Page 91 of Stand: Part One
Tuesdays
Un-fucking-believable.
Red brake lights. That was all I saw for the last four miles since Darren finally agreed to let me go on the freeway. I couldn’t believe the traffic at this hour. It was almost eight o’clock on a weekday, for fuck's sake. Shouldn’t people be home by now? We’d been sitting in this traffic for almost twenty minutes, and my impatience was beginning to replace all the oxygen in the car.
“This is bullshit,” I muttered.
“Relax, Jaden. Deep breath. You’ll get to go zoom-zoom as soon as we’re through this.”
I huffed my sigh as I sank back into the seat, Darren’s dried cum still sticky on my inner thighs. I still couldn’t believe I’d said what I said at the restaurant—my careless slip an embarrassing act of stupidity. But I’d gotten caught up in the warm sense of nostalgia, the hope of a familiar experience disrupting my ruse of complacency. And my pussy was still paying for it.
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Had me drive right into a traffic jam just to slow me down.”
Some wedding anniversary this was turning out to be.
Darren scoffed. “Oh, come on, Jaden. Even I’m not that diabolical. This is torture for me too, you know.”
I groaned my disagreement.
Driving the Ferrari around before we hit the freeway had been incredible, the feeling of freedom flowing uninhibited through my veins and hair. The car was a dream to handle, the shifting so seamless, and the acceleration time of the engine far too tempting for city streets. That was why I needed to get the fuck through this traffic so I could finally go full throttle and experience everything I’d been denied over the past few years.
I’d only been allowed to drive a little here and there during my training sessions, most of it centered around evasive driving and quick getaways on specially designed tracks, but that was about it. No leisure cruising for me. But the longer I was behind the wheel of the Ferrari, the more I realized how much I seriously missed it.
Maybe I could convince Darren to let me go on a few joyrides from time to time once he accepted that I was more than a competent driver.
Of course, that was to assume that his brother lived long enough for Darren to remain safe with me behind the wheel. If Daniel ever bit the dust, and I had another opportunity like this, Darren was right to worry like he had earlier. I’d release his seat belt so fast and whip the car around so hard, he wouldn’t have time to blink before his ass was ejected and smeared all over the fucking road.
It took several more minutes before we finally got to the cause of the traffic. A car had flipped on its side while another was sticking out of the median, the scene blocking two lanes—on the other side of the fucking freeway.
“Ugh! Goddamn fucking gawkers!” I growled as I quickly maneuvered around the ones still watching the cleanup crew, the roar of the engine matching my rage.
“I’ll allow that one,” Darren muttered through gritted teeth. “Given that I couldn’t agree more.”
I shook my head as I up-shifted, my speed climbing with satisfaction. With the open highway finally ahead of me, my blood rushed as I pushed the gas pedal to ninety miles an hour, jolting us forward. Damn, this car was fast.
“Hey, take it easy there, lead foot,” Darren griped as I sped down the curve of the freeway.
“You promised I could go zoom-zoom.”
“Just as long as your zoom-zoom doesn’t wreck my car.”
I scoffed with a laugh. “Don’t worry, pumpkin, I’ll buy you a new one.”
He snorted in response.
After turning up the radio, I opened the windows a little to allow the wind to blow through my hair. All the while, a very tense Darren remained pensive in the passenger seat.
Now this was the freedom I’d needed for so long. Just the open road, a full tank of gas, and some damn good tunes. Flipping through the radio stations, I scrolled for a few seconds until “Welcome 2 Detroit” by Trick Trick suddenly caught my ears.
“Ha ha, yes,” I cheered softly and turned the music up. Darren gave me a side-eyed glare as the bass of the song rattled the car, but those daggers he shot my way couldn’t penetrate shit. It was zoom-zoom time.
Speeding down the freeway, I spit out every word of that song. I might have endured a little disappointment over some mediocre California perch, but music would never let me down when I wanted a real taste of Detroit.
When the song barely finished, Darren turned down the volume and quickly changed the channel.
“Hey!” I protested.
“I said you could drive. Not DJ,” he rumbled, switching through the stations.
