Over the dash, I sought out the person I wanted to share my win with. My best friend. Trent had two fingers in his mouth, whistling in victory. I watched as he pulled his hands down and started clapping.
A few moments later, I slid to a stop near where he was parked. He pushed off the side of his car and jogged the distance between us. My window slid down, and he rested his palms on the windowsill.
The dark hat he wore covered most of his forehead and brought attention toward his strong brow and eyes. Usually they were a lighter color, but in the dark tonight, they were like a deep shade of amber.
“That was some damn good driving!” He banged on the door.
“I’m bored,” I drawled, tilting my head back against the headrest and grinning at him.
A wicked smile curved his mouth. The slightly crooked tooth in the front made my own smile grow bigger. “Follow me,” Trent enticed and turned back to his Mustang.
Seconds later, the steel-colored car whipped out in front of me and tore off down the asphalt.
I hit the gas and rode his ass all the way out to the main road.
It was time to have some fun.
Trent
We were going to get arrested.
It was only a matter of time. But when Drew says he’s bored, the mayhem that always ensues is way more fun than worrying about the po-po.
I should’ve probably cared more than I did. With my status as an Alpha U football player and the president of Alpha Omega, an arrest right now would be the last thing I needed.
Even so, I didn’t care at all.
Let the sirens scream and the flashing lights hunt us down. It would probably only make things more exciting.
We’d been doing this for months, and not once had we been caught. Maybe that was why I didn’t worry at all. I’d gotten comfortable in the chaos Drew seemed to attract.
And yeah, okay, I started some of it.
Technically, I’d started it tonight. Yeah, I knew what he was going to do the second he said he was bored, but I pulled out first. I was leading this parade of delinquency.
His Mustang was so far up my ass the entire way out of the speedway’s lot it was giving me a wedgie. So I peeled out onto the main road and opened her up.
Drew’s cobalt-blue Mach 1 Fastback was a bitch on wheels, and the way he drove it was even more badass.
However, I was no granny-driving, Kool-Aid-sipping pansy.
My Mustang Coupe GT was a V-8 just like his. I admit I didn’t have quite his skill behind the wheel, but I was learning. Ripping up the town on an almost weekly basis sure was good practice.
Horns blared as I swerved in and out of traffic and down one of the busier streets in town. Drew followed behind; when I swerved out left, he went right.
It was like freaking Swan Lake with engines.
We were a fucking beautiful driving sight.
The other drivers on the road weren’t as impressed, but they were just jealous.
Up ahead, the light turned yellow, and I punched it.
Yellow lights = speed up.
An angry fist shot out of a window when I tore past and vaulted through the intersection. I cut the wheel swiftly and took the turn, sliding around the corner, barely giving the mustang enough time to even out before hitting the gas again.
I heard the familiar roar of Drew’s souped-up engine and glanced out the driver’s window. For one long second, his car pulled up right alongside mine, and we drove parallel to each other right down the center of the road.
Angry and frantic beeping pulled my gaze back, and I jolted in surprise.
“Fuck!” I yelled and pulled the wheel just in time to skirt around a car in a turning lane.
Even though I wasn’t in the same car as Drew and he’d pulled off to cut around it on the other side, I could still hear his laughter. I didn’t have to be with him to hear it anymore. I knew the sound as well as my own voice, and right now, I knew he was laughing his ass off.
We pulled back up side by side, and I held up my middle finger and plastered it to the glass.
Seconds later, he took the lead, and we drove like we were on a racetrack to the backroads that were hardly ever traveled. Once there, we tore up the hills and coasted down the valleys. There was this one hill I knew he was going for; he went for it every time.
It was steep—like a freaking dip right in the mountain.
Drew took that part like the devil was on his ass. Every single time, his Mustang got some air. Every single time, my stomach dropped just watching from behind.
Fucker was crazy as hell.
All the time he spent on his car, all the money… then he goes and practically jumps it on some curvy mountain back road in the dead of winter in Maryland.
He was asking for a messed-up bumper.
Or worse.
I loved it, though. There was a part of Drew that was so rebellious I admired it.
From a distance, of course. As in I used my brakes to take that dip in the road. No way in hell I was going to jack up my Mustang.
From my position on the road behind him, I watched the Fastback muscle up the hill. He didn’t touch the brake. Not even once. I hurried to keep up so I wouldn’t miss the show.