Shift

by Ginger Scott

  “You make me smile, is all,” I say. One eye squints as I look up, and this time because I might be blushing a little. I want to tell her how I feel—how she makes me feel.

  “Ooof.” I blow out, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes shut. The weight of our quiet moment has ticked up my pulse, a different type of racing than the one that accompanied the idea of ripping off Colt’s drug money. I bury my head in her lap, my lips kissing the skin of her thighs. Her hands fall into my hair and she weaves her fingers around, massaging my scalp while I sink into her and relax for the first time in, well, maybe ever.

  “Where is this race?” she finally asks.

  “It’s in the Valley. It might be nothing, but I could use the cash,” I say, lifting up enough to meet her gaze. I can tell the instant our eyes meet that she wants to come. My mouth parts but before I speak, a short laugh escapes.

  “Your entire family will kill me if you come,” I say, dragging my hands back down her thighs as I stand. I grab her hand on the way and tug her to her feet. I hug her the minute she’s standing, and my mouth goes to its now-natural spot in the crook of her neck, peppering it with kisses. She smells like summer—like coconut and pineapple and sunscreen.

  “So we’ll take Tommy,” she says, and I laugh harder.

  “What, are we going to throw him in my trunk? Race off with him bound and gagged?” I can’t imagine Tommy is in a hurry to go anywhere with me.

  “Hmmm, tempting, but no. We’ll ask. I know my brother. He might be pissed, but he also loves you like a brother. And if I say I’m going with or without him, well . . .”

  I roll my eyes at her idea and back away, shaking my head. I stumble back a few steps and point at her, still smiling.

  “This is a bad idea, but who am I to tell you not to do something.”.

  She lifts her chin and rolls her shoulders, emboldened.

  “Good boy,” she says, and everything about those two words reaches into my body and stirs up memories of her bare breasts and how they felt in my mouth.

  “Oh, I’m no good boy, Hannah,” I say, eyes hazing a little as I back away and let my lip curl. I like the way she crosses her legs at my flirtatious words. Damn, did she grow up pretty.

  17

  It helps knowing my dad isn’t home and my mom will probably be avoiding me for awhile. She’s sent three texts, all half-assed apologies, minus the one that went on and on about how I’ll understand one day when I have a daughter. To spite her, I’m only having boys.

  Tommy is messing under the hood of his car when I pull into the driveway. Dustin pulls in behind me. My brother walks around his car and through the garage and I chuckle to myself, knowing what I did in there last night. I wonder if he noticed smudges on his hood.

  “Mom’s looking for you,” he says, his focus shifting from me to Dustin mid-sentence. “Not you,” he adds, just to be a dick.

  Rather than engage, Dustin tips his head back with a short but condescending laugh. His eyes roll to meet mine, and I can tell he’s silently telling me this is a bad idea that won’t work. He should know better, though. I get my way.

  “You got plans?” I ask.

  My brother’s eyes linger on Dustin for a few seconds, a hint of a smile playing at his lips, but eventually he returns his attention to me.

  “Maybe. Why?”

  He’s a liar. He doesn’t have shit to do. It’s a Wednesday.

  “We’re driving into the city. Dustin’s got a race.” Tommy’s eyelids raise, just a tick, but I notice. He likes the scene, as much as he thinks he’ll outgrow it. And any excuse to go into the Valley, where the towns aren’t so small and stifling, he leaps at it.

  “Big one?” He looks back to Dustin; I turn to take in their exchange. Dustin is leaning against his front bumper, arms crossed over his chest, shirt lifted enough that I see a peek of his stomach and the deep red line of his boxers.

  “Big enough,” Dustin says. “Mostly a money grab.”

  “Scottsdale boys?” Tommy asks, mostly confirming. Dustin nods.

  “I mean, we can go without you, but—” I start, dropping my proverbial fishing line in the water. It takes half a breath for Tommy to bite.

  “We? Oh, no. Hell, no. We, yes,” he says, waggling his finger between him and Dustin. I step close enough to my brother to grab his hand mid-air and move his gesturing finger in my direction.

  “The only we is the three of us,” I say, my other hand crossing fingers behind my back. I’ll go without my brother, even if I have to slip into Dustin’s trunk and sneak my way in.

  My brother’s stare drills into my eyes, searching for cracks in my resolve, but when he realizes he won’t find any, he backs away with breathy laughter.

  “Fucking hell, Hannah. Fine. Fine!” He pulls a work rag from his back pocket and wipes away some oil from his hands, then tosses the cloth into the garage and points to me. “You’re driving me.”

  “Figured,” I say, my eyes fluttering at how dramatic he is. He doesn’t want to be in the car with Dustin because he’s still mad at him. It’s like when they were kids and my brother got butt-hurt over something, like Dustin beating him in a game of Sorry. He would pout and refuse to share the sofa during movies or eat at the same table for pizza. Tommy may be older than me, but maturity he is definitely lacking.

  “San Tan?” Tommy asks Dustin. He nods to confirm where we’re going. It’s the only civilized conversation I expect them to have for the next several hours. Maybe days.

  I won’t be so lucky. It’s about two and a half hours from our house to San Tan, so after a quick stop at the gas station to load up on fuel and drinks, we hit the road. Dustin purposely cruises behind me as we make our way into town, and it makes me smile when I catch his reflection in the rearview mirror. My brother is quick to call me out on it.

  “You’re like a puppy dog,” he bites out.

  “Am not,” I shoot back. I work to keep my eyes on the road, but after only a mile I catch myself checking my mirror again. My brother chuckles and I swing my arm in his direction to slap him against the chest.

