I was never nervous when racing.
If anything, it was my stress relief.
I knew I was good.
And I knew very little was at stake.
Maybe I could attribute the anxiety to the fact that, just this once, there was a lot on the line. I'd put an absurd amount of money and time into my car over the past year and a half. It would be damn near irreplaceable if I lost it. Even if I could scrape the money together to pay for a new one. Which wasn't likely. You didn't exactly get the high-paying, legit jobs when you didn't have your papers to do so.
Still, as I strapped in, turning on my radio to help drown out my thoughts, I had a feeling it had nothing to do with my car.
And everything to do with the pretty blonde with the great ass.
Cranking the music up, I flexed my hands on the wheel, watching the flag girl move into the street, raise her bandana.
As soon as her arms fell, so did all my nerves.
I learned young that nothing focused me like major risks did, like adrenaline surges did. I became a junkie as a kid, taking my bike or skateboard up on the highest hill I could find and then flying down it.
My poor, sainted mother had needed to nurse a very injured me more than a few times over the years.
Then, one day, I was old enough to drive.
It was all history then.
I'd taken my little piece of shit car out in the small part of the morning, teaching myself how to handle it, seeing how high I could get my speed.
Attending races led to trying my hand at them.
It was all history from there.
I'd never felt a high anything like getting a car damn near up to two-hundred miles an hour. I wasn't sure anything could feel quite like that.
I was addicted for a long time, making a name for myself, making a shitload of money.
I backed off a bit when a bunch of the regulars stopped wanting to race me, knowing they didn't stand much of a chance. But every few months, the players changed; the young kids came up, more courage than common sense, and were willing to go toe-to-toe with me.
People like Mack. Who I'd just surged past.
The world went strangely quiet when I was behind the wheel. My mind went silent as well. It was maybe the only time my thoughts didn't flip-flop from one thing to the next.
It was my own personal form of meditation.
But it was always over far too soon, letting the world come rushing back.
The cheering of the crowd, the thump of my music, the curses coming from Mack.
"Goddamnit," he hissed, slamming his fist into the hood of his car as we all climbed out.
Donovan appeared out of nowhere, two of his men flanking his sides, always prepared for trouble, for people reneging on their word.
"You know the drill, Mack," Donovan said, tone patient, yet firm.
"I put twenty-fucking grand into this car," Mack raged, pacing.
"I'll settle for the FR-S you won earlier," I told him.
"Why?" he asked, raising a brow. "Why would you settle for a car worth twenty-five when mine is upward of sixty?"
"Why do you give a shit?" Donovan shot back. "Give the man the keys," he demanded.
Seeing his way out, the only way he could keep racing, Donovan went into his car, finding the keys, and tossing them at me, then getting back in his car to drive away before I could change my mind.
"Last I spotted her, she was hoofing it down the road," Donovan supplied, giving me a knowing smile before moving off.
As I got back in my car and drove down the road, catching sight of her blonde hair, I rolled down my window.
Her body stiffened.
A lone woman walking down an abandoned road hearing a car slowing. She had to have been panicking.
"Sass," I called, making her head turn, eyes wide. The panic didn't fall when she saw it was me. Why would it? I was just another random man whose intentions were unknown.
Reaching into the cupholder, I found her keys, shaking them at her.
"What are those?"
"The keys to your car."
"Why do you have them?" she asked, voice tight as she came to a stop, turning to face me fully as I put the car into park.
"Because I won them."
"That makes no sense," she said, shaking her head, reaching upward under the guise of brushing a stray hair out of her face, but it was a tear she was wiping away. Her eyes were puffy, the lashes wet, the pale skin on her cheeks red. "You would have won his car."
"Yeah, well, I made a concession. I didn't need a car. You do."
"Why would you win me my car back? You don't even know me." Her tone was at once accusatory and suspicious.