Jared’s bike?”
“That’s a dumb race,” Roman shot back.
“I agree.” I hooded my eyes in boredom. “He has no chance.”
“Fuck you,” he growled.
“Fuck you,” I mumbled, barely meeting his eyes.
“Tensions are hot, everyone.” Tate looked to the crowd, holding up her hands. “What do you say?”
I shifted in irritation as the noise became deafening. Shouts, howls, and cheers rang out in the hot, night air, and I really wanted to shut her up. Like really shut her up.
“I’m not taking this race!” I heard Roman shout. “A sport bike against my car? That’s not fair!”
“Exactly.” I nodded, inching toward Tate and ignoring Ben’s rigid stance beside her. “And I have nothing to prove, so why would I do this?” I asked her.
“Because if you win,” she replied, “you can race me.” And then she looked to Ben. “You okay with that?”
He cocked an eyebrow, his hard stare turning amused. She didn’t need his permission to race, but she was asking him out of respect. Racing her ex-boyfriend—or engaging in any activity with an ex-boyfriend—was crossing a line.
“I’m not worried,” Ben replied, meeting my stare head to head as he spoke to her. “He’ll choke on your dust, babe.”
Ohh
s filled the air, and I inhaled a deep breath, just about done tolerating him.
“Well, what about me?” Roman whined. “What do I get?”
Tate walked past me, and I watched as she leaned in close, covering her lips with her hands as she whispered something to him. His eyebrows dug deep and then shot up in surprise, and I immediately knew she had sold him.
I could race him and win, getting what I wanted from her—a little more interaction—but what the hell did she promise him?
He smiled and shrugged. “Okay,” he called out. “Clear the track, everyone!” And he raced off to get his car, I would assume.
Cheers rang out as everyone scurried off the track and huddled to the sides, making room for his car and my bike.
And I just stood there, wondering what the hell had just happened. I ate guys like Roman for breakfast. This wasn’t a race. The maneuverability of my bike alone was an unfair advantage against him.
“What did you promise him?” I asked as Tate walked by.
“I promised him he would win,” she called over her shoulder, following Ben off the track.
I followed. “On no planet would he ever win against a sport bike. Or me.” I added.
She reached over, grabbing my helmet off my bike handle and tossing it to me. “Get it on, get on the starting line, and prove it.”
She stood there, seeming so sure about herself. So calm and unaffected, and I didn’t like this. Any of it.
I missed my Tate. The wildcat who fought back and smiled because she was happy, not because she was planning something to make me squirm. This new cool and calculated woman was a little scary, and I couldn’t keep up.
She walked away, and I swung my leg over my bike, starting it and revving the engine, the high-pitched whir loud enough to drown out any other noise here tonight. I pulled up onto the track and lined myself up next to Roman’s 2002 Pontiac Trans Am.
I loved to race, and even though this didn’t even compare to my usual venues, my heart still pounded like a two ton hammer.
Jax came over, affixing two Go Pros to my handlebars, one facing the track and another facing me. “She’s changed,” I commented to him, slipping on my black helmet.
He nodded, keeping his eyes focused on his task. “She’s definitely harder to impress now, so step up your game.”
I didn’t want to step up my game. I didn’t want to play any game period. I just wanted to take her somewhere. Cry, fight, even let her hit me, but at the end of it all, she’d be in my arms, her storm blue eyes looking up at me and desperate for only what I could give her. That was my Tate.
I jerked, feeling a hand squeeze my shoulder, and I looked behind me to see Tate climbing on the bike in back of me.
What
“That’s a dumb race,” Roman shot back.
“I agree.” I hooded my eyes in boredom. “He has no chance.”
“Fuck you,” he growled.
“Fuck you,” I mumbled, barely meeting his eyes.
“Tensions are hot, everyone.” Tate looked to the crowd, holding up her hands. “What do you say?”
I shifted in irritation as the noise became deafening. Shouts, howls, and cheers rang out in the hot, night air, and I really wanted to shut her up. Like really shut her up.
“I’m not taking this race!” I heard Roman shout. “A sport bike against my car? That’s not fair!”
“Exactly.” I nodded, inching toward Tate and ignoring Ben’s rigid stance beside her. “And I have nothing to prove, so why would I do this?” I asked her.
“Because if you win,” she replied, “you can race me.” And then she looked to Ben. “You okay with that?”
He cocked an eyebrow, his hard stare turning amused. She didn’t need his permission to race, but she was asking him out of respect. Racing her ex-boyfriend—or engaging in any activity with an ex-boyfriend—was crossing a line.
“I’m not worried,” Ben replied, meeting my stare head to head as he spoke to her. “He’ll choke on your dust, babe.”
Ohh
s filled the air, and I inhaled a deep breath, just about done tolerating him.
“Well, what about me?” Roman whined. “What do I get?”
Tate walked past me, and I watched as she leaned in close, covering her lips with her hands as she whispered something to him. His eyebrows dug deep and then shot up in surprise, and I immediately knew she had sold him.
I could race him and win, getting what I wanted from her—a little more interaction—but what the hell did she promise him?
He smiled and shrugged. “Okay,” he called out. “Clear the track, everyone!” And he raced off to get his car, I would assume.
Cheers rang out as everyone scurried off the track and huddled to the sides, making room for his car and my bike.
And I just stood there, wondering what the hell had just happened. I ate guys like Roman for breakfast. This wasn’t a race. The maneuverability of my bike alone was an unfair advantage against him.
“What did you promise him?” I asked as Tate walked by.
“I promised him he would win,” she called over her shoulder, following Ben off the track.
I followed. “On no planet would he ever win against a sport bike. Or me.” I added.
She reached over, grabbing my helmet off my bike handle and tossing it to me. “Get it on, get on the starting line, and prove it.”
She stood there, seeming so sure about herself. So calm and unaffected, and I didn’t like this. Any of it.
I missed my Tate. The wildcat who fought back and smiled because she was happy, not because she was planning something to make me squirm. This new cool and calculated woman was a little scary, and I couldn’t keep up.
She walked away, and I swung my leg over my bike, starting it and revving the engine, the high-pitched whir loud enough to drown out any other noise here tonight. I pulled up onto the track and lined myself up next to Roman’s 2002 Pontiac Trans Am.
I loved to race, and even though this didn’t even compare to my usual venues, my heart still pounded like a two ton hammer.
Jax came over, affixing two Go Pros to my handlebars, one facing the track and another facing me. “She’s changed,” I commented to him, slipping on my black helmet.
He nodded, keeping his eyes focused on his task. “She’s definitely harder to impress now, so step up your game.”
I didn’t want to step up my game. I didn’t want to play any game period. I just wanted to take her somewhere. Cry, fight, even let her hit me, but at the end of it all, she’d be in my arms, her storm blue eyes looking up at me and desperate for only what I could give her. That was my Tate.
I jerked, feeling a hand squeeze my shoulder, and I looked behind me to see Tate climbing on the bike in back of me.
What
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