazic adds. “Another crew first.”
I bump fists with Cyrus. “My voice of reason, man. Couldn’t do it without you.”
“One day you might
even start listening to me,” he says.
“Who wants to head to the cantina over at Rose Butte? It’s got a stellar view and I’ll DD,” Drazic says.
Sophie tugs at my arm. “Jags, I’m sorry, but I can’t, remember?” She holds up her phone to display the time. “I promised I’d take over for the babysitter after midnight.”
“No problem. I’ll take you home, babe.”
Sophie smiles, grateful, but Nash groans. “Aw, c’mon, Jags, I owe you at least a few drinks!” Nash cries.
Sophie’s cheeks redden. “No, he’s right. You should celebrate. I’ll see if I can get a cab or something.” She digs around in her purse. “It’ll be OK, I promise.”
“I can drive you home,” Elena pipes up. “It’s really no trouble. I’m not really in a drinking mood, anyway.”
Lennox cups a hand around Elena’s shoulder. “El . . .”
Sophie looks deeply relieved. “That’d be fantastic. I don’t want to take you away from your guys, Jags.” She smiles at Elena. “Thank you so much.”
Elena forces herself to smile, though I know she’s still disappointed. “It’ll give the boys time to celebrate. Plus, I can tell you all kinds of horrible stories about Jagger on the way.”
“Oh, shit. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I say.
Sophie grins devilishly and cups my face in her hands. “I think it sounds perfect.” She strokes my cheek and pulls me in for another kiss, this one extra show-off-y. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon.”
I hang out with the guys at the Rose Butte Saloon, drinking beer and shooting the shit until closing time. I had a few beers at the start of the night, but I know my limits, and I’m perfectly sobered up by the time I climb behind the wheel of the Firebird. Our crew may be reckless in a lot of ways, but drunk driving isn’t one of them. Especially not after drunk driving killed one of our own a few years back.
It was good to just hang with my brothers. Neither Lennox nor I were interested in chasing tail, of course, and even the chicks who were climbing up on Nash, Cyrus, and Drazic looked boring as dirt next to Sophie and the way her ass looked in that miniskirt. The thought of that ass alone kept me plenty of company on the long drive back to Ridgecrest.
