It sure does, Bill. Look at Quin go. No pitting for him. All risk, all reward.
I’m lit—thanks in part to my own hostile imagination—by the time I brake at my stop, and if I weren’t so damn thirsty I’d refuse the water being sprayed in my mouth out of spite.
The crew goes to work on the tires and Virgil keeps us apprised of every awesome thing Quin is doing while I’m on my ass.
“I swear he drives just like you,” he says at one point, and I make eyes with Tommy. Before I can let loose with a slew of angry bullshit, Tommy cuts me off.
“You have to chase. This is perfect.” He’s grinning and I want to punch him. My ribs hurt. My ass hurts. I’m probably losing a year off my life expectancy thanks to the G-forces I’m putting my brain through. And he wants me to chase.
“Got it. Chase. Thanks for the talk,” I spit out. I take one more shot of electrolytes and the car levels out, signaling that the tires are done. I race toward the pack, still a good lap up on them, two for some, and slide in just before the traffic gets thick.
“Chase, he says,” I mutter.
“That’s right. He says chase.” Tommy’s laughter fills my ears and I curse my past self for thinking it was a good idea to connect him to this system.
Kinda defeats the purpose of having someone eat my dust when I’m the one eating theirs, but maybe there’s something to his theory. I dig in and let my eyes glaze over, the road ahead becoming my playground, blurs of color merely in my way. I dodge and weave, passing people I’ve already overtaken once.
Looks like he’s going for it, Cal.
“You need to make up half a lap, and he’s going to struggle soon. Real soon,” Douglas informs me.
I somehow block out everything but his voice. He’s information. Data. I take it in and turn it into movement, my hands finding their sweet spot, ears tuned to the rpms, hand on the shifter. I climb fast, hugging the road as I kick into the turn.
The new tread grips better. I gain inches, my line better than before. I use the force to whip myself into the straightaway and strip between two cars to take over the entire stretch, roaring across it to hit the bank and sling myself into the wider turn. Quin is coming out of it the second I enter and I feel it—the chase.
Now, this is the Dustin Bridges we were all waiting for, Bill. Looks like maybe he’s finally shown up.
He’s let us down before, Cal. Let’s see if he’s got it this time.
My lungs drink in the octane, my hands grip the wheel, and my body leans. I’m no longer a man driving; I’m part of the machine. I feel it, every groove and grain in the concrete beneath the chassis. My tires hug the surface and the decibels crank up as every gear races and works harder. I’m banking, lower than before, but my line is on point, and I’m already into the next turn.
I think he’s cut Quin’s lead in half. Twenty-two laps to go. Does he have time, Cal?
I have time.
I punch through the floor and the world in front of me fades away, replaced by shades of my past. Hannah shouts my name, her voice young and innocent. My eye hurts from the bruise Colt gave me, and Tommy tells me I can put ice on it after this race. I’m in the lead. Nobody even close. My tire clips the hay and I swerve, but I control it.
My mind shifts to present. I slip in close, weaving through cars I’ve already lapped, shaving more seconds off my time. The gap is closing, and to my left isn’t hay, but the infield. I hug the line, my tire riding on it, my eyes searing through it like lasers as I gobble it up in front of me and spit it out when I’m done.
“He slipped on that turn, Dust. You gained again. Might be down to five now.”
Douglas is good at math and physics. He’s a freaking savant, actually. The man can watch any race and come within decimal points of the finishing time per lap. If he says five seconds, I’m within five.
That’s nothing.
Nineteen laps to go.
I haven’t seen anyone drive like this in years, have you, Cal?
Not since the seventies, Bill.
Not since ever. I’m the first. I’m the only. Just ask Hannah.
I blink, and my world shifts again. Suddenly, I’m in the desert, a hundred-dollar bill in my hand. It’s my sixteenth birthday, my first time racing at the Straights without sneaking out with Tommy. Hannah’s watching. Her dad gave me that money, and it’s more than I’ve ever had in my entire life. I can’t waste it.
“I don’t know.” I’m hedging, uncertain.
