Page 23 of Hyperspeed
“Feeling sore, hotshot?” Rev sounded smug, and annoyingly, he had every reason to be. I’d instigated the challenge, insisting I’d beat him by a mile, but he left me trailing behind as we drifted back to the paddock.
His win surprised me, the gap between us more so. But what caught me off guard was the eerie calm I carried beneath it all. I was used to coming in first. Used to doing everything I could to stay ahead and take my place on the podium. Today I’d made mistakes, tried new things. I’d learned that maybe being predictable wasn’t always a good thing.
I’d wanted to teach the rookie a lesson, and he’d schooled me instead. Not that I’d ever tell him. He was still unpredictable, and any decision to go off-piste could take someone out with sixteen of us on the track. But . . . maybe I could shake up my strategy from time to time. Maybe tried and true wasn’t always the best.
“You’re good, rookie,” I begrudgingly admitted.
“Just having fun, Kai.”
Hearing my name on his lips surprised me, too used to hearing my surname or his derogatory “hotshot.” Which I deserved since I called him “rookie”like it was something unsavoury.
But it meant nothing. Today meant nothing. Rev was still the arrogant newcomer, and I was still a three-time galactic champion—albeit one who’d apparently had a brain transplant in the last few weeks.
We were rivals, and I was going to beat him when it mattered.
I grinned as I parked up in the paddock, watching Rev disappear into Zenith’s garage without even glancing my way.
The battle may be over, but oh, had the war just begun.
Caught in Your Gravitational Pull
Kai
“Do I have to go?” I whined from my couch in the living room.
I hadn’t moved all day, too busy watching reruns ofHow I Launched Your Motheron SpaceFlix. After finishing two full seasons, I didn’t want to end my marathon now.
Jax just rolled his eyes. Even through the holo-call, I could tell his vast well of patience had runneth dry. I was whining like a baby, but I didn’t fucking care. I really,reallydidn’t want to go out tonight.
“Savannah has already RSVP’d. Said if you don’t go, she’ll sign you up for at least three charity marathons in the off-season.”
Savannah was Nexus’s publicist, and a complete and utter bitch. Okay, she wasn’t. Except when we didn’t “follow her vision,” and I’d rather be spaghettified in a black hole than find myself on her bad side.
“I’m a driver, I’m—”
“Not built for running,” Jax finished. “So you’ll just have to go, then, won’t you?”
“But I don’twanna.” I felt like screaming and rolling around on the floor.
Jax was no longer paying attention to me. He was at the edge of the holo, rooting through his wardrobe for something to wear.
It was one of our weekends off. Horizon Rings had ended with Dray, Zylo, and me in third, second, and first. Dray had shoved Jax off the track in the penultimate lap, and he’d collided with a chunk of debris that forced him to retire. He’d fumed about it ever since, so tonight Dray would be first in line at an all-you-can-eat buffet of icy glares.
The event was a party for the league’s newest sponsor—CosmoCharge: the ultimate fuel in the galaxy. Basically just another bog-standard energy drink packed with sugar and preservatives.
Sam had called me twice already, speculating whether his favourite porn star would be there. Wasn’t sure what kind of party he thought it was, but I wasn’t in charge of the guest list. Maybe CosmoCharge had a more . . . progressive approach to sponsorships.
All I wanted to do tonight was veg out in front of the TV and become one with my couch. Maybe jack off a few times.
Unfortunately for me, tonight’s attendance was mandatory—foreverydriver. Including a certain rookie who’d finished fourth once again. The thought of Rev scowling his way through a sea of celebrities and execs, forced to make nice and play the game, lifted my spirits.
Huh. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a total dud after all.
I wondered what he was like when let loose in the wild. Did he smile? Or was he grumpier than usual? I didn’t even know where he lived. Would he crawl out of some rocky cave to begrudgingly network with the masses? And what would he wear? I’d only ever seen him in his racing suit.
“What’s the dress code tonight?” I asked Jax, who was ironing a floral shirt. “Clearly not black tie.”
He flipped me off without looking up, making me snicker. “The invite says ‘galactic chic,’ so interpret that how you will.”
