Shifting Gears: The Complete Series (Sports Bad Boy Romance)
Page 20
“If it breaks down so much, though,” I start, “why not just redo everything under the hood? It’d probably save you money in the long run.”
“Tried that,” he says. “No matter how much work I put into the damn thing, it just wants to die.”
I’m about to say, “Well then, let it,” but I think better of it. “Is it possible that you’re hanging onto it because you’d rather avoid the truth about your parents?”
“What do you mean?” he asks. “I’m confronted with the truth about them every time I get into the damn thing.”
“Okay,” I tell him, “but you’re a guy who likes to fix things. Maybe you’re hanging onto the car because you still believe there’s a way to fix your relationship with your parents or maybe even their relationship with each other.”
“Even if Mom’s still around somewhere, I really don’t see that happening,” he says. “I’m pretty sure if I saw my dad again, it’d end with him in the hospital and me in jail.”
Wow. You know, I’ve heard people say that sort of thing a lot, but this is the first time where I have no doubt that it’s not just talk.
My mind flashes to the image of Mick with his nose splint, and I can’t help but feel a little tingly knowing I’m with a man who’s willing to back up his words with action. At the same time, I don’t really want to encourage violent behavior, so I try not to get too carried away.
“Maybe,” I tell him, “but if that’s the case, why do you still have the car?”
We talk for a long time. We’re just reminiscing over the more interesting parts of our pasts, but even more than that, we’re finally getting back to when it was just easy to talk to each other.
It’s not until the blue of the unrisen morning sun starts bleeding around the sides of the red, French velvet drapes I realize just how much time has gone.
I feel great about the new turn Eli and I are taking together, but I’m tired now.
I don’t know yet if this is going to be the major turning point in our relationship, or if staying up all night talking is just the last best effort we could give. Either way, before I ask Eli if I can crash in his bed, there’s one more thing I have to know.
“So,” I start, “tell me more about this race you want me to enter.”
Chapter Eighteen
Quarter Miles
Eli
“So let me get this straight,” Desi says. “She’s entering a race at your urging, and now you’re not sure whether you want her to go through with it or not?”
Kate’s first race ever is going down in about an hour, but to be honest, I’m a bit nervous. I was fine until she asked if it was against the rules for me to ride shotgun for her run, but for whatever reason, that’s got me completely thrown.
It probably doesn’t look good, but I’m back at the bar chatting with Desi. Rather than go back and forth about this in my own head and probably end up at the wrong decision, though, I’m getting some advice.
After all, she’s the one that got me to start seeing reason after that date went sour with Kate a couple weeks ago.
“I’m just worried it’s going to be too much for her,” I tell Desi. “We’ve gone out a few times with her behind the wheel in the last few days, but that whole time I was there to tell her when to ease off the throttle or when to start turning a little earlier than usual. At the same time, though, I don’t know if I want her getting into the habit of relying on me to be there in the car with her. I don’t think anyone’s going to see it as an advantage, given the extra weight I’ll be adding, but I’m not going to be able to be in the car with her every time if she decides she wants to follow through with this after tonight.”
“What do you mean by after tonight?”
“I’ve tried to bring in a lot of people the way Mick brought me into racing, but almost everyone that’s stuck with it long enough to make a wager ends up walking away from it after their first loss,” I tell her.
“Do you think Kate’s going to lose?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “If you’d have asked me a while ago if I’d let someone take my Chevelle a month or two after they learned how to drive a stick, I’d have said absolutely not. Actually, I would have probably told them to find their own car instead of trying to pad their losses by ruining mine, but Kate, I don’t know. She picks things up so fast, she may just go out there and blow everyone away. Eventually, though, everyone loses a race. It doesn’t matter how talented you are.”
“Are you worried about Kate or are you worried about your car?” she asks.
I lean back, smiling. “You know,” I tell Desi, “it never really occurred to me that Kate might get into a situation she wouldn’t be able to handle. It never occurred to me that she might crash the thing.”
“What were you worried about?” Desi asks, and then leans in close to whisper actual nonsense into my ear. Her smarmy boss walks past and Desi leans back again. “Sorry about that,” she says. “It’s better for my employment if he thinks I’m trying to bilk you out of a few hundred dollars. I hope that didn’t just get weird.”
“Not at all,” I tell her and then pick up where I left off. “I think, more than anything, I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going to give Kate a better shot at winning. If she wasn’t so new, I’d say the additional weight of me and the passenger’s seat would overwhelm any reason for me to ride with her, but you know, she’s still really new at this. She’s great and everything, but it’s only been-”
“Okay,” Desi says, “so, I’m hearing that you’re not so concerned that her safety’s in danger. You have a lot of confidence in her, and that’s certainly not a bad thing. At the same time, though, things happen. I remember when you were first starting out, you had a gear slip or something and you almost ended up driving into the post office. I think the real question you need to ask yourself is whether or not you honestly think it’s going to be safe for Kate to drive your car in the race tonight. She may be a natural, but experience is what teaches us what to do when things don’t go to plan.”
