Page 97 of Forever Yours

Eight songs later and a debate over how hot women were when pregnant, we were pulling into one of the only parking spots left at the racetrack.

“Jesus, this place is packed,” Ash said, gawking at all the cars.

It was almost impossible to hear him over the car revs growling and engines gunning. I felt the vibrations through the soles of my shoes, and exhilaration trembled through me. Eager to find everyone and join in the chaos, I hurried the guys along. It was like trying to herd cats.

Me: We’re here.

SexyBoyfriend: Meet you at check-in.

The noise reduced once we were inside the main building, and I got excited for a whole other reason when I saw Julien. Ripped jeans, tight tee, hair styled in that short fauxhawk that made him look all kinds of sexy.

“Hey, babe.” He drew me in for a kiss, not caring that the older woman behind the counter was staring.

“Ryder and Fallon already on the track?” I asked, looking around.

Racing paraphernalia, clothing, gloves, helmets, anything and everything a fan of racing would want, was stacked, piled, placed, and hung throughout. I’d buy a shirt or something before we left. Maybe a ball cap, too.

“You just missed watching Ryder smoke Fallon’s ass.”

Jayson leaned a hip on the side of the counter. He sounded disappointed and put out when he said, “I miss all the good stuff. Told you we were going to be late.”

Jayson and Fallon’s hate for one another would never die. It was ingrained and cemented for all of time.

“What was his time?” I asked.

“Quarter mile in nine-point-four-one seconds.”

Kevin Helmick was the first to break the six-second quarter mile in his Challenger SRT Hellcat. Six-point-nine-nine seconds at a little over two-hundred miles per hour. A good quarter-mile time was around eleven or twelve seconds. Ryder clocking at a little over nine seconds was better than good. I blamed Ryder for me knowing that shit. I wasn’t into cars like he was, but I’d soaked up what he said over the years.

“Hey, Ash.” Julien and Ash did a shoulder bump hug, but when it came to David, they just nodded at one another.

Julien had said he trusted me, but that trust didn’t extend to David. Like Jayson, Julien was wary of him and our friendship, knowing David was still interested in me.

Julien turned to the older woman working check-in. “Georgia, this is my boyfriend, Elijah, and my brother, Jayson. That’s Ash and David,” he said, pointing them out.

Georgia’s wrinkled eyes crinkled at the corners. “Welcome to Friday Night Race Wars. Driving or spectating?”

I was the only one to say driving.

“Got to sign the waivers then, handsome.”

She passed me a tablet, and my eyes crossed at how much I had to read and agree to.

“Do I need to sign if I ride with him?”

Julien’s mouth thinned, not happy.

Georgia handed out foam earplugs to everyone. “Yes, but we only allow the driver in the car for Drag Wars. No ride-alongs. Anyone want these?” She held up a set of headphones, the kind I’d seen on television that people in the pit box wore. “Not you, handsome,” she told me when I reached for a pair. She placed a pair of coveralls and a helmet on the countertop. “Since you’re driving, you wear these.”

It took another thirty minutes of faffing, waivers, and watching a safety video before we were able to head out to the track.

A crowd of mostly guys, with some girls interspersed, lined the trackside stands. Dozens of people scurried about as two cars lined up. It would be a race between a Camaro and a Tesla. The Tesla was going to win. I’d seen the YouTube videos.

My heart thundered when the Camaro’s engine roared. It was an odd dichotomy to hear it and not the Tesla’s, since electric motors were quiet. The people on the track scurried off, and the race lights flicked yellow-yellow-yellow-green. The Camaro’s wheels spun, pluming smoke. Before they gained any traction, the Tesla was already off the line and zooming down the straightaway.

I jumped when Fallon popped up beside me, dressed in similar attire and carrying a helmet.

“What’s up, fucker?”

---