Junkie(31)

“I like a man who cuts to the chase,” Gamble said.

“One of the most motivated drivers you’re ever gonna meet.”

“Not shy are you, either?” He glanced at me, his lips pulled up in a smile.

I shrugged. “Not when it comes to this.”

“Are you his manager?” Hopper asked.

“No, he’s my best friend. I’m here for support.”

“He has a lot of support,” Gamble mused. “Anderson and Walker talk him up to me whenever they get the chance. And their wives?” Gamble chuckled. “They talk about him constantly.”

“We’re family.” I shrugged. I made a mental note to tell him Braeden put in a word for him. I was sure he’d get a kick out of his brother-in-law going to bat for him. Those two liked to give each other a hard time, but this proved B actually liked him.

Gamble returned to watching Drew. “It’s good to have a large support system. It’s needed in a sport like this.”

“That mean you’re interested in working with him?”

Damn. That might have been a little too point blank.

Hopper barked a laugh. “You sure you aren’t his manager, kid? You should be.”

“I’ll say this. If you do sign him, I’ll be around a lot.”

At that moment, Drew drifted around the curve of the oval. It was a perfect fucking drift.

My chest swelled with pride.

I glanced at Gamble and lifted an eyebrow as if to say, You’d be stupid not to sign him.

“He’s good,” he allowed.

“Better than good.” I corrected.

“He’s out there alone,” Hopper added.

“Let’s see how he does on the track with another driver.” Gamble continued.

The sound of another engine seemed to blast onto the track from the other side. Like a bullet a car shot out onto the road and joined Drew.

It was a bright-yellow Nissan Skyline with an all-black hood and black spoiler on the back. It was flying, just like Drew, but I could make out a yellow blur on every tire, and I knew it must have some kind of lit-up wheel well to make it glow.

The body of the car was low, so low it almost sat on the ground, but it looked fierce that way, like it hugged the road and literally floated.

Even though the car was fucking sweet, my stomach tightened.

“You should have given him a warning he wouldn’t be alone. He’s not expecting another driver out there.” I worried.

“There’s lots of unexpected in racing,” Hopper replied mildly.

It pissed me off. “Yeah. But putting a driver in danger to prove a point is a dick move.” Yep. I just cussed at the richest man in the state and his lackey. Did I give a flying fuck?

Apparently not.

Neither man seemed offended. I wasn’t worried about it anyway. If this was the kind of shit Drew could expect from these two, then screw this. He’d be better off on the indie circuit.

At least there we already knew everyone were assholes.

I expected better from these guys.

“I’d say he’s handled the track buddy just fine,” Gamble pondered out loud.

The yellow sports car drove right up alongside the Mustang and matched his pace perfectly. Even though from this distance I couldn’t tell, it still seemed like the drivers were measuring each other.

A few seconds later, the Skyline gunned it and pulled ahead, the sound of its accelerating engine filling the air.

C’mon, Drew.

The car worked as he shifted and sped forward. He pushed it to the point I started to worry. He had to be going close to one hundred eighty and gaining. I reminded myself this was a closed track and it wasn’t like he was out there with someone who didn’t know how to drive.

“Who is that?” I asked, realizing I had no clue who they were.

“One of my sponsored drivers,” Gamble replied. “Figured we’d see how Forrester did with someone with some professional experience.”

I felt pissed off all over again. It’s like they wanted him to fail, and I felt guilty. I knew that Skyline was probably better equipped than the Fastback.

I should have known better than to worry about Drew. That guy always knew how to come out on top.

I watched on pins and needles as he approached the yellow car on the inside. In response, the car glided over, cutting him off.

He hung back, shifting… giving the impression of being defeated. But I knew better.

Seconds later, Drew cut to the right to swing out wide around the outside of his competitor. The car seemed to anticipate his move and swerved at the same time.

The back end of the Skyline nearly clipped the front end of the Fastback, and I muttered a curse. Drew hung in and hit the brakes—well, the emergency brake.

He made a hard turn immediately and went straight for the grass on the inside of the oval. Just as his front tires hit it, he made another hard turn, jerked the car back onto the asphalt, and punched the gas.