AUSTIN

I’m trying to keep my eyes on the road, but her fuck me boots are distracting as sin. What girl wears an old lady sweater with boots that are made to make you picture them wearing those boots with nothing else on?

She crosses her legs, and it has me shifting my own legs and grabbing the gearshift tightly. Plus, she smells like peaches, and it has my mind running straight into the gutter.

This was a bad idea. I have a pre-race ritual, and it doesn’t include having a girl in my car, giving me a hard-on.

I look at the angel charm and say my silent prayer in my head.

“That’s pretty,” Jalynn says, breaking me out of my mantra.

I look over to see her gesturing toward the angel. I nod and go back to my inner thoughts.

“Did you get it from a girl?” she asks.

I let out a loud grunt.

She falls back into her seat and crosses her arms. “Jeez. Sorry for asking questions.”

She’s looking down at her knees, a sulk on her face. I try to utter my prayer in my head, but the way she’s sitting there, biting her lip, has me looking at the angel and hearing my mother’s voice in my head, telling me to stop being such a jerk.

I bang my head against the seat and let out a deep breath. “It was my mother’s.”

Her head pops up at my words.

“It was her favorite ornament on our Christmas tree. I don’t race without it.”

Jalynn takes a moment to reply. Her brows are pinched in as she stares at me. Makes me wonder if she plans on looking at me in astonishment the rest of the way to the race. She heard my speech in the conference room last week. She knows my mother died, and now, she knows I keep an ornament in my car in her memory.

It can’t be that big of a deal.

“How did she die?” she asks.

And I immediately regret telling her anything.

“Car accident. Don’t you remember me shouting the other day that she drove herself off a cliff? When I said that, I meant, literally.”

She lets out a sad sigh at first only to be followed by an intake of breath at the punch line to my sad story. Serves her right for prying.

“Surprised you didn’t Google our entire family,” I say.

She looks down, and if it wasn’t so damn dark, I would swear, her cheeks turn red.

“I did Google. First, Bryce because he’s my boss. And then … you.”

I know I’m going to regret this, but I ask, “Learn anything interesting?”

“Yeah. You were in the military. What division did you serve in?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“I could just look it up.”

“If it were on the internet, you would have found it already. Stop looking for a story you don’t want to read.” That conversation is enough to break the boner I had in my pants. I grip the steering wheel tighter, praying we drive the rest of the way in silence.

“Then, tell me this, why does a guy whose mother died in a car accident end up risking his own life, racing cars for fun?”

“Jesus Christ! Are you trying to fuck with my head before a race? Do you understand how totally fucked up that question is?”

“Wow. Sorry. I wasn’t planning on …” She goes back to sulking in her seat.

Her face is looking in the opposite direction, so I can’t see her.

I fix my eyes on the highway in front of me and try to get back into the zone. Weaving from one lane to the other, I drive us over the Bay Bridge and farther away from San Francisco.

“Lights” by Journey comes on the radio, and I grunt to myself. This was always my mom’s favorite song, but it’s one that’s so played, especially living in San Francisco, and I can’t stand it. After rubbing my thumb over the angel, silently saying hello to my mom, I reach to change the channel.

“Don’t you dare change that song!” Jalynn shouts out, pushing my hand away from the dial.

I glance over to her. “You like this song?”

The glare she gives me only proves I’ve hit yet another nerve with her. “Do you have something against people who like this song?”

I take a deep breath. If she only knew.

I turn my attention back to the road, feeling her anger hitting me straight on.

I’ve never met a woman whose skin I can get under so easily. As fun as it is, there’s this tug in my gut that’s telling me, it’s not as much fun as I think it is. Her fingers are playing with the edge of her sweater, which is odd because she’s usually a confident, in your face type of woman.

If I can piss her off this much, I wonder if I can soothe her just as fast.

“Marines,” I say.

Her head slowly turns around to face me with those large doe eyes.

“I served in the Marines for two years before I was discharged.”

Her lips part, as if to ask another question, but she must think better of it because she just nods and sits back. Her chest rises with a heavy breath as she lets out a sigh.

We exit off the freeway and go onto a service road that is no longer in use as the city prepares to restructure the exit ramps. Cars are parked all along the lane. Tonight’s race is going to be faster than ever because we’re racing out in the open.

I adjust my baseball cap, pull my hood over my head, and rub my thumb on the angel. “To the moon and back,” I whisper under my breath.

Jalynn’s hand is on the door handle, but I pull her back.

“We’re not getting out,” I tell her.

Gregg walks toward us. I don’t miss the bug-eyed expression he’s giving me at the sight of Jalynn as he approaches.

I roll down my window. “What’s the word?”

“All’s agreed and with witnesses. I sprayed a blue line on the ground about fifty yards ahead. Pull up, I’ll give the signal, and you’re on.”

Gregg puts his fist up, and I give him a pound.

