counting on the next couple of weeks to convince her to give the trip a try.
“Here we go.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and fans, please join me in giving the command for tonight's race.”
A loud cheer went up, including from Lily and Alli. It was probably a good thing they didn't have microphones in their headsets.
“Gentlemen, start your engines.”
The command gave him goose bumps just like every week when the engines around him fired up. He flipped the ignition switch, and his engine roared to life.
Tunnel vision kicked in, and all thought fled save for what he was there to do: race.
It was in his blood. He didn't know how since no one else in his family raced, but it was part of him. The rush of speed, the adrenaline, the high powered horses under the hood, the risk, the drama of being out on a track with forty other drivers going two hundred miles per hour and all fighting for the same thing: their own spot in history and that checkered flag.
Being a professional race car driver was something not very many people in the world ever achieved. Doing it well and surviving for years in the sport were something even fewer people got to do. He'd been in the sport all his life, at the top level for the last few years, and he planned to stay there for at least the next twenty. It was all he had wanted to do. He didn't care about sponsors or owners or money. That had never been it for him. All he wanted to do was get behind the wheel and run. He'd have done it for free and tossed burgers if that's what it took.
Lucky for him though, he had what it took to get paid for doing what he loved.
Yeah, the rest came with it: being the face of a product or company, making public appearances, and endorsing charities or causes or people, sometimes even having to 83
kowtow to others just so he could get behind the wheel of the car. He wished there wasn't so much bureaucracy in racing, but he bit the bullet and, even to a point, understood all the rules that the powers that be threw down.
“Pedal to the metal, Cam. Bring me another flag.”
Cam rolled off pit road behind the cars starting first and second. He hated when qualifying was rained out. He would be starting third behind the leader, Jake Curtis, and they never got off to a good start together. One day they'd have to sit down and talk about it, find out why Jake couldn't seem to find the gas pedal when Cam was behind him.
“Five laps behind the pace car. Then we'll go green.”
“Gotcha.”
“How 'bout me, Cam?”
“Hey, H.J. I got you too, loud and clear.”
“Ten-four. I see we got some old friends as bookends here.”
“Seems like it.”
“Well, let's keep it clean and see if we can't come out on top.”
“That's the plan.”
Cam swerved left, then right, warming up his tires. He hoped they'd worked out the bugs from practice. Tight going into the corner and loose coming out of it didn't make racing much fun. He didn't want to have to fight the car until he could get into the pits. He wanted a smooth ride, clean air, and a victory fuck with Lily back in his bed at home after the race.
“What's the number of the car pitting in front of us?” He pressed the gas pedal and picked up a bit of speed, then backed down. They all gunned their engines a little here and there during caution laps but never went over the mandated speed of fifty-five.
“What number is Marcus?”
“Forty-seven.”
8
“Still can't believe he's in a car. Who was the dipshit that gave him a ride?”
The question was a rhetorical one. Marcus Cole couldn't drive without wrecking himself and everyone around him. The man never finished a race, and why anyone would hire him to drive was beyond Cam's comprehension. He was a hothead out to prove something and was going to hurt someone someday in the process.
“ Don't know. Maybe he paid someone. One to go.”
“H.J., keep numbers in my head. Up to two back.”
“Got it.”
Cam lowered his visor, tightened the
“Here we go.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and fans, please join me in giving the command for tonight's race.”
A loud cheer went up, including from Lily and Alli. It was probably a good thing they didn't have microphones in their headsets.
“Gentlemen, start your engines.”
The command gave him goose bumps just like every week when the engines around him fired up. He flipped the ignition switch, and his engine roared to life.
Tunnel vision kicked in, and all thought fled save for what he was there to do: race.
It was in his blood. He didn't know how since no one else in his family raced, but it was part of him. The rush of speed, the adrenaline, the high powered horses under the hood, the risk, the drama of being out on a track with forty other drivers going two hundred miles per hour and all fighting for the same thing: their own spot in history and that checkered flag.
Being a professional race car driver was something not very many people in the world ever achieved. Doing it well and surviving for years in the sport were something even fewer people got to do. He'd been in the sport all his life, at the top level for the last few years, and he planned to stay there for at least the next twenty. It was all he had wanted to do. He didn't care about sponsors or owners or money. That had never been it for him. All he wanted to do was get behind the wheel and run. He'd have done it for free and tossed burgers if that's what it took.
Lucky for him though, he had what it took to get paid for doing what he loved.
Yeah, the rest came with it: being the face of a product or company, making public appearances, and endorsing charities or causes or people, sometimes even having to 83
kowtow to others just so he could get behind the wheel of the car. He wished there wasn't so much bureaucracy in racing, but he bit the bullet and, even to a point, understood all the rules that the powers that be threw down.
“Pedal to the metal, Cam. Bring me another flag.”
Cam rolled off pit road behind the cars starting first and second. He hated when qualifying was rained out. He would be starting third behind the leader, Jake Curtis, and they never got off to a good start together. One day they'd have to sit down and talk about it, find out why Jake couldn't seem to find the gas pedal when Cam was behind him.
“Five laps behind the pace car. Then we'll go green.”
“Gotcha.”
“How 'bout me, Cam?”
“Hey, H.J. I got you too, loud and clear.”
“Ten-four. I see we got some old friends as bookends here.”
“Seems like it.”
“Well, let's keep it clean and see if we can't come out on top.”
“That's the plan.”
Cam swerved left, then right, warming up his tires. He hoped they'd worked out the bugs from practice. Tight going into the corner and loose coming out of it didn't make racing much fun. He didn't want to have to fight the car until he could get into the pits. He wanted a smooth ride, clean air, and a victory fuck with Lily back in his bed at home after the race.
“What's the number of the car pitting in front of us?” He pressed the gas pedal and picked up a bit of speed, then backed down. They all gunned their engines a little here and there during caution laps but never went over the mandated speed of fifty-five.
“What number is Marcus?”
“Forty-seven.”
8
“Still can't believe he's in a car. Who was the dipshit that gave him a ride?”
The question was a rhetorical one. Marcus Cole couldn't drive without wrecking himself and everyone around him. The man never finished a race, and why anyone would hire him to drive was beyond Cam's comprehension. He was a hothead out to prove something and was going to hurt someone someday in the process.
“ Don't know. Maybe he paid someone. One to go.”
“H.J., keep numbers in my head. Up to two back.”
“Got it.”
Cam lowered his visor, tightened the
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