“I threw a rod, but I see your point. You know, she’d probably be safe enough out there on her own, but I know she’ll be safe if I’m in the car to help,” I tell her. “She’s got good instincts, but a little extra might not be a bad thing this early in her career. It’s funny: I never realized how invincible I see her as being. It honestly didn’t occur to me that something could go wrong.”
“It’s sweet that you think of her that way, but it’s not entirely realistic, is it?” Desi asks. “Even if she does everything right, there are still any number of things that could go wrong with the car, or the other racer might not have his game together and that could be just as bad, if not worse.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “Winning or losing isn’t that big a deal, but if something were to happen to Kate…”
“You really think she’s going to stick with this, don’t you? The racing, that is.”
I shrug. “I know it turns her on,” I say. “We don’t always talk racing, but when we do, she’s always at least as enthusiastic about it as I am. When she gave me her number, she said to call if I wanted to give her a ride sometime, and she actually meant in my car.”
Desi purses her lips and looks down at the bar for a second. “Well, it sounds like you know what you want to do,” she says. “Don’t know what more you need me for.”
“Gotta get back to work?”
“I probably should,” she answers. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Hey, thank you,” I answer. “I’d almost forgotten how great you are with advice.”
“It’s my cross,” Desi says, and within ten seconds, she’s already chatting up some guy in a business suit.
I pull out my phone and send Kate a text, saying, “If you still want me to ride shotgun, I’d be happy to.”
If things go the way they usually go, they’ll be deciding where to race sometime in the next hour or two: plenty of time to go over strategy and maybe even snea
k in some alone time before the hands drop.
My phone vibrates and I check the message.
The message reads, “Glad to hear it, but you need to get your butt down to the gas station on Stockholm. It sounds like they’ve almost settled on where to run tonight.”
That almost never happens. Usually, everyone likes to peacock for a couple of hours before they even think about doing anything. Then again, this is rookie night and a lot of people are looking forward to losing a lot of money.
I put a couple of bucks on the counter to pay for my soda, and I get out to the recently-fixed Galaxie.
The flatbed’s parked around the corner and down the block a ways from the gas station. If the flatbed’s here, Mick’s here. He’d offered to cart the Chevelle around tonight, seeing as how it’s Kate’s first race, and in the interest of continued hatchet-burying, I decided to let him.
I had no idea he’d get here before me.
It takes a minute to find a place to park and a few more minutes to find Kate and Mick, but as soon as they spot me, Mick starts heading for the truck and Kate runs over to give me a quick hug and kiss before we follow.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m either really excited or I’m about to throw up from the nerves. If you’ve been looking for a moment to try to convince me to back out, this is probably it.”
“Do you want to race tonight?”
Her eyes go up and to the left, and she tweaks her mouth a little to one side. “Yeah,” she says. “I want to race tonight.”
“That’s all I need to know,” I tell her. “Let’s get to the start line. Do you know who you’re racing or have you not found anyone yet?”
“I was having a little trouble elbowing my way into anyone’s conversation enough to get that far, but Mick set me up against some guy,” Kate says. “I don’t know what he’s driving, but Mick said he’d never seen the guy around, so at least there’s a fair shot he’s just as new to this as I am.”
“Okay,” I respond as we reach the flatbed. “You’re going to do great.”
I get in the flatbed first so I can sit in the middle. It’s a little weird sitting so close to Mick when there’s another option, but I still don’t know that I trust him around Kate.
“Where are we headed?” I ask whoever has an answer.
“Martin Luther King Junior Boulevard and Eighteenth,” Mick says. “It’s been a while since I’ve run that quarter mile; you?”
“Not too long,” I answer.
“Okay,” Kate says, “I think I’m pretty good on just about everything, but could we run through the burnout again?”
“Yeah,” I answer as we pull away from the curb. “Someone should let you know when the traction compound ready for you. If not, I’ll tell you. Then, you’re going to want to get your revs up near the red line before you come off the clutch. That’s going to give you the wheel spin you’re going to need for the burnout. From there, just try to stay in the grooves.”
“Okay, that’s where you lose me,” Kate says. “I don’t know if we never went over it or if I’m just freaking out a little, but what do you mean when you say ‘grooves?’”
“After a while, roads start to wear down from all the cars going over them,” I tell her. “If you look close at an older road, you can see the ruts from the tires. It’s never a lot, but when you’ve got your foot down, going in and out of the grooves can really throw off your run if you’re not ready for it. With a drag race, it’s usually best to try to stay in the grooves as much as possible.”
“Okay,” she says. “Good, I think I’m good.”
“Good,” Mick says, “cause we’re here.”
Kate’s eyes go wide and her face goes pale.
“Okay,” she mutters. “Okay.”
