The guy in the flannel leaned down, his eyes glued to Amanda’s tits. “So, what’s your name, beautiful?”

Usually Amanda wasn’t shy about her body, but the guy was being so obvious that he was perving out on her that she adjusted the way she was sitting and pulled the top of her tank up a little in an effort to reduce the cleavage. “I’m Amanda,” she said.

The man turned his eyes to me.

“Layla…”

“I haven’t seen you two at the Bluff before. Did you come alone?”

The guy’s breath smelled strong of cigarettes and it suddenly made me want to throw my previously mouthwatering hamburger away.

“No, we’re here with friends,” I said.

“Friends? Anyone I would know?”

“Um… Caleb?”

The guy stood back up straight and slapped his hand against his thigh. “Oh, Caleb. Mason’s little clone? I didn’t realize he was running around here tonight.”

The tattooed guy took a step forward. He had been giving me almost the same amount of eyes as the bearded guy was giving Amanda. He was actually pretty cute, but his rudeness cancelled all of the good things he had going in the looks department out. “I saw him walking towards the race check-ins.”

“Alright, alright. Cool, cool.” The bearded guy rubbed his hands and his lips together. “You two look a bit young. How old are you anyway?”

Amanda and I looked at each other at the same time. Part of me wanted to just start running, and I could tell that she wasn’t feeling all that comfortable either. But so far they hadn’t really done anything wrong, despite their unwanted attention.

“18…” Amanda said.

The bearded guy locked onto me.

“18…”

“Woo! Damn!” The guy shouted loudly and his eyes went wide. He slapped his friend on the chest with the back of his hand. “What did I tell you man? Nice and ripe!”

The tattooed guy grinned, but even he seemed to a little taken back at his friend’s insolence.

The flannelled guy took a step close so that he was right upon Amanda and I, then he squatted down right in front of us. “So what’s a couple of hot, young girls like you running around with a little turd like Caleb? What you need is—“

“That turd,” Mason said as he suddenly appeared out of nowhere, “is my brother.”

Thank god, I thought.

The bearded guy stood back up straight, turned towards Mason, and started scratching the back of his head. “Oh, hey, Mason.” Mason was a little more than six-foot-tall, and the other guys weren’t really much shorter, but Mason’s had a powerful presence that made him seem much larger than them both.

“Kyle,” Mason said, nodding towards the man. He turned to the tattooed guy. “Johnny.”

The tattooed guy took a step back and tilted his chin in acknowledgement.

“Look, I didn’t mean—“

“No, it’s alright. I call my little brother a little turd sometimes too. I don’t usually appreciate other people doing it, but I’ll give you a free pass tonight.”

“Uh, yeah…” Kyle said.

“And these girls,” Mason waved his hands towards Amanda and I, “are off limits. They go to OC High with my brother. So if anyone else gets any weird ideas, let them know the same, alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kyle replied.

Johnny nodded in agreement.

“I’ll see you in the sprints tonight. I assume you’ll be racing.”

“Yeah, of course, Mason. See you,” Kyle said as he started to turn away.

Mason swiveled towards us. “You girls okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Those guys are probably harmless, but I needed to send a message to make sure you’re not getting bothered all night.” Mason motioned his hand for us to stand up. “Come on, let’s hit the stands. Caleb is going to be racing soon.”

Amanda’s eyes lit up, and she shot off the bench while talking another bite of her hot dog. I wasn’t sure if she was more excited about seeing the race or more excited about spending time with Mason. I was stoked for both, but I was pretty sure hanging out with a guy like Caleb’s brother was going to trump anything that we’d see on the strip.

We followed Mason to the stands, which were just two rows of bleachers lined up in front of the makeshift roadway. All of the seats were packed, save for a small spot at one of the top bleachers that was just big enough to fit the three of us. Everyone else who didn’t have a seat on the bleachers was just standing by a barrier surrounding the drag that was made up of tires and road cones.

Music was blaring loud, and the DJ continually switched from Hip-Hop to Heavy Metal to Dubstep. With the loud beat and the roar of the cars, I’m sure noise control is one of the reasons they decided on Rolling Bluff as the perfect place for the races.

There were no fancy scoreboards or officials like in the kind of races that I saw at home on the television. Instead, two racers would just pull into the strip and up to a solid white line. A man wearing torn jeans, big shoes, and a green fauxhawk would inspect that the two cars were exactly equal on the white line and then a tall blonde, wearing a tight tube top and some of the tightest shorts I’ve ever seen, walked out between the cars, looked at the drivers, held her arms up to the sky and then dropped them down dramatically, signaling for the racers to go.

At the end of the strip was a checkered flag sitting loosely in the center, and on each side of the strip were two men, both holding checkered flags, and depending on who made it to the finish first, the man on the winning side would wave his flag around to let anyone who couldn’t see know what the results were.

A green Camaro pulled up to the line against a tiny pickup truck with small wheels and a dent in the side of the body.

“Really? A truck is racing?” Amanda asked.

