“Care to join me for some post-Gathering celebrations?” she asks in a manner more like a succession of purrs than actual words.
I cock an eyebrow. “That was one night, Star. And as I remember, you weren’t good enough for a repeat performance.”
She raises the vine tattoos she has for eyebrows a quarter of an inch. “I like it when you play hard to get. Makes me wet.” Without warning, she leaps and wraps her arms and legs around me. An octopus has less suction.
Reacting on pure instinct, I hook my hands beneath her thighs and push away from my precious GT before pointed heels scratch the paintjob. I turn my head away after my eyes flick downward.
“Shit, Star. Didn’t your mother ever tell you never to leave the house without underwear on?”
Star plants a loud smacker on my cheek, leaving some of her magenta lipstick there. “When have I ever listened to my mother?” She untangles her legs from around my waist and leans in until her breasts press against mine. Her nipples pucker at the contact, and I suppress a shudder. “Besides, it’s race night. I never wear underwear when I’m about to get into a powerfully vibrating machine. Will you race me at least? I still need to pay you back for the last time.”
Having had enough, I reach up and pull apart Star’s no-tomorrow grip from behind my neck and step back. “Be nice, Star.”
She pouts. “I am being nice. Come on, RC, for old time’s sake. Give a girl some lovin’? You’re the best I’ve ever had, both on the road and off of it.”
“I doubt that.” I chuckle. “After tonight’s exhibition matches and races, I’m heading home. Alone.” I emphasize the word. I know Star will find a way into my leggings if she discovers a chink in my resolve. On the night we hooked up, Star was relentless. Since I felt bad for beating her hands down, I conceded, much to my current dismay. Star keeps trying to pick me up every time we meet.
“Why do I always expect you’d have a shred of self-respect every time I see you?” a green-haired guy asks. He folds his thin arms, making his already-bulky sweater look even bulkier. The mass of fabric engulfs his frame.
“Says the guy who prefers skinny jeans tucked into high-tops.” Star whirls around, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward slightly. I breathe a sigh of relief, finally no longer on the nympho’s radar, when she says, “I can leave your flat ass miles behind if you ever grow the balls to enter a quarter mile drag against me.”
“So sorry. For a second I thought we were at a tacky strip club not a race site.”
“Slipstream.” I shake my head at the guy I consider my baby brother. We arrived at Open Arms months apart and stuck together like glue on paper despite our five-year age gap. He’s looking a little too thin for my taste. I make a mental note to ask him about his eating habits before I leave tonight.
Star cackles, throwing her head back for melodramatic effect.
Slipstream narrows his gaze, completely ignoring me. “Why are you even here? Isn’t the precursor to the IC beneath you?”
“Aren’t you the racer who treats every race like a chess match?” I ask him.
“Come on, RC!” He stomps his foot, showing the immaturity that came with his eighteen years despite being the youngest top-ranking racer at the Gathering. He barely holds on to his driver’s license, and already he places fifth. “You can’t seriously be taking her side?”
I listen to him complain, unimpressed. I know all too well that Slipstream is a cold tactician. I’ve trained many hours in the orphanage’s simulator with him. He’s a hard one to beat if you let your guard down. His potential increases as his experience grows. I predict he’ll become a monster on any course one day. And that unsettles me. I give his GT90 a quick study. The low-to-the-ground car with its hard angles showcases Slipstream’s talent as a racer. Not anyone can handle the power of a V12 engine beneath that lemon-yellow carbon fiber hood.
Tapping her cheek, Star rakes a predatory gaze over Slipstream. She glides toward him and hooks an arm over his neck, bringing him down slightly. Her other hand rubs his chest. “You’re a little young for my taste, but I can work with that. What do you say, kid, ready to pop your hood?”
He snorts. “I’m no virgin. And only a couple of years younger than you.”
Star hampers his attempts at shoving her away by clamping down like a stubborn wheel bolt. “Who’ve you been doing it with, huh? Don’t tell me it’s one of the rally girls. They’re all skanks.”
“All hail the queen of skanks.”
“At least I know how to give you a damn good time. I’m turbocharged and always ready to go, baby.”
“Get away from me!”
Star releases Slipstream, but not before she licks one side of his face. The poor violated guy swipes at his cheek. I hold in the grin threatening to tug at my lips. As much as I love watching them bicker, what I’ve been waiting for captures my undivided attention.
Chapter Four
HOOTS AND whistles rise above the techno. Fists are pumped into the air. Cheers and jeers. Just the sort of welcome Ace and Bedlam always get as two engines roar up the mountain path. The first is a deep growl that reaches into my gut and squeezes my insides. The second has a metallic wheeze from an engine equipped with an enlarged radiator. All I have to do is close my eyes and I can pick out which is the Street Fighter and which is the Zonda. My heart revs like the pistons in my GT.
