Chapter 5 Lewis #3
Outside, a light snow is falling all around us, lit barrels the only thing glowing in the darkness.
Music is blaring out the speakers, and I feel my insides quicken in anticipation.
I recognize some of the students here, and I dip Dwayne’s cap lower over my eyes, pulling up my hood for extra cover, watching as he shakes hands this way and that, and before I know it, I’m clutching an ice-cold drink and following him up the hill.
A tight knot of onlookers are waiting for us at the top.
Three guys, five girls. I haven’t seen them around before, and that goes a ways toward reassuring me.
Dwayne, on the other hand, seems to know them pretty well.
I grab myself a spot on the picnic blanket and listen to them discuss the race.
Unlike me, this clearly isn’t their first time at the rodeo.
“Who’d you bet on?” one of the guys asks my chaperone.
“The Aston Martin! Apparently snow just takes it to the next level. Odds aren’t great, obviously.” He shrugs. “Still, though. Better than nothing.”
I’m surprised to see Dwayne mixed up in this kind of stuff. He’s a rising star with an amazing future ahead of him with the NHL, and I guess I expected him to be a little more cautious. Seems like I’m the only person I know who actually breaks their balls trying to keep their shit on track.
“That yours?”
I snap my head up to see a cute brunette, one gloved finger pointed at my Dodge.
“Yup.” I nod.
“You racing?”
“Nope. That car’s my baby. There’s no way I’d put her in danger.”
“Want to show me the inside later?”
The way she’s looking at me leaves pretty much no room for misunderstanding, and I like her directness. This is exactly what I need right now—a pretty girl, no strings.
“I’d love to.”
She edges closer to me, and I let my knees fall open, pulling her between my legs.
With her back pressed into my chest like this, her ass nestled into my crotch, I’m suddenly not so cold anymore.
I can’t wait for this race to kick off—because I’m curious, but also because the after-party’s looking pretty promising now.
WHILE THE OTHERS HIT THE booze, I sip on my soda. Tomorrow’s home game means I need to take it easy, and besides, I need to drive us home tonight. I never go so much as a drop over the limit—it’s a Campus Driver thing.
The brunette is pressing deeper into me when suddenly engines are revving farther down the slope, the thrumming echoing through the night sky.
Planting a kiss on her neck, I jump to my feet and head over to join Dwayne at the edge of the strip, where he’s staring down into his screen. I glance over his shoulder.
“What is that?”
“Every car’s fitted with two small cameras. One showing the driver, the other showing the road. See?” He angles his screen at me. “The race is streamed on this secret channel. The multiscreen thing means you can watch along with a specific driver, or just let it run random.”
I’m impressed. “Wow. That’s hard-core. How long have you been doing this?”
“One of the ex-football guys got me into it last year.”
I glance at him. “Don’t you freak out that you’re gonna get caught?”
“Hey, I’m only watching.” He shrugs.
I watch him scroll through the options.
“Get ready for this, Conley. It’ll be over in a flash. Three laps and they’re done, and with cars like that, I’m telling you—literally, blink and you’ll miss it.”
“Is there a favorite?”
“The Aston Martin.” He nods, flashing me his screen again. “But the Dodge Super Bee isn’t a bad call, either. It’ll be close.”
“Wait a minute—there’s a Dodge?” I laugh. “Well, you know who I’m backing!”
A second later, and they’re off. Honestly, the footage flashes by so fast I can hardly follow what’s going on, so I focus on the road, leaning in as the rumble gets louder and louder, my heart hammering in my chest with every throb.
I’m not a speed freak or anything, but seeing rides like these go head-to-head is something else.
My eyes dart back and forth over the makeshift track. Some of the sections are pretty steep. Put that together with the snowfall, and you’ve got a total showstopper. A wave of exhilaration hits me in the chest, and I clap my hands excitedly.
Dwayne gasps. “Shit, here they come!”
The distant thrumming’s getting louder and louder, and just as I blink, the first two cars go zipping past us, followed by a third, then a fourth, all streaking through the night in a blur.
“Fuck!”
“That Audi took that corner way too tight, it’s gonna—”
Dwayne doesn’t even have time to get the sentence out.
The Audi goes skidding off the road, tumbling through the snow at the bottom of the hill.
This is serious shit, but nobody seems surprised.
The driver is already peeling himself out of the car, throwing punches into the wind, and I can tell from here just how pissed he is.
“The Dodge is winning!” I crow, only for my friend to cut me short.
“Take it easy, Lewis. That was only the first lap. It’s still anyone’s race.”
I turn back to the screen. A second car has just gone flying off the road. When I feel the ground rumbling under my feet this next time, I lean in for a better look, determined not to miss a second of the action, and as the Dodge takes the turn smooth as ice, I’m ecstatic.
“Still winning!”
“Come on, baby!” Dwayne yells at the Aston Martin. “Come on! Last lap, you got this!”
I glance at him. He’s hooked, and I’m not gonna lie—I totally get it.
“What’s the prize?” I holler over the roar.
“Money! There’s a shitload of bets on these races. Depending on the turnout, you can make a pile of cash.” He turns back to the track, frowning into his phone, his eyes darting between the screen and the finish line. “Fucking step on it!”
The cars are thundering through the night, the Dodge surging out of the darkness, and just when I’m thinking it’s game over, the Aston pulls an insane move in the final bend, cutting the corner and swinging into the home stretch as the driver slams on the brakes, sending the car skidding so sharp it teeters toward the ravine.
My breath catches in my throat. The Dodge drops back, its driver caught off guard, the Aston kicking up a cloud of snow before swinging back and gunning it.
A hand snakes out the window to wave a middle finger just as the car goes streaming past us, and before I know it, the Aston is over the finish line, the brakes being slammed on, and the crowd goes nuts, chanting words I can’t make out.
Wow. That was insane!
“Fuck yes!” Dwayne pumps the air. “That’s my girl!”
“Hey, it’s not all about the car, man. That dude can drive.”
He mutters something before racing down the hill, and there’s nothing for it but for me to follow. We pick our way down to the Aston, and as we draw closer, I finally get what the fans are screaming.
“Hitman! Hitman!”
The driver steps out.
And I blink.
The guy’s tiny—practically kid-size, though it’s hard to tell with that helmet on. Some dude is standing there waiting for him with his hands in the air, and it’s just as they’re high-fiving that everything falls into place.
“RJ?”
He doesn’t hear me. He’s too busy helping the winner peel off his gloves. The driver unclips their helmet, lifts it off, and shakes out long dark hair. Wait. Long and dark?
I narrow my eyes. It takes my brain a few seconds to reboot after a full-on system crash. Fuck. Either I’m hallucinating, or…
“Holy shit, Hitman. That was insane!”
It’s Amy. Amy was the fucking driver of the Aston Martin.
I shake my head. No fucking way. I had front-row seats to the girl’s driving this afternoon, and it was a total shit show.
Dwayne calls out to her, cheering her name, and she whips around to flip him the finger.
Yup. That’s definitely her. I’m standing right behind my friend, and when she looks at me, I tilt up the visor of my baseball cap and lock eyes with her.
I want to make sure she catches the expression on my face.
You’re in deep shit, Amy Hitman.
Oh yeah, big fucking time.