Bradford Bastard (Bradford Bastard 1)

“Everybody with a car,” Ilaria scoffs. “As long as you’ve got the guts to do it and the ability to shrug it off when you total your car, then you’re good to race. Jax and Logan make it pretty damn clear that they’re not liable for your fuck ups.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Guess that puts me off the roster. If I total my car, I’ll be fucked.”

“Girl, same,” Chanel says. “If I even thought about racing, my dad would ground my ass for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, look,” Ilaria says, pushing up onto her tippy toes to get a better look. “This is the final race of the night, the one we’ve been waiting for.”

I look down to the track but don’t see what the hell she’s looking at or how she even knows there’s about to be another race when Logan’s Camaro is still parked at the finish line with the crowd swarming around him. “I don’t see anything.”

“Come on,” Ilaria says, gripping my hand and tugging me through the crowd of onlookers. “Trust me when I say, you don’t want to miss this.”

We bump past shoulders until we find a space at the very front, and just as I’m about to ask who or what I’m supposed to be looking at, a roaring engine cuts through the night. My gaze snaps across the track to a gunmetal gray Mustang that makes its way onto the track, its thick, black racing stripe down the center of the hood making it look like sex on wheels.

I don’t know shit about cars, but I know a Mustang when I see one because my brother was obsessed. It’s his dream car and I had to hear about it every morning over breakfast. Fuck, I miss him. He’s only been gone a few months, which doesn’t sound like much, but to me, it feels like a lifetime. I’d do anything to hear his mindless chatter about cars again.

The Camaro rolls forward until all four wheels are off the track, and I watch as the beastly Mustang gets into position. “Whose car is—” The door swings open and I watch with wide eyes as Tanner Morgan steps out of the driver’s seat. “No fucking way.”

“Hell to the motherfucking yes,” Ilaria says, a sparkle hitting her eye as my stomach all but drops out of my ass. I don’t want to be here anymore. “The guy is an asshole, but he knows what he’s doing, and I promise you, by the time he’s crossing the finish line, you’ll be soaking wet.”

I groan, rolling my eyes. The last thing I need is to stand here and watch him being the hero of the night. I’m already a mess over this guy. Watching him dominate this track is only going to have me hurting more. “I … I don’t know about this,” I say, my face twisting with unease.

Ilaria goes on as if I didn’t say a damn thing. “He’s at the top of the leaderboard,” she tells me as I watch the crowd around me making bets between themselves, some determined to knock the crown off his head, while others can’t wait to see him dominate once again. “No one has ever beaten him. Not even Logan.”

I scoff and mutter under my breath. “Does it make me a bitch for wanting him to lose?”

Ilaria laughs as headlights appear up on the hill, and a sleek cherry red Ferrari heads toward the track. “Shit, a Ferrari,” I murmur, unsure why I suddenly feel nervous for him. “There’s no way his Mustang can beat the Ferrari.”

Ilaria smirks at me, excitement brimming in her eyes. “Don’t doubt him,” she tells me. “He races cars like this every week. It’s not the car that wins the race, it’s the driver, and Tanner Morgan knows what the fuck he’s doing.”

A thrill shoots through me and I hate myself for it. We watch as Tanner talks to Jax and Hudson by the starting line, and I can’t help but keep my eyes on him. As if sensing my lingering stare, his head snaps right toward me, those dark, penetrative eyes boring into mine from across the track.

Shit. I was hoping I’d be able to get through this undetected.

A smugness settles over his face, and as much as I want to smack it off him, I can’t help but keep staring. He knows he’s captured my full attention. He’s had it from the moment I ran into him at last week’s party, and I don’t doubt the asshole is assuming that I’m here simply to watch him race. If I knew my night was going to end like this, I would have stayed home, but I can’t help but succumb to the excitement of the crowd.

He drops back down into his Mustang, the engine revving so loud that it vibrates right through my chest. The Ferrari hits the track and slowly drives around, putting on a show as he goes. I don’t know who’s driving, and honestly, I don’t give a shit.