I place my hands on Henry’s shoulders, looking up at his face that is so reminiscent of Dad, especially right now as he shoots down my idea. “It’s my decision, Henry, and I want to let S&M use it. Griffin is a good driver. That crash wasn’t his fault, and he shouldn’t have to sit out races because of it. If something happens, I know Paul will have my back. They’re not going to leave me hanging with a busted car and no thanks for anything.” I can’t address what I’ll get out of this, other than some excited gratitude, at best. I just know that this feels like the right thing to do, and I need it.
“Your brother is right, Shelby. We only have a few days before the Sonoma competition. We would have to be out here daily, getting Griff comfortable and making sure the tune was right and the parts broken in. It’s risky.”
“We will do whatever we need to, even if it means being out here as much as we can. I know you and Paul can make it work. I trust Griffin to drive it well. But first, I need my chance at her.” I twirl my fingers in the air at Henry. “Get her unloaded. I need to drive her before the guys show up. Ryan,” I say, digging in my bag and tossing him my GoPro. “Film all of it. Even if I stall, or miss a gear as I get used to things. I need footage for the shop to introduce the new car.”
***
The engine snarls angrily as I open it up on a straightaway to build some decent speed. The sensation is like flying in the belly of a powerful dragon, smoking tires and all. I quickly pull the handbrake, forcing a loss of traction that I counter-steer just before I enter a turn, finding myself completely sideways at the apex. The body of the Mustang doesn’t sway at all, keeping the body roll to a minimum as I hurtle around the exit. I rip the wheel in the opposite direction and tap the clutch to force a change to the angle for the next turn, the back end on the opposite side of the track. The engine bounces off the rev limiter, my right foot modulating the gas as I keep the slide up. Smoke billows out behind me as I make my way through the track, smashing through the gears and keeping the throttle wide open.
God, it feels so good to chase this high, conquering the turns and feeling the proficient and powerful build come to life after two years of dreaming. It was all worth it. The months of agonized research and decision-making. The loss of a social life due to lack of funds thanks to buying expensive, handpicked parts. Piecing it together bit by bit to get exactly this; pure perfection on wheels.
Project Black Sheep is a beast.
I hit another set of turns that climb upward, managing to drift those corners and not hit the dirt off the course as I go. The downhill section is all softly swaying direction changes that I nail with precision, having made it through the course a half dozen times already. Each time I became more sure of myself. This time, I let it all come together in perfect harmony with the deep throaty roar of the engine, the shrill screech of the tires breaking free, and the smell of burnt rubber bathing it in magic.
My smile pushes my cheeks into the sides of the black helmet my head is safely encased in as I head toward the gathered group near the end of the track. I push and pull the handbrake, initiating drift, and feather the throttle to keep my slide going as I circle the S&M crew standing with Henry. They follow the progress of the car as I whip the back end around and drift up to the camera Ryan is holding.
I turn off the ignition and quickly unbuckle the five-point harness as I throw the door open, pulling off my helmet as I step out of the now quietly cooling car. Five faces transform from interested fascination to complete shock as they realize it was me tearing up the course in this beautiful Mustang. Ryan and Henry look a little bored, but still happy. They’ve seen this show already, so I’m not worried about their reactions.
It’s the rest of the team I wanted to impress.
“Shut the fuck up. Shelby, you are one badass chick,” Ezra shouts, throwing his hands up in the air and giving me enthusiastic double high fives.
Wyatt runs over and sweeps me onto his shoulder, spinning me in a circle as he whoops in delight. “Sweet thing, that was the coolest surprise you could have organized. It was even better than watching the video of you shredding in my Z.” I squeal and smack his back until he puts me back down, but my smile never fades. I’m so happy right now. Euphoric. “I knew it was you. Griff owes me twenty bucks now. Better pay up, sucker,” he says to Griffin, his hand extended. I turn to the rest of the group, trying to collect myself.
