Page 47 of The Charlie Method

I grin at him. “No promises.”

“Gear up,” he says, tossing me my usual helmet.

The moment I slide into the driver’s seat, the interior cocoons me in pure luxury. The leather seats are buttery soft. The dashboard looks like it belongs in a sci-fi movie. My heart starts pounding as I run my hands over the steering wheel, anticipation coursing through me.

Dante reaches over and presses the start button. The engine roars to life, a deep, powerful sound that sends a shiver down my spine and a tingle between my legs.

Cars make me hot.

Lab work makes me hot.

My onion has layers upon layers.

I glance at Dante, and he nods, giving me the go-ahead. I ease the Stingray onto the track, my foot hovering over the accelerator. The floodlights cast an almost surreal glow on the asphalt ahead, making it look like a ribbon of black silk unfurling into the night.

“Give it to her,” he urges.

I take a deep breath and press down on the gas pedal.

The Stingray surges forward, the force of acceleration pushing me back into my seat. Oh, hell yes. The world outside the windows becomes a blur as the speedometer climbs, and I feel an exhilarating rush of adrenaline. The tires grip the track with precision as I guide the sports car around the first curve. I’m in full control, completely in sync with the machine.

Dante whoops beside me, the sound barely audible over the roar of the engine. “Yes, baby, fuckingyes!”

I laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep inside me. “I know, right?”

I push the car harder, faster, letting the speed take over. This is better than sex. This is better than orgasms and straight A’s.

This is heaven.

The track is a winding, twisting path, but I navigate it with ease, my hands steady on the wheel, my foot heavy on the gas. Every turn is like a dance between control and chaos. I’m giddy. The Stingray responds to my every move like it’s an extension of me, and for a few moments, it feels like nothing else in the world matters.

As I tear down the final straightaway, the car screaming at full throttle, the tension of the past few days melts away, replaced by a wild, carefree exhilaration.

Finally, I ease off the gas and bring the Stingray to a stop. The engine idles with a low, satisfied purr, like I just gave it a good, hard fuck.

I turn to Dante, breathless and grinning from ear to ear. “That was incredible.”

“Told you it’d be worth it.”

“Go again?”

“Hell yeah.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHARLIE:

Sorry I didn’t respond last night. I got in at like five in the morning.

LARS & B:

Sounds like an eventful night.

CHARLIE:

It was. Who am I speaking to?

LARS:

---