by Nova Rain
“Nice set of wheels, doctor,” she praised as we stepped out of her car. I looked right and left, just in case. To my relief, only a cat was tiptoeing along the far edge of a dumpster a few yards down the road. The taillights of the Cherokee were fading into the darkness. Jessica jogged past the pavement, heading towards a row of three bushes under the window. Upon reaching them, she bent down and then kneeled between the two closest to the door. I followed her example, the tightness in my chest growing. Jessica inched her head upward, her palms planted on the lawn. Sean was sitting on his white leather couch, legs crossed, with a book in his lap.
“Mama, may I?” she whispered, turning her head left to face me, her eyes glinting with appreciation. “Come to Jessica, baby,” she muttered, returning her attention to him. “Wait. I knew it!” Her voice picked up volume. “I knew there was something wrong with him!”
“What’s that?”
“He’s reading a book!” she explained, throwing a quick glance at me.
“So what?” I shrugged my shoulders, peeking through the curtains.
“What kind of man reads books?” Jessica squinted her eyes at me, an expression of disapproval spreading across her face.
“The right kind I guess,” I said with a whisper. My friend stuck her face to the glass, puffing air out of her cheeks. Tension tightened the back of my neck at the sound of the thump. Straightaway, Sean flipped the book shut and looked over in our direction.
“Shit!” Jessica yelped, swirling around. Her heels dug into the soft soil as she tried to straighten her knees. I felt red heat rising up in my cheeks. My worst fears were just about to come true. My friend’s Supra was more than fifteen yards away, and Sean’s couch couldn’t be more than ten feet from his front door. It would take an Olympic sprinter to cover that sort of distance before Sean got outside, and Jessica was definitely no Olympian. As if that wasn’t enough, her shoes were not helping her. She yanked her right foot out of the hole as Sean clicked his door open.
“What the hell…?” he muttered, pressing the light switch on his right. Three spotlights on the porch ceiling were lit, making me wish I was some kind of witch. That way, I could disappear without him knowing.
I swallowed hard, rising back up. “Hi, Sean.”
“Monica?!” he exclaimed, his face falling in surprise.
“Yep,” I shook my head downward, trotting off towards him.
“What are you doing back here?” His voice rose up an octave. “And who’s the girl with the funny hair?” He pointed over at Jessica.
“That’s my friend Jessica.” My voice weakened with every word I uttered, my gaze down at my feet. “She, um…” I faltered. “She wanted to meet you.”
He rolled up his sleeve and checked his watch. “At eleven-fifteen at night?”
“That’s Jessica,” I spoke, my lips curling into a smile of embarrassment. “She’s weird.”
I hadn’t even finished my phrase, when I heard her hurried footsteps on the lawn. Not only had I made a fool of myself because of her, but she left me all alone, too. Some friend…
“Thank her for me.” A gentle whisper brushed against my ears, sending tingles down my neck. Sean tipped my chin up, and before I knew it, his sweet lips had pulled me back into another trip of the senses. The annoying sound of Jessica’s horn tore through the night. But she could honk for hours, and I would still not move a muscle. His long arms surrounded my waist, the warmth of his skin heating up my cold cheeks.
“I will,” I whispered into his mouth, vapors of our breath rising up in the air. “Goodnight. Again.”
“Sweet dreams,” he uttered in a delicate voice, his gaze locked with mine. My heart fluttering in my chest, I strolled out of his front yard. What a man… He had caught a strange-looking girl and me peeping through his window, and he hadn’t even flinched. If anything, he seemed to appreciate my return.
I crossed the street, grinning from ear to ear. I didn’t want to shout at Jessica anymore. I meant to satisfy Sean’s request. I had just enjoyed one more of his wonderful kisses, and she was responsible for that.
Chapter Seven
Sean
The badass, macho girl can actually blush. Who would have thought?
I wouldn’t, not until I found her on my lawn. To me, it was a pleasant surprise. I got to see with my own two eyes that she was more than the “street” person Ryan had blabbered on about. Those kinds of people don’t have a clue what embarrassment means, and there she was, looking like a child who had just broken her mom’s favorite vase.