“So, Paul, what do you think?” I ask as I steady myself from the spin-cycle Wyatt just took me through. Funny how my equilibrium is fine as I swing a car back and forth, but spin me upside down for a second and watch out.
“I think that car is legit, and your driving is on point, but I’m not sure what this is all about. Care to explain?”
“My brother and I built this car and I want the team to use it for competition until the Supra is fixed. It’s solid. I know it’s not a traditional drift car, but it’s rear-wheel drive, has a limited slip differential, and built to spec for what you would want from your race cars.”
Paul clutches his chest and looks at me like I’ve just told him it was Christmas Day and he was particularly good this year.
“Shelby, you are something else. A true blessing. I don’t know what to say.” He chokes up and has to stop talking as he brings his fist to his mouth. Is he going to cry? Did I just seriously bring him to tears?
“Why are you doing this?” I look over at the softly rumbled question, then drop my eyes when I see the utter confusion on Griffin’s face. Why wouldn’t I is a better question.
I put my hands on my hips and stare at him, hoping he will see this as a goodwill gesture. I want to be on better terms with him, because I’m sure deep down he’s a decent guy, even if he prefers to torment me. My heart hammers in my chest thinking he’s going to refuse, on principle alone, because it’s coming from me.
“I want you to be able to drive in the competition. It wasn’t your fault you had a crash at your first race. You need the points for a higher standing in the series. You need to be able to qualify for the Pro Championships through the California Circuit. If you don’t drive at Sonoma, or Sacramento the week after, you’re screwed. S&M doesn’t have an extra car, and I don’t expect you to pull a race-ready car out of your ass this week. What other choice do you have than to drive my car?”
Griffin drags his hand through his dark hair, not taking his eyes off mine. I watch as emotions flit within the blue depths. Is he so stubborn and prideful that refusing this handout from me would be a preferable option?
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I reply. I toss him the keys, taking him by surprise once again. “If you drop the tires into the dirt, or wreck it out here, I will castrate you. Do yourself and your balls a favor and treat the Black Sheep with respect.”
“Why do you call it the Black Sheep?” Cole asks. I look over at him and smile. I came up with the name when I proposed the build to Henry, and it’s stuck.
“Because she’s a mix of all sorts of things. Ford purists will hate the Chevy motor. American car lovers don’t understand the turbos and JDM parts. Drag racers won’t see the point of building a suspension that allows you to go sideways. This car is the black sheep of the racing world, and I love it. I built this car specifically to drift well, not to stay true to a brand or preconceived notion.”
“Kind of like you,” Ryan offers. “You’re our hook, but so much more. People see your packaging and think ‘pretty girl with no car knowledge’ and then you go and turn everyone’s assumptions on their heads when you get behind the wheel. Or come up with a crazy idea to get the shop noticed. Or even when you come through with much-needed parts. And now a fucking sick race car when we’re out one.” I blush furiously at his praise and stare at my sneakers.
“Stop talking about me and make Griffin take her out for a spin.”
“Want to ride with me?” Griffin asks, indicating the passenger seat.
I slowly nod and smile my thanks. “Yeah, I would. It will be cool to get that exper
ience and see how your style differs from mine.”
I pull my helmet back on along with Griffin as I head around the car and slide in next to him. We buckle our harnesses and he turns the engine, letting the cams thump and bump at idle. The sound of this car is truly amazing. The next thing I know, he’s roasting the tires and taking off onto the track. I know it well enough now to anticipate when I’ll need to brace for the turns, so I watch him flick through the gears and manage the handbrake.
His face, stuffed inside his racing helmet, is pure concentration and ease. He may not know my car well, but he’s in his element. He’s fluid and graceful, powerfully shifting, steering, and maneuvering this car around the turns. He’s sexy in that unknown way, like he has no clue that just by being good at what he does, he’s actually setting my body on fire. A little smile breaks across his face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re incredible.” Oh shit, did I seriously just say that out loud?