“He’ll take on that guy,” Hannah says, tugging the bill from my fingers and handing it to Ava. She points to some Dodge rumbling across the street. It looks fast.
Damn. I really needed that cash.
“Look at me,” she says, her hand touching my face and forcing my jaw her direction. How did she get so bold?
“There’s nobody better than you, Dustin Bridges. Never has been. Never will be. Now, go smoke his ass.”
The gold and black rear end of Quin’s car snaps me back to present. He’s right there, four car lengths. Maybe less. Five laps to go. He’s expecting the straightaway. I’m going to smoke him on the curve.
You know, I heard a story from one of the guys on Dustin Bridges’s crew, Cal. They have a saying in his family. When he passes people, they all like to chant “Eat my dust.”
Clever, Bill. Play on Dustin’s name, I guess. Well, we’ll see if they get to chant that today. He’s sure making it close.
Nothing close about it, boys. Not when I’m done.
Four laps and I’m on his tail. His head bobs, his body feeling every ridge in the road. Probably should have swapped out the tires, asshole.
My eyes zero in on the reflection in his mirror as he leans in. His visor blocks his eyes, but I know he’s looking at me. Just like he knows I’m grinning. You can have this lap, kid. I’ll get you in two.
My body is practically singing with the pavement, my bones thrumming from the roar of the engine. I’m not even sure Douglas is speaking human words in my ears. I’m not listening. I know what I need to do now, and Tommy, that motherfucker—he was right.
I need to chase.
Three laps.
If he’s going to make a move, Cal, he better make it soon.
Just like Dustin Bridges to come this close and break our hearts, Bill.
Only hearts I care about are at the finish line and in an RV about half a mile from this track. I let my eyes dim for a breath and draw in through my nose. The sweat dripping down my back and arms and cheeks doesn’t faze me. Nothing will, ever again. I drive for them. I drive because Bristol deserves a daddy she can be proud of. I drive for a better life, and to show kids like me, who have dads who make them feel small, that they can win.
Two laps. It’s time.
I purposefully waver on the straightaway. I want him to think I’m making my move. I want him on edge. I want everyone to buy in completely.
Is this it, Cal?
It sure seems so, Bill. Hold on tight.
Yeah, hold on tight. I swerve right a foot and Quin blocks me. I drop low and he’s back. I do it again, and this time he swings in wider, but as we hit the corner, he hugs the center, driving in the tracks I left for him twenty laps ago. I rev high and climb the bank, my foot through the floor, hands gripping the wheel and shifter, teeth gritting so hard they feel close to cracking.
Your turn to chase.
I drop in as we clear the curve, and edge Quin out. I’m in the lead. One lap to go. Nobody left to chase but my demons. All of my past failures, it’s time to disintegrate them. To shred them into the pavement and leave them behind like confetti for everyone to see.
It’s time . . . to set a record.
Well, hot dang, Cal. He’s doing it. He’s got half a lap to go, and he’s pulling away.
Quin really should have pitted when he had the chance. I think he lost the race then. That was his miscalculation, Bill.
No, it wasn’t. His miscalculation started the moment he thought he could beat me. But every
one needs a good life lesson now and again. I thought mine was going to cost me a hundred dollars when I was sixteen, but instead I doubled my money and learned nobody should ever doubt Hannah Judge.
“I told you! Wooo whooo!” Tommy’s voice rings in my ear and I work to peel my hands from the wheel as I sail under the checkered flag.
“New record, Dust! By seventeen seconds,” Douglas shouts.
“Get your asses down here, boys!”
I coast around the track, my victory lap, and let my heart find its normal rhythm, if it’s ever really had one. I did it. I fucking won, and other than a few moments when I wanted to strangle Tommy, rage was never a part of my formula. I used trust and love. I counted on Hannah’s faith in me. I decided to be the man I wished Colt could have been.
I spot her in the crowd on my way back and I’m nearly to her when my car is swallowed by press and the rain of champagne. She’s made it to the track, her dad right behind her. I push myself through the window frame, tilt my head back and taste the spray of alcohol fizzing in all directions. It’s so fucking sweet.
