40. June #3
My mouth lifts into a smile. Holy crap. Talk about an adrenaline rush. I lean my head against the headrest and try to soak up the moment. The rush. This is insane! And kind of amazing.
Ford must see my smile in his periphery because his smirk returns with a vengeance. “Told ya you’d like it.”
He’s right. I do. A lot.
He picks up speed again on the straightaway, shifting into sixth gear and catching up to a black car ahead. The tail lights glow in the dark abandoned airfield as the car eats up the distance separating us. We’re totally going to catch up.
“This is insane,” I murmur.
“It’s a high,” he agrees. “One you can’t get anywhere else.”
I glance over at Ford, surprised at the trust he’s already gained from moments ago when we shot off the starting line.
This should be terrifying, but it isn’t.
It’s…it’s one of the most exhilarating moments I’ve ever experienced.
He’s in his element. One hand on the wheel, the other grasping the gear shift.
Nothing but absolute joy painting his handsome features.
Maybe it’s the moonlight filtering in through the windshield.
Maybe it’s the image of the long-since faded mark his father left on him that still haunts me.
Maybe it’s the music blaring from the stereo.
I’m not sure, but all I know is that I'm pretty positive he’s never looked more carefree or less guarded.
It's quite the sight. One I hope to remember for the rest of my life.
“Hold on,” he warns. “We’re coming up on another turn.”
I brace for the inevitable slam of the brakes, my grip on the oh-shit handle tightening once more. Just like before, the seatbelt pins me in place as we lurch forward. Ford shifts down, slipping between the inner edge of the ring and a black car. “Do me a favor,” he orders.
“What?”
“Roll down the window and give Rome the bird for me, will ya?”
My jaw drops. “That’s Roman?”
“Yeah, hurry!”
“You want me to flip him off?” I all but screech.
He checks his rearview mirror. “Hurry, or it’ll be too late!”
I cannot believe I'm doing this. Rolling down the window, I stick my hand into the rushing wind. It’s icy and cold and invigorating as it rushes into the car, turning my hair into a tornado of brown while I give the black car trailing behind us the middle finger.
Ford’s laughter echoes from the driver’s side, and I can’t help it.
My own amusement bubbles out of me. Oh. My.
Gosh. I cannot believe I just flipped off Roman or that I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a freaking car during an illegal race in the middle of an abandoned airfield.
How is this my life? If I had a million dollars, I never would’ve guessed I’d wind up here.
But that’s the thing about Ford. Every moment I spend with him makes me feel like I’ve won the lottery in the most unexpected ways possible.
Giving in to the sensations, I scream at the top of my lungs, “Woo-hoo!”
“Woo-hoo!” Ford chimes in. “Screw aerodynamics, leave the window down.”
I do as I’m told, soaking up the icy air as we take the final turn toward the finish line.
Combined with the hair whipping around my face, it makes me feel like I really am flying.
Like I'm untouchable. Like I could do anything I wanted at this moment. Anything. Nothing is holding me down or restraining me. Not even my seatbelt. It’s only me and Ford and the empty road in front of us.
“We’re going to make it,” I yell over the rushing wind.
“Woo!” he screams.
Seconds later, we fly past the finish line flanked with spectators on both sides.
Most are cheering. Some are pissed. Seems they bet on the wrong car.
The realization makes me laugh harder. Fools.
If they could see what Ford looks like when he’s behind the wheel, they’d know without a doubt who to put their money on.
I know I’ve learned. It’s a scary thought, but for some reason, there’s a calmness to it.
Like I’m done straddling the fence. I’m done being scared.
Even if Ford and I crash in the long run, having a glimpse of what we could be, even if it doesn’t last, is still enough to make me want to climb inside and take a drive as long as he’s the one behind the steering wheel.
I lay my head against the headrest. It’s like the last of my energy has been sapped now that we’ve finally won.
Finding a relatively out-of-the-way place to park, Ford rolls up the passenger window and shuts off Esmerelda while people begin gathering around the vehicle.
Hands slam against the metal and the glass.
The same cheers and curses mingle together.
It seeps in from the outside as I push my messy hair away from my face, trying to come down from the rush of the win.
“Told you,” he murmurs.
My head rolls toward him, and just like that, the chaos outside ceases to exist. It’s only me and Ford and his warm gaze turning me into a puddle. I smile. “Hmm?”
“My lucky charm.”
My heart pitter-patters all over again as I bite the inside of my cheek. “I thought I was your June Bug.”
His smile softens, and he leans over the center console. “That, too.”
Then, as if in slow motion, he shifts even closer and brushes my lips with his.
I close my eyes, returning the kiss. Hesitant.
Unsure. Heck, it feels like the first time even though we’ve shared a kiss on multiple occasions.
But the crazy part? It doesn’t feel like a show.
It doesn’t feel like it’s meant for anyone else, despite the spectators lining the road and surrounding our winning car, who I know can see us right now.
No, this kiss? This kiss is for Ford and his precious little secret he’s announcing to the world, even if he doesn’t know it.