“Damn, I didn’t hear you scream like that last night. Do I need to change my technique?”
“You perv! This is terrifying. Oh my God. How do you do this all the time? How is this even legal?” I’d slap his arm if I wasn’t plastered to the side of the car.
“I love it. Just relax and enjoy.” His voice does nothing to calm me.
“Never tell a woman to relax!” I scream again as we drift on another turn. It’s touch and go with my heart, stopping every time Noah turns the car before picking back up again as he races down the road.
“Who can ever be calm at a time like this? If they do, they’re certifiable.”
Another scream erupts from my mouth. I don’t have the chance to feel embarrassed, the loud shrieks pouring out of me with no control.
The engine purrs as Noah’s lead foot hits the accelerator. His hand does a bunch of shift changes, which are honestly kind of hot because his muscles strain and tense. I distract myself by staring at him in his element, a smile plastered on his face, beaming at my reactions. My screams stop long enough for me to check out how happy he looks.
He hits me with a megawatt grin. If my body wasn’t already in fight-or-flight mode, my heart rate would have sped up.
“Eyes on the road! Hello!” I snap my fingers and point at the pavement in front of us. He chuckles while he turns into another straight section, the car vrooming as he presses on the throttle.
“I could do this track in my sleep. It’s an easy one.”
“That’s great and all but I’d rather live to see tomorrow.” I take another deep breath.
He laughs as he checks me out. “Do you trust me yet?”
“I trust that you’re secretly a psycho. What kind of first date is this? Haven’t you ever seen an episode of The Bachelor? This date is not Chris Harrison approved!” I grip onto the side of the car for dear life. Those top handlebar things every car has? Yeah, I learn their true purpose, my knuckles whitening as I hold on with all my might.
Can he quit laughing at me?
“That’s not the answer I wanted to hear. I’ll have to step it up.”
That, friends, is exactly the type of thing no one asks for. It’s meme-worthy.
His hands turn nobs on the center console.
“Uh, what are you doing?” My stomach churns as my body bounces up and down, the car revolting against the high speeds Noah pushes it to. The death contraption continues to zoom past empty bleachers. Speakers sound off for the first time the entire trip, the robotic voice sending a chill down my spine.
Traction Control Disabled.
My head whips to face Noah, my helmet bouncing off the window. The movement jars me. Even I know the importance of traction control…it prevents the one thing Noah wants to do.
He shrugs, sealing our fate.
His hands turn the wheel, our car drifting across the road before spinning donuts. Tires squeal against the road. A cloud of smoke swirls around us from rubber burning, floating up into the sky along with my sanity.
“I trust you! I’ll never not trust you ever again. You’re the best driver ever. You’ll always keep me safe. Are you satisfied now?” I half laugh, half scream the words, sounding like someone who belongs in a psychotic thriller movie. There may even be a tear or two leaking from my eyes, but if Noah asks me, I’ll deny it.
He stops the donuts and we both end up breaking out in a fit of laughter. His hand grabs mine and brings it up to his lips for a kiss, my previous fear forgotten.
“To answer your question from before, yes I’ve seen The Bachelor. I took notes. This is the first of many for us, so I had to make it unforgettable.”
He hits me with a devilish grin before I flash him one of my own.
28
Noah
There are only two things that can suck the happiness straight out of me.
One is any type of news of someone dying.
And two is my dad.
The second reason sends me a deceitful grin that makes my stomach shrivel up. He stands next to my car in the pit area, his negative energy pulsing around him. Not exactly what I need before a practice session.
Over the years, I’ve become a pro at avoiding my dad, an easier task since I’ve never liked being around him when he gets angry. Now that I’ve outgrown him, he moves on from hitting me to verbal lashings. The time Maya saw him smack me…that was unlike him. He usually keeps calm nowadays, at least physically, choosing to flip out when I perform less than perfect on the track.
“Dad, what are you doing here?” What I really want to say is Dad, get the fuck out of here. I can’t stand you. But I don’t say what I wish to because I prefer professionalism. Unfortunately, my dad funded a lot of my career at the start, his name carrying weight at Bandini. It was his same racing team after all.