“Dusty!” Her voice breaks through. I pull myself from the car and race toward her. She’s in my arm in seconds, and I hold her up like the real trophy in all of this. My prize. My life and heart.
“Eat my dust!” she shouts.
I hope Bill and Cal got that.
I let her weight slide down my body, my arms caging her while flashes capture every moment of our intimate celebration. Forehead to forehead, we both cry happy tears. My mouth is stretched so wide, as is hers, it’s almost awkward to kiss. We do it anyway.
“I love you. So much.”
“I love you, too, Dustin. Nobody better. Never has been. Never will be.” The girl from my past breaks through and syncs with the woman of my present and future. My money is on us. Anyone who bets against us is a damn fool.
26
Six months later
“Okay, I know this is some friend-type bet or rivalry or whatever that you and Bailey have going with each other, but Han, this dress? It’s truly hideous.”
I lean my head back and laugh as Dustin spins me on the dance floor. Tommy and Bailey’s wedding was magical. The beach and waves behind them, the setting sun lighting the twists and curls of my best friend’s hair, the way her veil blew in the breeze and kissed her bare shoulder. It was hard not to drop my maid of honor bouquet and switch places with the photographer. I only hope she got the millions of shots I saw as the sun went down.
“Why is this dress so cute on Bristol?” I challenge Dustin.
“Because she’s three.”
I bust out another laugh.
“Good point.”
The small ceremony and family reception is perfect. Bailey has never liked a huge fuss and having the spotlight on her. Today and right now? It’s all just enough.
“How did your mom find this restaurant?” Dustin pulls me in close, and we snicker as my sleeve puffs up between us. It’s a truly ridiculous dress and I love everything about it. I push the satin down and return my hand to his neck.
“Virgil actually told her about it.”
Dustin jerks back and quirks a brow.
“Something about a woman he had a fling with overseas right out of college. I guess she owns it.”
Dustin shakes his head and I lift my shoulder.
“He’s a man of mystery,” I add.
“Shitty mechanic, but—” we both say at the same time.
Our laughter mixes with the music and Dustin lifts me up as he spins me again. The restaurant is a small bistro and they pushed the tables to the perimeter of the patio so we have room to dance. Instead of a DJ, they have a juke box, which has been a blast all night. My dad keeps punching in Eagles songs while Tommy slips in the occasional Kanye. It’s all oddly romantic, though probably not so much for Bailey. But I look at her now, her lips painted into the perfect red smile, her cheeks round and high, her eyes crinkled in laughter—maybe it is. It’s wonderful to see my friend so happy.
“You know what the best thing is about this dress?” I whisper in Dustin’s ear.
“Hmm,” he hums, dropping his chin into the crook of my neck, his head practically resting on my pillow-like sleeve.
“The lingerie set I’m wearing underneath it.”
The words barely finish leaving my mouth before Dustin has my hand gripped in his and he’s dragging me from the dance floor.
“Mind keeping Bristol for the night? ’Kay, thanks. We’re tired.” Dustin doesn’t even let my mom react before he’s pulling me through the door.
“I should probably say good night to Bailey,” I plead through slightly drunken laughter.
“You’ll see her in six hours. On the flight.” He isn’t wrong.
I give in to his whimsy and skip along behind him as he tugs my hand and leads me up the winding brick walkway that cuts through the oceanside village to our bungalow. My dad rented several of them, and I heard him and Bailey’s dad talking at dinner about possibly investing. They’ve been talking about shifting their business a lot lately, and nearly getting along all the while. It’s a strange world I live in, but I’ve learned not to question a lot of it.
We’re near our front door when Dustin sweeps me over his shoulder, the many layers of my skirt puffing up and around his head like a carnation. He spits out as if fighting his way through several layers of tulle and taffeta.
“There’s so much!”
“Try wearing it for six hours—in sand!”
We laugh our way into the tiny home, but the minute the door closes behind me, we’re done making jokes.
“You wanna see the present I bought you?” I tease.
Dustin takes a few measured steps backward, and slips his arms out of his jacket before tossing it to the side.
“You bought me a wedding present, for Tommy and Bailey’s wedding?” His lip ticks up.
