3. Skylar
CHAPTER 3
SKYLAR
T he constant buzzing of my phone wakes me up. I reach out and smack around to find it, finally connecting with the metal device. I lift it and answer without looking as someone sighs and drapes themselves over my back.
“Skylar?” Alek’s deep voice asks. He’s way too loud this early . . . or late. Either way, I’m too hungover for it right now.
Shit, am I in trouble again?
“I didn’t vomit in your bushes. That was Evan.” It’s a safe bet. When I open my eyes, though, I realize I’m not at their place like normal when I crash. I’m in a hotel room, an upscale one at that. The blinds are open, showing Pine Valley’s skyline beyond, the bed I’m lying across has silk sheets, and there’s a desk and a table somewhere off to my left.
The person whose warmth is draped over my back groans, burying their face into my skin, and I glance over my shoulder to see a blond head. His bare back and ass are on full display. It’s a nice ass. No wonder I took him to a hotel.
“Are you hungover? Never mind. I have an opportunity for you. Starfire needs a racer. Do you want in?” I blink a few times to clear the post-alcohol fog and nausea rolling through my sticky and overheated body. His words try to pierce through it all, but they feel jumbled and wrong, and when they finally click, my mouth hangs open.
Alek works for Team Starfire. Is this for real?
Is he offering me a job? He knows how badly I wanted to race for them before, but I knew I wasn’t good enough. Who would take a street racer like me? They want actual professionals. They want champions . . . .
“Are you fucking with me?” I finally ask, trying to quash the hope in my chest as I sit up, ignoring the whine from the guy next to me who rolls over and promptly goes back to sleep.
“Nope. You get one shot. Don’t fuck it up. Give it your all and be here tomorrow.”
The phone goes dead, and I tug it away from my ear, staring at it in shock.
He’s not fucking with me. Even Alek isn’t that cruel, which means… I have a chance to be an actual racer like I’ve always wanted. Wasn’t I just saying how everything felt boring and predictable?
Starfire is anything but that.
It’s my chance to get off the streets.
A text comes through, and I huddle around my phone like it’s the Holy Grail.
Alek: Tomorrow, 10 AM. Don’t be late or hungover. You know the address.
I gawk at the text when another comes through.
Alek: You’ve got this, Sky. Show them what us street racers are made of.
Hope and excitement bloom in my chest, and I scramble from the bed before wincing. My back is cut up to shit. I glance over my shoulder and spare the guy in the bed a look, debating waking the hellcat for round two. It was obviously fun, but I have more important things now. As quickly as I can, I locate my clothes, all but my boxers, which I leave behind. After scribbling a note, I prop the card on the desk.
Room is paid for. Thanks for a good night — S
I hightail it out of there, stopping at reception to take care of the bill, and then I’m in my car, shooting into the city before my companion even wakes. There’s a wide grin on my lips, and all signs of my hangover are gone, replaced by the adrenaline of what I know is coming—the excitement of the race.
There is only one person I want to tell, but I resist. He probably won’t care. Hell, I don’t even know why I want to tell him so badly. Aren’t I just playing with him and having fun to occupy my time?
Why is he the first person I think of after getting this news?