“No, this car is. You did a good job,” he says, over the roar of the engine hitting the limiter.
How he can see me staring and talk easily while driving the Black Sheep like a bat out of hell, I have no clue. I had enough trouble keeping my shit eating grin in check as I raced around the curves. It’s a total rush though, all of it. Driving the car. Riding in it. Being with Griffin in his Zen spot. I never want to leave.
“Henry built it. I just told him what I wanted.” I grab the roll cage and steady myself as he hits a vicious S-turn.
“You have a good knowledge of what will work, then. This car is perfectly balanced, powerful, gorgeous, and so responsive. Like you.”
Just responsive? Or does he think I’m powerful and gorgeous, too? This time, I keep my thoughts in my head, where they belong. “You don’t even know me,” I say, just loud enough for him to maybe hear me. If he wants to.
“I know you’ll call me out on my bullshit.” I smile to myself. He’s got that right. “I know you are fiercely independent. You’re tough as nails and have an armored exterior, even though you’re soft and sweet like caramel inside. You would rather die than let someone coddle you just because you’re a girl. You won’t take shit from anyone. And I know you like it when I touch you. I see it all over your face.” And enough of that train of conversation.
I swallow the truth and bite my lip to keep it in. No need to stroke his ego with how close he got with that deduction. Instead I say, “Why don’t you just focus on driving, okay? You got a little close to the dirt on that last turn.”
“You want to see close?” He waits a little longer to grip the handbrake, but when he does, he just barely skims the dirt on the side of the track with the back wheels, creating a dust storm to mix with the tire smoke.
My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I imagine all of the things that could go wrong with Griffin at the wheel. He could hit a wall or barricade. Another driver could hit him. He could push the limits of a part and have it break and take the entire car with it. Is it really a good idea to put Black Sheep up to this? Yes. What’s the point of building a car like this, meant specifically to be pushed to the limits, if you refuse to see what those limits are?
Griffin brings us back to the S&M team in a blaze of burning glory. He slides sideways and burns out the tires like he’s up for an award. I hope Paul is cool with replacing the tires each time Griffin takes it to the track. I sure don’t want to be buying them all week.
I start to unbuckle my harness, but Griffin’s hand grabs mine. I freeze and look up at him, not sure what personality I will be getting; cocky driver, pissed off gearhead, or the nicer side I’ve only just begun to notice. His blue eyes capture mine, holding me hostage and making me want to say and do all sorts of unspeakable things that would not be fitting for teammates.
“Thank you.” His smoky voice purrs around the words, making it sound special and foreign.
He says so much more than that, though. His thank you is wrapped up with an apology, and a promise: he wants to treat me better, maybe even show me his appreciation for what I’ve done.
Or at least that’s how I’m reading it.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure anyone would have done the same if they could in this situation.” I wave off the emotions that whirl through my brain. Thoughts and promises of what could be with Griffin buoying my hope and fanning the sparks that have been smoldering under our tense, insult strewn interactions.
“That’s where you’re wrong. People don’t give a fuck if you’re out a car. No one is jumping to hand over a perfectly built race car just because they can. This is special, and it means more than you know.” He rubs his thumb over my knuckles, my fingers squeezing him back quickly before I pull my hand away. Damn his deep, resonant voice that undoes me. I want to roll around in his praise, but I can’t.
“Yeah, well, I’m happy to help.” I quickly unfasten my harness and scoot out the door. I’m not sure how to continue a conversation that straddles an invisible line between what I know from the past and what is possible in the future. And all around bad news if I can’t rein in my desire to jump his fucking bones.
“How was it? Different from driving yourself?” Henry asks, capturing me with an arm thrown around my shoulders. I smile up at him and look around the group. Only Wyatt looks a little put off by my brother’s affection. Does he want to be the one to stick me under his arm? Probably.
