of yours?”
“Whose the curious one now?” I murmured.
“Just wondering. Didn’t seem like that rich asshole deserves a girl like you.”
“Who said anything about him being rich?”
He stared out over my shoulder and into the distance. “Just an educated guess. It’s usually the rich ones that do that kind of shit. Power trip or whatever.”
“Yeah.” I watched as he scanned the horizon. He was thinking something over, looking contemplative. All the while, I was hoping he’d make some mention of last night. Something to indicate he was thinking about what happened between us, like I was—every damned minute.
Or maybe that’s exactly what I didn’t want. Sure, we shared a lust-filled night of delicious, hot and heavy sex. And yes, I was most certainly hoping for another. But that was all that it could ever be. Sooner or later, I’d be right back on a plane to New York so I could enjoy endless admonishment from my mother and some kind of reintroduction into the life I was meant for.
Back to reality.
As if it were some cosmic conformation, Rev changed the subject immediately. “Follow me,” he blurted out, walking off to where his car sat shining bright near the side of the track. “I want to introduce you to my crew.”
I walked quickly behind him, struggling to keep pace with the stride of his long legs.
“These are the guys behind the guy, so to speak.” Rev motioned to a motley group hovering around the gleaming car.
“Yes, every so often Rev likes to recognize the little people.” A short, stout man in glasses stepped forward and extended his hand. He wore an immaculately groomed beard, and although there was definitely something nerdy about him, his clothes were sharp and trendy. “Derek.”
“Winter.” I shook his hand.
“Alright, alright.” Rev beamed. “Derek over here runs all the stuff I don’t understand. The way he re-flashes the ECU in a car, you wouldn’t even know what the hell you’re driving. Best race tuner, hands down.”
“That and other things,” Derek acknowledged, pressing his frameless square lenses up his long, prominent nose.
“And these two clowns,” Rev began, motioning to two almost identical looking tall blonde crew-cut guys, “these guys know even more about the mechanics of a car than even I do. Real gear-heads. Stefan and Adrian—meet Winter. They’re from Norway or something, originally.”
“Actually, Denmark,” they said in unison as I shook their hands.
“Same thing,” Rev quipped. He shrugged. “Known these guys for years and I’m always forgetting things. Like whose who—couldn’t tell them apart if my life depended on it.”
“Is good,” either Stefan or Adrian noted. They crossed their arms and leaned back against the huge mobile tool chest to the side of the car. They even dressed the same: black shoes, dark skinny jeans, and black t-shirts. Minimalists through and through.
“And finally…” Rev looked around. “Oh, there he is.” He walked over to a man bent over a laptop, jotting notes with one hand while the other tapped furiously at the keyboard. “This is, both literally and figuratively, the man with the plan.”
“Cruz.” He raised his hand as I approached, we exchanged a quick handshake, and he resumed his intense scanning of the laptop screen.”
“That’s his actual name, by the way,” Rev noted.
“Instead of just shortening your name in an effort to connote motor racing enthusiasm?” I joked.
Rev raised his eyebrows sarcastically. “Haha… Well, I’ll tell you this. Cruz is the best damn driver I’ve come across, bar none. Taught me everything I know back when I used to ditch school and come out to practice my drifts and hairpins.”
“Well, good thing you turned out to be a better driver than a student.” Finally Cruz stood up and put his hand on Rev’s shoulder.
He was a big guy. Taller than Rev, older too, with a large heavyset jaw and weathered features. He spoke calmly and with
“Whose the curious one now?” I murmured.
“Just wondering. Didn’t seem like that rich asshole deserves a girl like you.”
“Who said anything about him being rich?”
He stared out over my shoulder and into the distance. “Just an educated guess. It’s usually the rich ones that do that kind of shit. Power trip or whatever.”
“Yeah.” I watched as he scanned the horizon. He was thinking something over, looking contemplative. All the while, I was hoping he’d make some mention of last night. Something to indicate he was thinking about what happened between us, like I was—every damned minute.
Or maybe that’s exactly what I didn’t want. Sure, we shared a lust-filled night of delicious, hot and heavy sex. And yes, I was most certainly hoping for another. But that was all that it could ever be. Sooner or later, I’d be right back on a plane to New York so I could enjoy endless admonishment from my mother and some kind of reintroduction into the life I was meant for.
Back to reality.
As if it were some cosmic conformation, Rev changed the subject immediately. “Follow me,” he blurted out, walking off to where his car sat shining bright near the side of the track. “I want to introduce you to my crew.”
I walked quickly behind him, struggling to keep pace with the stride of his long legs.
“These are the guys behind the guy, so to speak.” Rev motioned to a motley group hovering around the gleaming car.
“Yes, every so often Rev likes to recognize the little people.” A short, stout man in glasses stepped forward and extended his hand. He wore an immaculately groomed beard, and although there was definitely something nerdy about him, his clothes were sharp and trendy. “Derek.”
“Winter.” I shook his hand.
“Alright, alright.” Rev beamed. “Derek over here runs all the stuff I don’t understand. The way he re-flashes the ECU in a car, you wouldn’t even know what the hell you’re driving. Best race tuner, hands down.”
“That and other things,” Derek acknowledged, pressing his frameless square lenses up his long, prominent nose.
“And these two clowns,” Rev began, motioning to two almost identical looking tall blonde crew-cut guys, “these guys know even more about the mechanics of a car than even I do. Real gear-heads. Stefan and Adrian—meet Winter. They’re from Norway or something, originally.”
“Actually, Denmark,” they said in unison as I shook their hands.
“Same thing,” Rev quipped. He shrugged. “Known these guys for years and I’m always forgetting things. Like whose who—couldn’t tell them apart if my life depended on it.”
“Is good,” either Stefan or Adrian noted. They crossed their arms and leaned back against the huge mobile tool chest to the side of the car. They even dressed the same: black shoes, dark skinny jeans, and black t-shirts. Minimalists through and through.
“And finally…” Rev looked around. “Oh, there he is.” He walked over to a man bent over a laptop, jotting notes with one hand while the other tapped furiously at the keyboard. “This is, both literally and figuratively, the man with the plan.”
“Cruz.” He raised his hand as I approached, we exchanged a quick handshake, and he resumed his intense scanning of the laptop screen.”
“That’s his actual name, by the way,” Rev noted.
“Instead of just shortening your name in an effort to connote motor racing enthusiasm?” I joked.
Rev raised his eyebrows sarcastically. “Haha… Well, I’ll tell you this. Cruz is the best damn driver I’ve come across, bar none. Taught me everything I know back when I used to ditch school and come out to practice my drifts and hairpins.”
“Well, good thing you turned out to be a better driver than a student.” Finally Cruz stood up and put his hand on Rev’s shoulder.
He was a big guy. Taller than Rev, older too, with a large heavyset jaw and weathered features. He spoke calmly and with
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