I spent all day Monday debating my decision to take her to Beaumont Motorsports Park. That place was my idea of heaven. Still, was it suitable for a date? Would a girl enjoy being surrounded by revving engines, smoking tires and loud men? Most of them wouldn’t. But then again, Monica wasn’t an ordinary woman. Racing was her passion. She gambled with her life every time she engaged in it, but she loved it nonetheless. The way I saw it, it was up to me to convince her to drop the reckless activity, and to try to savor it in a safe manner.
On Tuesday afternoon, I left the hospital with a buzzing head, and a heart filled with anticipation. I had had a taste of Monica’s talent, but now, I would have plenty of time to see just how good she was at the wheel. Conditions were ideal. My car thermometer indicated it was forty-six degrees, and the sky over New York was cloudy. Of course, rain could complicate and even ruin events, but I didn’t think we’d be that unlucky. Furthermore, the mild breeze wasn’t enough to cause any issues.
The towering pine trees on either side of the iron gate met my gaze. I bypassed the small structure on my left, and turned right and into the pit lane. As usual, on Tuesdays, the long, narrow strip was filled with people and cars: Ferrari, Porsche, Lamborghinis, and Mercedes were by far the most popular among them. More than fifteen million dollars’ worth of cars were within three hundred yards, waiting to be unleashed. I went to the dressing room and put on the safety uniform, before getting back out again.
With a matching helmet in my grasp, I started greeting each and every driver. I had been racing in Beaumont for more than three years; I was considered a veteran. Mechanics were checking tire pressures. Some had popped open the hood of their cars while talking to their owner about this or that. Past the paddock of a red Ferrari 458, I found the person for whom I was searching. Monica was standing in front of the black Nissan GTR she had been driving on the night of Kate’s accident, tapping her fingers on her forearm in pale impatience. She had been there long enough to put on the blue uniform and a white helmet. Feelings of relief, mixed with joy rushed into my veins. She had been honest with me. To enter the facility, she needed a legal document that established ownership of the vehicle. However, how she had acquired such an expensive car was a mystery to me.
“Hey.” I tipped my head down in a polite manner, smiling down at her. “I thought you’d come in some jacked up Mazda or something.”
“That’s not a way to say ‘hi’ to me, doc,” she complained, returning the smile. With two, quick footsteps, she closed the gap between us. Standing on the tips of her toes, she pecked a swift kiss to my lips. “That’s how you say ‘hi’ to me.”
“That’s good to know,” I chuckled. “Alright, Ms. Townsend: I’m going to ask you a straight question, and I expect a straight answer. The last time I saw you in that Nissan, you were being chased by the cops. Why? I mean, obviously, you didn’t steal it.”
Monica huffed in exasperation. “I’ll tell you, but you need to promise me not to mention it again.”
“I won’t. You have my word,” I stated, the pungent smell of gasoline gaining strength.
“Kate and I were down in Soho, looking for a café named ‘Fanelli,’ when we ran into a couple of rich kids,” she began, the sparkle in her eyes fading. “They started making fun of our cars. They thought a Golf GTI and a Mazda RX-8 couldn’t beat their monsters, so, they challenged us to a race. The prize for us: their pink slips. The prize for them: our pink slips and a nigh
t with me and Kate.”
“And you accepted?” I interjected, my voice rising up an octave.
“Sean, they were just a couple of frat boys, showing off to their friends,” she explained. “And besides, before we raced them, I called a few of my contacts to check if they had any street rep. No one had even heard of them. Of course when we beat them neither of them wanted to keep their end of the deal. You wouldn’t believe what they did next. They punched each other, and demanded we sleep with them, otherwise they’d sue us for assault.”
“Little pricks,” I groaned, anger sweeping through me.