“That’s Old Man Wilder’s truck,” Mason explained. “It might not look like much, but it’s got a lot of kick. The best looking cars aren’t always the fastest.”

I finished off the last bit of my hamburger and drank the last sip of my coke. I had the strong sensation that I needed to burp, but I couldn’t bring myself to let it out while I was sitting next to Mason.

The blonde sitting in front of the two racers dropped her hands and both cars started peeling out on shoddy pavement below. The Camaro’s wheels spun so much that the tail end of the car wiggled around a little bit, and the truck instantly popped into a wheelie and shot off quickly in front of the Camaro.

A few seconds later it was over. The truck won by a mile.

“Told you so,” Mason said with a wink.

“That was crazy!” Amanda squealed. “Who would’ve thought that little truck could do that?”

Mason laughed. “Do either of you know anything about cars?

“Not really,” Amanda said.

I shook my head no. “Just how to start it up, put it in park, and drive. But I don’t have a lot of experience.”

“That’s all you need to know, I suppose.” Mason chuckled. “Unless you’re into racing, cars are only good for getting you from point A to point B.” Mason’s head jolted towards the start of the strip. “Hey look. Caleb is up next.”

Caleb’s RSX pulled slowly up to the starting line and soon after, a beautiful, pastel pink car, sitting low to the ground with a large wing on the back pulled up beside him.

“What kind of car is that?” Amanda asked.

“Supra.” Mason said.

“I like the color,” I muttered.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen many racers paint their cars in pink. I’ve never seen that car up here either. Must be a new racer.”

Caleb revved his engine, and after a quick inspection, the blonde shimmied back to the center of the drag strip. She dropped her hands, signaling for the two cars to go.

The two cars peeled out, similarly to the way that cars before them had, but this time there were no wheelies. Caleb and the other car jumped off the starting line at nearly the same time and they were neck and neck as they rushed down the track.

“Come on, Caleb!” Amanda yelled as she stood to her feet.

As the two racers reached the end, both flag carriers waved their flag at the same time.

“What’s that mean?” I asked.

Mason shrugged. “Draw I guess. They must have got to the end at exactly the same time or at least close enough that they couldn’t tell.”

“Caleb didn’t win?” Amanda asked, disappointed.

“Don’t worry,” Mason said. “He’ll have plenty of other races. You can’t win every time, and everyone loses eventually.”

“How many times have you lost?” I asked.

Mason looked me in the eyes and smiled. “I haven’t lost yet, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen or that I’ll be bothered by it when it does.” Sitting that close to him, I again was reminded of just how beautiful his eyes were. And the light scruff that grown on his face since I saw him earlier that morning made him look even more delicious than before.

And he was humble too? What the hell? A guy built like that, a guy who looks like that, and is modest in his undefeated glory? He was just too good to be true.

“Hey.” I quickly turned my head towards Amanda. “Come here. I’ve got to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

She leaned in close to me, and I placed my mouth right up to her ear, shielding my face with my hands. Burrrrrrrrp!

“Ewww!” Amanda jumped backward. “What the fuck?!”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“What is it?” Mason asked, looking around. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing. I just told her something funny.”

Mason was gorgeous, but he was out of my league. He was one of those older, unattainable guys that I could never have. I figured it was futile to get lost in his perfect face and beautiful smile. Might as well have fun and fuck with Amanda. I wasn’t going to be one of those girls to get caught up in some dream world.

“You gross bitch!” Amanda barked and pushed my shoulder hard.

“I’m not privy to your joke or what?” Mason asked, disappointment in his eyes.

“It’s girl stuff,” I said, winding down my laugh.

Mason just shrugged then tilted his head towards the track. “You guys want to come with me to check on Caleb?”

“Yeah, sure.”

We all started the trek towards the end of the dragstrip, and when we made it there, Caleb was arguing with a short, fat guy with thin hair hanging down the sides of his face and large bald spot on the top of his head. He reminded me of Danny Devito. Standing to the side was someone with their hand on their hip—I assumed the person Caleb raced against—wearing a thick, pink racing suit and a shaded helmet covering his entire head.

“Come on, Mike. You know I won that one,” Caleb said.

“It’s not up to me, and it doesn’t matter anyway. The race was just for fun,” Mike said.

“It’s not for fun when you’ve got $100 on your name.”

“So what?! It was declared a draw. Just go get your money back.”

Caleb crossed his arms, and when he saw Mason, he turned towards him. “Hey Mason, you saw I won that one right?”

“Looked pretty close to me. What are you complaining about?”

“I don’t like to lose,” he said.

“Don’t be a spoiled sport.” Mason looked up towards the figure with the helmet. “Is this who you raced against?”

“Yeah,” Caleb said.

“Good driving out there,” Mason said to the figure. “What’s with the full racing gear?

The figure took a step forward and gently pulled the helmet off. Threads of long, silky brown hair fell out just past her shoulders. Who knows how she kept her makeup from melting off under that thing, but she looked like she just stepped out of a salon; she was gorgeous.

“You always told me ‘Safety First’,” the girl said.

“Samantha?” Mason’s jaw dropped.