We’re out of it within a couple of minutes though, and only moments after entering Jersey City, Tyler’s pulling into the Target parking lot. The store is closed, and not only is the lot huge, it’s also empty. It’s perfect.
Cutting off the engine right in the center of the parking lot, Tyler exhales into the sudden silence, his eyes scouring the area through the windshield. It seems to meet with his approval and he turns to face me. “Knock yourself out.”
We both push open our doors and step outside the car at the same time. Nervously, I glance down at the asphalt as I walk around it, my body brushing against Tyler’s as we pass each other. Now that the time is here to actually drive his car, I feel a little anxious. I’m worried I’ll wreck it, but at the same time I’m eager to show Tyler what I’ve got.
I slide into the driver’s side as Tyler slips into the passenger seat, and I swallow as I adjust the seat, pulling myself closer to the steering wheel so that my feet can actually reach the pedals. As Tyler watches me contentedly, I start up the engine again. I study the lot quickly once more, getting my bearings and figuring out how much room I have as we pull on our seatbelts.
I haven’t driven stick shift in a while, and I’m so used to driving automatic that to begin with it takes me a short while to get back into the habit of not only using my left foot to operate the clutch pedal but also working with gears. The car jolts forward and stalls on my first attempt at starting it up.
“You’re right,” Tyler says, laughing from my side. “You’re amazing at driving manual.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but I don’t even glance at him. I’m so focused on starting up the engine again that I totally tune out the sound of his laughter. He can mock my driving skills all he wants. I’ll prove him wrong.
This time, I ensure I’m in my manual mindset. I put the car into first, my foot pressed down on the clutch pedal as I slowly begin to rev up the engine, and once I’m satisfied with how loud it’s roaring I slam my foot on the gas. The vehicle bursts forward, hurtling down the asphalt across the lot. It’s so powerful that it momentarily scares the crap out of me, but I only grip the steering wheel tighter and step on the gas even more. Within a matter of seconds the car’s already flying at sixty, and from the corner of my eye, I see Tyler’s eyebrows rising as he glances between me and the road. Braking and changing down a couple gears as we approach the edge of the lot, I spin the wheel around to the right and the car swerves, tires screeching.
I race back across the lot again, even faster this time as I work my way back up to sixth gear, and there’s something so enthralling about driving stick shift that I end up grinning the entire time. It gives me so much more control.
“How fast does this thing go?” I yell over the noise of the engine. My eyes never leave the road, and I promptly fly around the corner of the store, forgetting to change gear. The car almost spins straight across the sidewalk, but thankfully it holds its grip, as do both Tyler and I inside the car. Tyler grabs onto the handle above the door and I can do nothing but squeeze the steering wheel even tighter until my knuckles turn white.
“Don’t push it!” he warns me. “You don’t have enough space to build up to anything faster than ninety!”
“Ninety it is then.” I flash him a smirk before setting my eyes back ahead, and I come to a halt by the far edge of the lot once I’ve turned the car back around to face the opposite direction. There’s quite a bit a distance between here and the other end of the lot. I’ll be able to make it.
“Fuck,” Tyler murmurs as he listens to me rev up the engine once again. He knows exactly what I’m doing. “Baby, if it’s the last thing you do, don’t fucking forget to brake.”
“If you don’t trust me,” I fire back, smirking, “you can get outta the car.” I nod to the door and rev the engine even more, so loud that it vibrates in my ears.
Tyler’s eyebrows quirk up, but he doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even think about getting out. Instead, he tightens one hand around his seatbelt, places the other on my thigh, and in his husky voice, he demands, “Floor it.”
So I do. I slam on the accelerator and the car takes off so fast that both our bodies fly back against the seats, and Tyler starts laughing again as the speed continues to increase. He squeezes my thigh and it’s so distracting that I have to quite literally force myself to ignore him as I glance rapidly between the parking lot and the speedometer. Sixty. I press the gas straight down until my foot’s touching the floor. Seventy. Eighty. Ninety.
But I don’t stop. That’s what Tyler’s expecting me to do. Stopping is the easy way out. I like the risks, so I do the opposite of what I should do. I keep my foot on the gas. A hundred.