“We’d just have left if our little race hadn’t attracted a few passersby,” Monica went on, lowering her tone. “They took our side. One of them worked as a bouncer at a nearby club. He threatened them with a beating if they didn’t hand over their pink slips. I don’t know why the cops chased us, but my best guess is those two reported their cars stolen.”
“It makes sense.” I agreed with a nod. “So, are you ready for today?” I inquired, sliding my helmet down on my head.
“Yes, sir,” she winked up at me. “How much do you know about the GTR?”
“Only that it costs about as much as an M3, and it’s lightning-fast,” I responded, moving around the car. “Why?”
“Get ready to learn some more about this baby,” she stated, flashing me a broad smile.
“Now…” I paused, belting myself in. “Would you like me to tell you a few things about the track, or would you rather check it out yourself?”
“Just give me the bullet points,” Monica requested, pressing the “start” button on the dashboard. The powerful engine roared into life, confirming my knowledge about it.
“There are three, rather long straights. The first two, end in tight corners, so, be careful,” I advised as she turned right and out of the paddock. “The last one leads to the finish. There’s a small chance of gravel on some parts of the track, especially if someone spun off today.” I continued while we passed by a white Porsche.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about spinning off,” she spoke, her voice stinking with confidence.
“How come?” I wondered, the pit exit drawing near. “It happens to everyone.”
“Because I’m driving this,” Monica emphasized, sticking her foot to the accelerator at the end of her sentence. A massive amount of torque literally slammed me back into my seat as the grumble of the engine stormed into my ears.
“What a noise!” I shouted, in sheer disbelief of what I was experiencing. The Nissan’s baritone soundtrack was just impeccable. Six cylinders, rumbling under the hood were catapulting along the road, enthralling me with their incredible power. Moreover, I had been in plenty of supercars. In some of them, the racket was so great that it would make my ears bleed. In this one however, it was loud, but not deafening. I thought I could even have a conversation in here.
“Isn’t it amazing?” she asked, her excitement pouring out of her. “Four-wheel drive, five-hundred-and-forty horsepower, baby! Woo hoo!”
Monica grabbed the stick, the sight of the tires on the wall around the corner getting larger. She shifted down and turned the steering wheel right, the car kicking its tail out. Tires screeched, plumes of smoke shooting up from all four of them. The biggest surprise though came in the form of the immense grip. That car was absolutely planted on the road. As it changed direction, I felt like an invisible hand had grabbed my jaw, and was trying to rip it off my skull.
“This isn’t a car!” I yelled, a straight patch of road filling my view as she turned in. “It’s freaking Godzilla on wheels!”
Monica burst into loud, hearty laughter, the front left tire kissing the apex. From that point on, I decided to keep my mouth shut and enjoy the ride.
Ride… That word got a whole new meaning for me that afternoon. Never in my life had I had that much fun during a lap of that track. She drove me around amid cheers and playful screams, proving to me that a day out in Beaumont was the correct call. She was ecstatic, stealing glances at me, torturing throttle and tires alike. In those ninety seconds or so, I realized something about her: she belonged in that world. I viewed racing as a hobby, but Monica was born to burn rubber and fly around corners. After one such corner, the finish straight hove into view.
“That’s what I’m talking about, baby!” She cheered yet again, the Nissan hurtling across the finish line. She took her foot of the gas and eased on the brake, her chest rising and falling the moment she turned to me. Without question, she was glowing. Her hazel eyes were glimmering, their warmth taking my breath away. I didn’t need to ask her whether she liked this or not. I found out at the end of the start straight.
“Thank you.” She said, her tender voice completing a picture of untold bliss. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” I replied, attempting a casual tone, lying back in my seat.
“Liked it?” she snorted in amusement. “I loved it. I loved every second of it. I should have considered coming to places like this more often.”
“You will from now on,” I presumed, believing that we would be back there or somewhere else in the days to come.
“I’m starting to feel guilty,” Monica confessed, her voice somewhat losing its nerve. “You’ve done all these nice things for me, and I haven’t done anything for you.”
