Quarter Mile Hearts(8)
You can do this.
I looked to my right and saw the other two drivers, guys that had been at school with me, and they were both leaning forward in their seats staring at me. Yeah, yeah, I’m a girl, so what. I lifted a hand and gave them a little wave and smiled before focusing my gaze straight ahead at Sugar. I didn’t actually know what Sugar’s real name was. I hoped her parents really didn’t call her that, but I think it was more a nickname from her boyfriend, Causey.
This time it’s Beth who holds the money, stuffing it in her pockets as she holds up the ball cap that gets passed around to whoever is starting the race. I’ve always wondered who keeps it when they’re not racing, or maybe it’s not the same cap. I’ve never been up close and personal with it.
The ritual hasn’t changed much since the last time I was here. It used to be Sugar who held the money and started the race, back when her boyfriend Causey was the street racer to beat. The road they race on leads to a disused quarry, and it’s wide because it needed to accommodate large trucks hauling rocks and stone. If there are only four cars racing, like tonight, then it’s ideal. If not, they race somewhere else. Marked on the tarmac is the starting line and then exactly a quarter of a mile down the road is the finish line. The lines have been repainted so many times over the years, and it’s a dead giveaway as to what goes on here.
“You hanging around to watch?” Aaron asks, hovering at his open door. I give a non-committal shrug, still undecided. But he grips my forearm before I can move away and squeezes through my leather jacket.
“Stay, so we can catch up after the race. We’ve missed you, cuz.” The sincere plea in his voice does me in. I’m not normally such a softy, but he’s right, and I have missed them.
“Only for you.” I bump him with my shoulder before he can get any more sentimental, and he grins at me and jogs to his car.
Max catches my eye across the roof of his car as he slides into his seat and I nod good luck. I’m positive he’s scowling, but his attention is diverted when a girl in a short tight dress hands him something through his open window. She leans in to kiss him good luck and my stomach roils. Feeling nauseated, I turn and rest against Beth’s car. Some things never change.
Why am I surprised? Max ‘Manwhore’ Morgan has still got women falling at his feet. Another reason I need to avoid him. He goes against everything I believe in, mainly because he’s a street racer. Not that there’s anything wrong with that because I love racing, but it’s not the life I want. I’ve seen what it did to my family, the reason why my mom left, and why I’m back in town in the first place. I’m such a hypocrite; I love fast cars and racing them, but after my first and last race, I swore I wouldn’t.
Ever.
Sugar held the ball cap high above her blond beehive (think Amy Winehouse style but blond). Her outfit was something straight out of Grease—black wet look trousers that clung to her very slim figure, black off-the-shoulder top, tucked into the trousers, not an inch of fat, and curves in all the right places. It’s a good thing Causey had a fast car and was a good racer. I was not saying he was ugly as sin or anything, but he was definitely punching above his weight. But what would I know about these things.
I gripped the steering wheel, running my hands around it, testing my seat belt, and then I settled on the stereo. Music. That was what was missing. All I could hear was some hip-hop shit, and I needed something to calm and soothe me. Turning on the radio, I scrolled through the channels until I found something I liked and my body relaxed into the seat as it washed over me.
Through the open window, I heard Sugar shout above the revving of our engines.
“Y’all ready?” She looked from one driver to the other and we each gave a solemn nod.
“Ready. Set. Go!” The cap dropped, and we all moved off the line. I will show you, Max fucking Morgan. Adrenaline coursed through my body and a grim determination took over. It was that thought that carried me over the finish line and when I skidded to a halt at the end of the quarter mile, it was to stunned silence. Classic rock poured out of my window and hip-hop music sounded in the distance. I was vaguely aware of the other cars crossing the line after me with Aaron in second place. Then Aaron appeared at my window, gangly arms reaching in to pull me into a tight embrace.
“You did it, Leigh. You won.” I looked up at him in a daze. The whole race was a blur; I was too busy focusing on the finish line to pay attention to much else. Aaron yanked the door open and half dragged me out, while the other two drivers clapped me on the shoulder as congratulations. By the time Beth reached us, the adrenaline had left and I needed to sit down. She threw her arms around my neck, bouncing me on the spot.