“Thanks, brother.”

“Have a good race, man.” He taps the top of the Camaro and gives another look toward Jalynn.

He and I will have a discussion about this later. Now is the time to race.

I close the window and roll toward the race line. Jalynn looks around the car as I grab the helmet from the back seat and hold it out to her.

She takes it with both hands and is about to put it on her head when Beckett’s car pulls up next to ours.

“You’re racing Beckett again?” Her voice is loud and annoyed. “I said, let him race. Not to let him race you!”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” I put my car in park and loudly rev the engine.

This is not like the normal races we put on. This is just the two of us.

Beckett sees Jalynn in the car, and while I can’t hear him, I can see him having a tantrum.

Jalynn turns to me. Her nose is scrunched in the way she gets when she is pissed at me. I’ve seen this look a lot from her.

“When Gregg said, ‘All’s agreed,’ what did he mean?” She is extra angry now.

I give her a devilish grin. “We’re racing for pinks.”

She drops her forehead and speaks in a low and controlled voice, “What. Are. Pinks?”

I tap her on the nose. “Not what your dirty mind is thinking. Pinks. Pink slips. The winner keeps the opponent’s car.”

Her mouth is pinched shut as her eyes grow big and wide. “That’s why you agreed to take me. You want to throw him off his game by having him see me in your car. Austin Sexton, that is the lowest thing you could do.”

“You don’t have much faith. You’ve already deemed Beckett a loser.”

She squints her eyes at me. “You think he could win?”

“Not a chance. I just think it’s interesting that you don’t either.”

Jalynn turns her body toward the door, but I drop the car into gear.

“Too late, honey. Race is starting,” I say at the sight of Gregg standing in front of my and Beckett’s cars with the flashlight pointed down.

“Get that thing on now!” I demand to her, making her place the helmet on her head just as Gregg raises the flashlight.

He lights it up, and we’re off.

The car roars to life like a bomb detonated and explodes down the straight and narrow. I drop the gear down to third as I relish in the feeling of my spine hitting the back of my seat. Beckett’s nose is in my peripheral vision as I pop it into fourth and rush past the finish line.

There’s no time to stick around and revel in the victory because this race was a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

I turn onto a dirt road. Gregg said it would take me to an abandoned piece of interstate that wraps around to a straightaway and out of this part of town.

Jalynn rips off the helmet and tosses it into the backseat. “You’re an asshole.”

I wish she would stop calling me names.

My words come out harsh. “You’re the one who demanded I let him race. Racing for pinks isn’t something new to the racing circuit. He’s a big boy. He knows what he bought into.”

“You’re a millionaire, Austin. You don’t need to race guys for their cars. You do it for your pride.”

“Fuck yeah. It’s a win.”

“A win for you. And, if you lost, you could just go and buy another car. Ordinary people don’t have the means. That loss not only hurt his pride, but it also hurt his entire life. How is he supposed to go to work in the morning?”

“Calm down, Debbie Downer. He can keep his car. It’s a heap of junk anyway.” I grip the steering wheel tight. Her desperate need to protect this asshole really boils my skin. “What is up with you and that jerk anyway? You act more like his mother than his girlfriend.”

“I’m not his girlfriend, you prick. Do you really think I’d have let you kiss me if I were in a relationship? Beckett’s my brother.” She adjusts her position and slams back into the seat with a huff.

His sister?

“Why did you tell me you were his girlfriend?”

She leans toward me with a glare. “You assumed. That’s what you do, Austin. You assumed I was his girlfriend, you assumed I was a rat, and now, I can see the wheels spinning in your head as you’re trying to assume something else about me. This is it. My name’s Jalynn Smith. I’m from Sacramento. My mom died when I was ten. My dad is a grade-A douche, and my brother is the only living family I have who doesn’t make me want to pull my hair out. I didn’t know who you were until I met you in Bryce’s office. I’d never heard of”—she raises her hands to make air quotes—“‘the Falcon,’ and up until last weekend, I hated street racing. This is me. So, stop trying to make me out to be some malicious force sent to ruin your life.”

Just like that, for the first time in my twenty-six years on this planet, I’m rendered speechless. This girl, with her smart mouth and sassy attitude, just floored me with her words.

We drive in silence. I don’t know what to say, and she doesn’t seem to want to say anything. Every so often, she raises a hand to the spot just under her eye. A whisper of a whimper can be heard. She doesn’t want me to know she’s crying. If she did, she’d face me. I met her less than a week ago, yet somehow, I know that about her.

I turn onto the highway, and we cross the bridge. The bright lights of San Francisco are lit up around us.

When I pull up in front of her building, she doesn’t say a word as she unbuckles her seat belt and closes the door behind her. I wait until she is safely through her front entrance. I know from looking up her file that she lives on the third floor. When a bedroom window illuminates, I can only assume it’s hers and that she is safe in her room.

This is my cue to leave.