At one point, Jerry calls over. “Hey, Rix, you wanna show your boy toy what you can do?”
Boy? Toy? He’s obviously talking about me, but I can’t say I’ve been called a boy in a long while, and never a toy.
Erica grins but doesn’t move from my side. “Nah, Foxy needs a full check. Damn Officer Miles had her towed and I won’t race her till I know they didn’t fuck anything up. Can you believe they wouldn’t even let me oversee the hookup?” Her eyes hold fire, like it would be a common thing for a handcuffed prisoner to be in charge of handling the car they were just arrested for speeding in. “I told them if they so much as chipped her rust, I’d know it and make them pay.”
The threat seems pretty damn valid, though I don’t think anyone would pay for rust chipping. But something tells me Erica would make them pay, one way or another.
“Drive mine. She ain’t got a bottle like the newfangled ones you’re doing, but test out that 350 you put in her,” Jerry offers.
Erica’s smile is brighter than the spotlights lining the track. “Wanna see something cool?”
Test, test, test. Oh, she’s prodding and pushing me, testing to see how much it takes for me to tell her no. But this is her show, her expertise, not mine.
“Fuck yes, woman. Show me what you got.” I smile, honestly excited to see. And yes, a little terrified, but mostly excited.
She blinks slowly, eyes locked on me like a lie detector, and I stand there and take it. She needs to know I’m not stopping her, won’t stop her.
“Fuck it, Jerry. Let me grab my gear while you tell Ed.” Erica smacks me on the butt, making my grin grow, before she takes off at a jog toward her car.
I’ve never felt like such a sideline bitch before. But right this moment, I don’t mind it a bit. It’s a give and take. Like at Hank’s when I was teaching Erica some moves, she followed me easily. Now, when this is her thing, I’ll follow her. Hopefully, later, we can fuck each other stupid. See? All things in balance, as they should be.
Erica reappears a moment later with a helmet tucked under her arm. She smiles at me and then gets down to business, chatting with Ed and some other guy, who I guess she’ll be racing.
“She’s a pretty special gal, our Rix,” Jerry says from beside me.
“Yep.” I don’t offer more, letting him say his piece.
“If she told you about this, brought you here, she must think you’re pretty special too.” I cut my eyes his way. “Are you?”
“Nah, just a guy.” I shrug and he chuckles.
“Just a guy? If you say so, Son.” He claps me on the shoulder, and I flinch involuntarily at the combination of the term of endearment and motion. If Jerry notices, he doesn’t say anything, and we both focus on watching Erica race.
Jerry chatters about his car, an old Camaro that Erica’s dad first fixed up and that Erica overhauled more recently. I don’t hear much of what he says because my eyes are tracking Erica’s every move.
She’s comfortable, walking a loop around the car and checking under the hood. She sends Jerry a thumbs-up which he returns, and then she climbs behind the wheel. Her and the other car, another classic that sounds like it runs on grit and gravel, line up.
That’s when my heart stops beating and I quit breathing.
Oh, fuck. She’s racing. Like, speeding down the track going one-fifty with just metal surrounding her and no airbag in sight. “Uhm, Jerry . . . ?”
He chuckles. “Wait till you see her, Just a Guy. You’re gonna be floored by what she can do.”
His hand is gentle on my shoulder this time, letting me know he definitely saw my earlier flinch. He holds me steady, encouraging me to stay in place. I cross my arms over my chest, my feet wide and my eyes laser locked on Erica. Not the cars, not the race, not the lights changing from yellow to green.
Erica.
She’s there one second and gone the next, a blur speeding away from me.
And damn is she going fast. It’s like time simultaneously slows and speeds up, which makes no sense but is the God’s honest truth. The straight line down the track that seemed fun and wild when the other racers were doing it now seems like seriously risky business. Not because Erica’s a woman but because she’s . . .
Nope, I stop that thought, not giving it space in my mind because it’s not remotely true. Casual, nothing more. That’s the deal. My dick and my heart snort at my assessment of the situation, knowing I’m full of shit. I care about Erica, not anything serious but enough to not want her to risk her life and limb doing stupid shit.
But the way she’s handling Jerry’s car makes it seem like it’s not craziness personified. She might as well be out for a Sunday stroll in that beast of a car, never wavering on her straight shot to the finish.
The other car is easily two car lengths behind when she crosses the line. I release my breath and clap, loud and proud, for her. “Hell yeah!”
The brake lights glow red for a minute and then Jerry’s car spins a one-eighty that makes my heart leap a little before I realize she’s just celebrating before heading off the track toward the parking lot.
“Whoo-hoo, she just won me three hundred bucks! Thank you, Rix!” Though he’s thanking the woman in the parking area, he looks skyward, like she’s a goddess. Hell, she damn near is.
Badass, fierce, racing, engine whispering, dick owning . . . goddess.
I shake hands with Jerry and excuse myself, beelining for Erica. She’s parked and is pulling her helmet off her head, her hair an absolute sweaty, beautiful fucking mess. She’s never looked happier. That probably says something about my fucking skills, but I get the feeling it’s more about how important racing is to her.
Her eyes are bright and dancing before clouding with worry when she sees me. “Hey,” she says hesitantly.
I don’t pause at all, stalking toward her like a man possessed—by her. I pull her to me, cupping her cheeks and lifting her to her toes as I bend down and our lips connect. It’s sweet and appropriate, though the hooting crowd thinks differently, but damn if I’m not trying to tell her just how awesome that was.
As she falls back to her flat feet, I copy her greeting. “Hey.” She smiles. “You’re amazing.”
Her eyes roll hard. “You already said that.”
“Thought it again, so I said it again.” I pull my hat off, curl it, and pull it back on. “You ready to get out of here yet?”
Say yes. Say you’re ready to go back to your place, because that was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen in my life and I want to be buried inside you as soon as possible.
My telepathic plea seems to work because she pulls at my T-shirt. “Let’s go, Cowboy.” Louder, she calls out, “She drives like a dream, Jerry. The 350 was definitely the right choice.”
He waves but answers, “I’m gonna tell Marlene you said that.”
Erica smiles, and we keep moving toward her car. If we were in my truck, I’d find the nearest dark road and pull her into my lap. In her car, there’s definitely no room for that, though my mind doesn’t stop trying to figure out a way.
The drive to the garage is slower than Erica’s race pace, but we’re definitely well over the speed limit. I don’t give a shit because I’m in just as much of a hurry as she is.