“That’s not true,” I disagreed. “You brought Bonnie Tyler to my house the other night. Or was it Diana Ross? I couldn’t tell; it was quite dark.”
“Come on, doc,” she giggled. “You know what I mean.”
“You’ll think of something,” I assured her as we completed our second lap. The red Porsche I had seen earlier had taken its place at the start line, intriguing me. Cars only waited there when drivers were looking for a race. Yet, this one was all alone. Clive Barker, a forty-eight year old bank manager was using a cloth to wipe dust off its rear windscreen.
“Stop the car, will you?” I requested, concern deepening my tone. Monica obliged me, bringing the vehicle to a gentle halt beside the Porsche.
“How’s it going, Dr. Granger?” Clive posed a question, throwing a swift glance up at me.
“Hey, Clive,” I murmured, pulling my helmet up and off my head. “I can’t complain. Who are you waiting for?”
“Your friend’s Datsun,” he smirked, turning his gaze down to Monica’s eyes. “Sweetheart, I bet you five grand I can beat you: One lap.”
“Deal!” Monica’s acceptance shocked me to my core. Yes, she was great, she had an amazing machine at her command, but she lacked experience.
I flipped around and leaned my elbows on the windowpane. “What did you just say?”
“I’m racing him,” she affirmed. “Isn’t that we came here for?”
“Monica, this guy’s been coming since you were in kindergarten.” I pointed out, my voice bass-deep. “He knows this track like the palm of his hand. You’ve only done two laps. And that Porsche he’s driving is just as fast as your car.”
“That’s a glorified Beetle with some scaffolding in the backseat,” she told me, a touch of discomfort in her tone. “I can take him.”
“As you wish,” I rolled my shoulders, and then leaned through the window. I bumped my chin onto her helmet as I laid a soft kiss on her lips. “Good luck.”
Moments later, all five traffic lights over the start line were lit.
“In three, two, one... go!” The announcer’s countdown was heard from the speakers, an instant before the lights went green. I swallowed hard, watching the Nissan leap forward. Off the line, it was much faster than its rival was. Unfortunately however, after the first fifty or so yards, I couldn’t tell who was leading. The cars’ deafening racket was reverberating through the entire track. By the time they made it to the first corner, they were neck and neck.
I headed away from the asphalt, hands on my waist. Finding myself on the narrow strip of grass next to the track, I began to pace up and down like an expectant father at a maternity ward.
“Pretty good, counselor,” tension sped up my voice. “What about you?”
“Well, you know how crazy things are in major law firms like ‘Powell & Briggs.’” The cocky moron smirked. Shocking… “Guess what. They haven’t changed. Say…” He paused and halted in front of me. “That girl Barker’s racing… Are you dating her?”
“Yeah, why?”
“She looks kind of familiar,” he maintained, squinting his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we’ve crossed paths before. I just can’t remember ‘where.’”
“I doubt it,” I voiced my opinion in a firm tone. “As far as I know, she doesn’t have any legal issues.”
“I’m telling you kid; I know her from somewhere,” he insisted. “I’ll give you a call when I remember something. Have fun.”
At that point, he walked off and made his way towards a small group down the strip. I was a bit confused. Powell’s law firm made millions every year. He was famous for taking on high-profile clients. How in the world could he have met Monica? She couldn’t afford his insane rates. In any case, I couldn’t concern myself with that. I was too anxious about the result of her first ever race.
I kept my gaze on the uphill stretch of road that led to the finish straight, my heartbeat escalating. Just like earlier, the Nissan took the turn, kicking its backend out. Right behind it, the Porsche followed in the exact same manner. Its front bumper seemed to be inches from the GTR’s front left tire.
“Come on, baby. Come on…” I whispered to myself, watching the clash of those two magnificent machines. Monica shifted down, the engine revving harder and louder. She pulled away by a yard or two, increasing her small—yet decisive—lead. I closed my eyes, reopened them, and took a mental picture of her crossing the line first as she and Barker flashed past me. In the end, their gap couldn’t have been more than half a car.