Page 16 of Fast

That’s when I give it my all, using every ounce of speed my bike can unleash.

By the time he’s back on both wheels, we’re neck and neck and this is everyone’s game.

“What the?—”

The tension in the belt securing Zara to me lessens.

Fuck. She’s undone the belt. We had agreed not to try that, it’s too risky.

If she falls off, it’s game over, but if she manages to stay on? It’s victory.

I can’t feel the belt around my waist anymore, but I can still feel Zara’s back against mine. She’s still on the bike, and the bridge is fast approaching. The bike feels stable, so I don’t think Zara is going to fall. We’ve got this. We’re going to fucking win.

The second I finish that thought, something changes.

I feel her weight shifting. She’s still behind me, but her back is no longer touching mine. What the fuck?

My eyes dart between the mirrors fitted on the handlebars, and I can’t believe my fucking eyes.

Zara has managed to turn around, and she’s standing up, with her feet planted on the tiny portion of the seat she was occupying until a few seconds ago.

“Whoo Hoo!” she yells, spinning the belt that was tying us together above her head like a lasso. She’s so loud, I can hear her over the noise of the engines and the now slightly distant cheering of the crowd.

She looks so hot and fierce, standing on the back of my bike.

Jesus, fuck.

I don’t have time to gawk at how ballsy our new friend is though, because the bridge is coming into view. For being a bridge that ships would pass under on their way to the old port Bridgeport got its name from, these bridges are surprisingly low.

Maybe the sea level was much lower before, when this bridge was under water, maybe the ships that came into this port weren’t huge transatlantic ships, since Bridgeport was never a huge commercial hub and the tourist era of this town started just over two decades ago.

Whatever the reason for building such ridiculously low bridges, the arches aren’t tall enough for me to pass under them, with Zara standing on the back of my bike.

“Zara!” I yell, hoping she can hear me. “Sit the fuck down.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I was so fucking stunned by what she just did that I didn’t realize how dangerous this was. I’m seconds away from the bridge. Even if I stop now, she might fall off and break her fucking neck.

Fuck, that’s it. I’m going to seriously hurt her, or kill her, because I was too focused on the race and on gawking at her to slow down or stop in time.

The thought barely crosses my mind that she flops back down behind me a split second before we go under the bridge.

I come to a stop, skidding a little and spraying sand just like our opponent was doing before.

My feet touch the ground as I kick the stand and turn to look at her.

We’re both breathing hard, our chests rising up and down with the rush of adrenaline from what we just did.

I vaguely notice Fox finishing his race, passing under the arch next to ours. I don’t even see the third rider, the guy who was filming us with one single camera.

She takes her helmet off as she dismounts the bike with remarkable grace.

I pull her closer without even thinking, ripping my helmet off. My hands are around her thin waist, our eyes are locked together. Zara’s are so green and full of barely contained excitement.

“What the fuck did you just do?” I ask, my eyes going down her petite and yet curvy body, checking that she’s still in one piece.

A little grin curls one side of her lips. “I just won us the race.”

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