“It was...illuminating. A total rush. The car is perfect, Henry. Thank you for taking the time to make my crazy dream a reality.” I hug his waist and release him before I get caught up in the sappy feelings that are turning me to mush.
“Griff, what do you think? Can you drive it for Sonoma?” Paul asks as Griffin removes his helmet.
“It’s not the Supra, but it’s a good car. We can make it work. I can’t believe I get a second chance at making a push toward qualifying. I thought for sure I was going to be sitting out a few races and have to give up on the Pro Championships after the California Series.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” I say, catching his eye quickly before looking down at my shoes.
I am offering Griffin the opportunity to show me he’s more than an asshole with a few nice comments thrown in here and there. We’ll see if he can make the most of it, or if he truly is just a douchebag with a penchant for pissing me off.
Chapter Thirteen
I’ve been teasing our social media platforms with hints of a huge announcement S&M will make today, and it’s driving people crazy. There are so many theories about what the announcement could be that they make me laugh. “The hot chick is going to flash her tits” is not one of them, but “Equipping the 350Z with two sets of wheels and pedals for both Wyatt and Griffin to drive together” totally is.
It’s Monday and I’m back on the plaid couch at S&M, editing the GoPro footage from the track yesterday. With half a dozen runs by me alone, I had plenty. Griffin managed a few laps at the track and called it a day so the tires didn’t completely shred off. We had Wyatt take the Z out for his own set of runs, and now I can definitely put more video of the guys driving to appease the fans and Griffin alike.
Henry stayed the night on my borrowed couch and left early this morning to get back to the shop. Apparently Dad wasn’t thrilled with losing him for a full work day, so he will go straight to work when he gets back to San Jose. Kind of a jerk move, but I guess they’re busy. It made me hug my brother extra hard knowing he had come all this way just because I asked. I already miss him so much.
This morning I had Ryan help me film a little intro to Project Black Sheep, listing the mod specs and power output. It’s fun to see Black Sheep next to the Z, but sadly, the Supra is sitting broken and pulled apart in the far bay of the garage. Ryan, Paul, and Ezra have been working feverishly, straightening out the bumper, pulling out the broken pieces, and figuring out what parts of the motor were damaged by the intercooler. JDT sent over the turbos this morning, and a few parts should be h
ere later this week. It’s going to take a while, even with paying for expedited shipping.
I chose Irresistible by Fall Out Boy to set this video to. The horns in the intro seemed fitting to introduce a new car. Not to mention the lyrics are a little indicative of my own situation. I turn the volume down for the portion that I am saying hi and telling everyone about my special project and why I wanted to loan it to S&M.
For once, I am completely clothed in the video, wearing my logo tank unrolled like a normal person and jeans, but I don’t think anyone will mind. I popped graphics and text up on the screen to visually list the mods and why we added them, letting the music come back up with footage of me driving. It’s hard to tell in the video who is driving at first, but the smile on my face when I slide into the camera is more than enough. I even have a shot of me throwing the keys to Griffin used to segue into his own laps. All in all, the video looks pretty awesome, and is less than five minutes in length. Even Cole will be able to pay attention that long.
I hit upload to YouTube and wait forever for it to be complete, then shoot the link out all over our social media platforms. How did race teams build an audience before everything was digital? No wonder drifting has exploded in popularity over the last ten years. Prior to that, there would have been hardly any way for casual fans to discover a race team popular across the world, like where the sport originated in Japan, unless they were personally exposed to it. Now it’s instantaneous.
Anyone can film a video inexpensively, use free software to edit it together, and put it online for anyone to see with just a few keystrokes or clicks to your page. Saturating your social platforms with the video allows it to go viral with a few shares from your followers. And like magic, you have new fans and a ton of interest blowing in from all over the world. I’m not saying it’s that easy, or you are guaranteed success, but I am doing my best to make it happen. Now, I’ve pretty much hit my limits with how much I can actually do, editing wise, but I have a plan for that, too.
Drift Heat Page 11