I nod.
“I did.”
I reach behind my body and feel for the zipper, the tips of my fingers flailing against my skin, my nails scratching and almost catching the tip, before my hand cramps from my effort.
“Damn it!” I drop my arms in defeat. Dustin leans his head to the side and fakes a pouty face.
“Need some help?”
I nod, puffing out my lips because dang it, this is ruining my swagger.
I turn slowly and hold my breath in anticipation, sighing when I feel Dustin’s knuckles graze along my shoulder blades. He sweeps my hair to the side and presses a cool kiss against the back of my neck then pulls down the zipper.
“Ahh,” I breathe out, letting my head fall back against his chest.
He has the zipper about halfway down my back and my body is tingling in anticipation as his other hand sweeps around to my front, hugging me close. I bite my lip, waiting for him to feel inside the thick bodice of this dress, but when his movements stop completely, I bring my head up in confusion.
Before I turn around, I see it. Held open in his palm, in front of my chest, is a tiny blue box. Robin’s egg blue. Tiffany blue. It’s a wish list item that I joked about once when we first started dating.
“Hannah Banana,” he says, his voice deep and breath warm against my shoulder. I reach up and take the box in my hands, flipping open the lid and revealing a massive diamond circled with dozens of tiny ones and swirls of platinum. My knees buckle but Dustin hugs me close, laughing nervously at my ear.
“It may be tacky to propose to someone at someone else’s wedding, but technically . . . we left. And more than that, I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
He lets his hand go, but nudges my shoulder with his other, turning me so I face him as he drops to one knee.
Dammit. I’m crying.
“Will you be my wing woman? My best passenger, best friend, backup, champion, and hero? Will you marry me and put up with all of the old-man cranky habits I’m bound to pick up from your dad? Will you be my wife, through another lifetime of us, and whatever that means? Will
you . . .” I swallow hard. “Will you marry me?”
I start nodding as I drop the box, and my hands are shaking so much it’s impossible for me to slip the ring on my finger. Dustin helps me fit it over my knuckle and then swoops me up and carries me to the small velour sofa by the fireplace that I didn’t realize was lit.
He lays me down on the sofa and begins unbuttoning his shirt as he rests one knee on the couch between my legs.
“You had help in this, you devil,” I say.
He waggles his head.
“Bailey may have done me a solid. I didn’t think we were leaving quite so soon, but then . . . you said something about a present.” He drops his head to my breasts and bites at the fluff of fabric still covering me, tugging it and shaking his head like a dog.
“I mean, my present is not a marriage proposal, so maybe you got ripped off.”
“Uh uh.” He shakes his head, and his devilish grin grows as his hazel eyes darken.
I lick my lips and push myself up to sit enough to slide the dress the rest of the way over my shoulders. Dustin’s jaw drops as he sits back, so I stand and let the dress completely slide from my body. I kick it away when it hits the floor, and move to unwind the straps of my shoes that wrap up my calves.
“Leave those on,” Dustin says, grabbing my hand. I drop my foot back to the floor and stand before him in the most expensive thing I have ever bought myself. The olive green satin matches the ugly dress, but it’s definitely not the same. My nipples press against the delicate slits of lace and my panties hang on my hips in a heart-shaped cut that covers the throbbing skin between my legs, but barely. Jewel-crusted ribbons link the garter belt to the satin rings around my legs, and as Dustin’s eyes follow the line from my breasts to my thighs, his hand moves toward me automatically, gently tugging the ribbon and pulling me toward him.
“I’m pretty sure this beats the ring,” he says, pressing his kiss between my legs and warming me through the cloth as he peers up at me.
“I’m pretty sure what you’re doing wins,” I pant. He grins against me.
“Just wait.”
In a breath, I’m on my back, panties tugged to the side and Dustin’s finger sunk into me. I cry out, something I haven’t been able to do for months since Bristol and I have been living with him. It was worse before Tommy moved out. Sex has never been so . . . quiet. I love the condo, but we’re going to need to rethink the open loft.
Burn: The Fuel Series Book 3 Page 21
