Banging Wheels by Natalie Banks Page A

what was he doing? He must be toying with her — why else would he behave like his. But then he hadn’t done it in a place where there was a risk of her going off, and he hadn’t done it hard enough to cause her a problem.
    Wait — was he trying to provoke her?
    She looked across to find him doing the same, though his eyes were hidden behind the mirroring effect of the light on his visor. He gestured across to her, as if to say “Well?”
    Well what, asshole?
    Then he swerved across and did the same thing again...
    SMACK.
    He gestured at her again.
    Oh, wait a minute — maybe he was trying to tell her they should...
    She put her foot down, leaving a pair of black tracks behind her. She checked her mirrors — he was right on her tail and racing. Well, what did you know? Maybe he had a conscience after all. Either way, if it was a race he wanted, he’d got one.
    She felt the adrenaline surge in her body, her whole body buzzing like... like when she was partaking in that other activity they did so well together. The next corner he wasn’t close enough, but the following one at the end of the short straight, he was. She slammed the door shut — a slap in his face if there ever was one — and caught a glimpse of his tire smoke as he locked-up in avoidance.
    “What the hell’s going on out there?” squawked an irate Travis.
    She ignored it. Not her problem, for a start, but also she didn’t really know herself. Not that she was complaining — she was apparently in a genuine race, and she wasn’t going to question it. It just felt right, and sometimes — in fact generally — it really was best to be guided your instincts.
    Coming down the main straight, he moved to the inside position to try to make the pass. But she read it perfectly, covering him off. Only to see that he was no longer there. He’d sold her the dummy, feigning to go one way but immediately switching to the other — she was blocking thin air.
    As she went into the corner on the slower, inside line, he swept around the outside. But there was no way she was letting him past that easily. Side by side they went, locked in position all the way into the next corner, a left -hander, this time with her on the outside.
    This was it. This was exactly the kind of circumstances where he’d banged her off the track previously. She flinched, ready for the impact; for the sucker punch double-bluff signature asshole move of the century. Any moment now...
    It never came.
    Damn it — maybe he really had grown a conscience.
    As they came into the third successive corner, wheel to wheel, she took the apex of the corner, squeezing him out as she exited, pushing him back. Completely legal, but just about as firm as you can get while still being fair. This was exactly his kind of circuit, but she had track position, and that was the thing that mattered most. If he was going to get past her, it would take something special.
    The only place on the circuit he hadn’t tried was also the most dangerous. It was almost a mirror image of the corner they’d gone off on in the wet. A high-speed corner after a straight, with only room for a single car there.
    He made a better exit from the turn preceding turn, and pulled out from beside her and slowly eased alongside. Something instinctive in her told her to look sideways, only to catch him doing the same thing at the same time. For a single, surreal moment, they were lost in time together, staring across the asphalt at each other at something like 180mph. He nodded. She nodded back. And just for a moment, they weren’t battling — they were together.
    Turns don’t care much for feelings, however, and the next one was approaching rapidly. The two of them arrived absolutely neck and neck, both determined not to give way, her with the inside line, him with the outside line, and with a whole load of gravel and then a tire barrier ready to collect them, and a couple of hospital beds waiting for them — if they were