“You’re sure you want to do this?” I ask her. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you into anything. If you want to get out of here, we can—”
“No,” Kate interrupts. “Win or lose, I think this is something I need to do.”
“All right then,” I say and wait for her to open her door.
She doesn’t.
“Kate?”
“Oh,” she says, “right.”
She opens her door and gets out with me right behind her.
“All right,” I tell her, rubbing her shoulders, “now, do you know which race you’re in or are they just going to do it by whoever rolls up first?”
Kate answers, “Mick said he pulled some strings and got me in the second race.”
I’m not sure what kind of strings those would be. Racing order only matters if you’ve been in one place too long, and the only time I’ve ever heard anyone argue about it is when flashing lights are coming down the road and someone with something to prove hasn’t had a chance to prove it yet.
Mick says, “Everyone was talking about who got to go first, so when I said Kate wanted to go second, nobody seemed to mind.”
I chuckle.
“What?” Mick asks.
“Nothing,” I tell him, smiling with relief. “It’s been so long since you were working with me I forgot your rule about first time races.”
The rule is to get the first race out of the way before you have too much time to think about it. It doesn’t matter who you are: unless you’re delusional, the nerves are going to get to you eventually.
Here I was thinking Mick was trying to come off as some sort of race guru when he was just doing the same thing with her he did with me. This doesn’t mean he and I are back to normal, but it’s a decent step in that direction.
The first cars are already pulling up to the line. When the race isn’t legal, you tend to waste a little less time starting it.
Kate, Mick, and I hop onto the back of the flatbed. Mick unfastens the ramps while Kate and I uncover the Chevelle.
When everything’s ready, Kate asks if I’d be willing to pull it down the ramp and off the back of the flatbed. I agree without hesitation and, within a minute, all four tires are on the asphalt and Mick’s looking around for Kate’s opponent.
Kate’s just standing next to the Chevelle, her arms crossed. She’s quiet, but the way her eyes are darting back and forth, I’d hardly say it’s a peaceful kind of quiet.
“Hey,” I say to her and pull her for a hug. “You’ve got this, all right?”
“Are you going to be mad at me if I lose?”
“Of course not,” I tell her.
“Are you going to do the insecure guy thing and get bent out of shape if I win?” she asks, loosening her grip around my waist so she can look up at me.
I laugh. “I’m going to be proud of you whether you win or lose,” I tell her. “I’m already proud of you, actually. I’m pretty sure the only problem I’m going to have win or lose is trying to keep the front of my pants from bursting open while you’re driving.”
“Yeah?” she asks. “You think racing girls are hot, huh? I guess I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
We laugh together and give each other another quick squeeze before I hand her the keys.
Mick calls out my name, and Kate and I look over, finding him standing next to what I’m pretty sure is an exact replica of a particularly famous 1970 Dodge Charger R/T. Apparently, he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t actually know anything about racing, but sure does love the movies.
The guy doesn’t have a chance.
“You ready to get behind the wheel and do this?” I ask.
“I’ll probably be a lot more ready if you stop asking me that,” Kate retorts. A moment later, she gasps and says, “I am so sorry for snapping at you like that.”
I put an arm around her shoulders, saying, “You sound pretty ready to me.”
The first cars start their burnouts, startling Kate and I out of our moment.
Without a word, we both walk to our respective doors and get in the Chevelle.
“Okay,” I tell her, “do you see the guy you’re racing?”
“That’s the one,” I tell her. “If he’s like everyone else I’ve seen behind the wheel of that car, he’s going to waste at least a second trying to see if he can get his car to do a wheelie off the line, so you’ve already got the advantage.”
“People can actually do that?”
“You can, but I’m telling you, it’s a waste of time in a drag race,” I answer. “I’m here to help, but the actual race is going to be over pretty quickly, so if you have any last-minute questions, now’s the time.”
“Yeah,” she says. “After I win, how would you like to celebrate?” As punctuation, she fires up the Chevelle, and I’m not sorry to admit I’ve got goosebumps.
The first cars take off roaring down the street and now Kate’s pulling up next to her opponent on the starting line.
“They don’t waste any time, do they?” she asks as a few people come out and start laying down traction compound.
“Hey!” a voice I can barely hear shouts and Kate and I look over to the car next to us. “Good luck getting off the line with a passenger! Also, I’d like my money in smaller bills if you’ve got ‘em. It’ll be a lot easier making it rain on the finish line if I’ve got more paper.”
I’m about to throw the guy’s own smack talk back in his face, but Kate just starts laughing.
“Yeah,” she says, turning to me, her eyes wild, “I’m ready.”
Down boy, now’s not the time.
When the road’s treated, Kate and I wait for them to make a puddle around the back tires. As soon as they’re out of the way, Kate’s foot is on the gas and her foot’s off the clutch and she keeps her revs up as the back tires start spinning in place.