  “Ow, haha! Asshole,” he says, shoving me back. I swerve a little but immediately right the car. I’m sure that made Dustin nervous. I’ve never thought about things making him nervous before, but I like the fantasy that he worries about me. I don’t think it’s much of a fantasy anymore.

  The playful moment lightens the mood a little, and I’m grateful. My brother turns up the radio and we join together, singing along with one of our favorite songs. I catch myself relaxing for the first time since we began the drive, my shoulders leaving the high perch they’ve been on near my ears. As one song shifts into the next, we both settle in, my brother’s gaze drifting off to the side, toward the rolling desert hills that become covered in pink-tiled rooftops as we get closer to town.

  He chews on his thumbnail for a while, and his brow grows heavy as time passes without us talking. I brush my fingers against his arm to snap him from his daze and bring him back.

  “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking,” he says.

  Tension climbs back into my neck and shoulders.

  “What about?” I’m sure I already know, but it’s a long trip. I’m making the best of it.

  My brother draws in a deep breath and looks out at the roadway ahead of us. Traffic is getting thicker, and a few cars have slid into the space between me and Dustin. He’s four or five lengths behind us now. When the roads open up, though, we’ll lose him. Or rather, he’ll lose us. Tommy knows the way, and Dustin will want to get his mind ready for speed.

  “It was pretty fun, wasn’t it?” he says.

  I glance his way, my face pinched. He shrugs.

  “Growing up, I mean. The three of us. We had a pretty special thing.”

  I consider his words, letting my mind drift to the slideshow of memories I keep close to my heart. In the story of my life, Dustin and Tommy are the co-stars. And for the most part—maybe ninety-nine percent of it actually—it was fun. The only ti
mes that lacked were those when Dustin suffered, and the last twelve hours.

  “Yeah, it was pretty fun. I’m lucky to have you,” I say, holding out a fist for my brother to pound. He stares at it for a few seconds before letting his mouth inch up in a crooked smile and pushing his knuckles against mine.

  “I’m sorry I overreacted,” he finally says.

  The apology takes me by earnest surprise, and I know my face reflects my reaction. My eyes widen and my breath falls away.

  “Don’t make a joke,” he adds, shaking his head and looking away.

  “I’m not, I’m. . . I guess, surprised, is all.” I say.

  He doesn’t respond, and I don’t want this moment to slip by without being celebrated—rewarded.

  “Seriously, Tommy,” I say, grabbing his forearm. I squeeze it lightly until he turns to face me again. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

  His lips form a tight smile and he breathes in deep through his nose, his shoulders lifting and freezing, hunched up, before he blows out and lets them drop.

  “I still think this is a disaster,” he laughs out.

  “Hey!” I tease.

  “But—” he interjects. “I love you both. And if this is something you both want to try—if you need to try this—I’m in your corner. I will be here for you. I won’t like it, but I’ll be here.”

  I shift my eyes from the road to my brother and back a few times, my smile growing, lips tight and tingling.

  “You kinda like it,” I tease.

  He lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head.

  “I’m your big brother. I will not like any guy coming near you. But if it has to be someone, it might as well be him.” His eyes linger on me for a few seconds, and I know he means it.

  “So, mom . . .” he starts, and I roll my head and stretch my neck in response.

  “Gah! Don’t get me started,” I say, holding up a palm.

  We spend the next two hours dissecting our parents’ personalities, and Tommy tries his best to give me advice on how to handle them when it comes to Dustin. Most of his ideas are shit, but when he suggests I write them both letters expressing all the things I can’t seem to say to them without our conversation escalating into a parent-daughter lecture, I agree he’s onto something.

  Dustin blows past us somewhere around the middle of town. We don’t see a sign of the Supra again until Tommy and I peel off the main highway onto the state route leading behind the San Tan Mountains. There’s a thin sheen of dust on Dustin’s car, which is parked outside the diner we used to stop at with my dad when we rode down to Tucson.

  My brother draws a dick and balls in the grime on Dustin’s window, and I’m in the middle of chastising him when Dustin’s presence moves in close behind me. An arm holding a cold lemonade reaches around me, a long straw poking from the cup. I take the drink and relish in the fact his arm moves in to hug me around the waist.

  “I think you’re missing some hair on those,” Dustin says, pointing to my brother’s artwork.

  Tommy looks over his shoulder and the two of them stare at each other for a beat. I don’t need to hear them speak to know they reached an understanding in that look: no need for apologies or more fighting. That’s what a lifetime of friendship does.

  “You’re right,” my brother finally answers, adding a few dots on the window to accentuate his drawing.

  “You guys are children,” I say, though I’m so warm inside over the fact they’re getting along like normal.

  Dustin steps up and writes the words SUCK IT to the side of Tommy’s drawing and the two of them shake hands like bros, proud of their work.

  “You should erase that before we get there,” I say, looking around the nearby service station lot to see if there are any window cleaning stations.

  “Nah,” Dustin says, slinging an arm around my brother and crossing his ankles. “When I kick those rich kids’ asses, I want them to know,” he says.

  “Know what?” I ask.

  Both Dustin and Tommy laugh, and I get it before they answer.

  “That they can suck my dick!” they shout in unison.

  My brother climbs in with Dustin and I move back to my car to follow them the rest of the way to the race site. The sun won’t be down for a couple of hours, but this is part of Dustin’s routine. He likes to scout the landscape, even if it’s familiar. He doesn’t want surprises. Then he and my brother dig into the engine and inspect every inch of the car. The Supra will sing like a chorus by race time. And frankly, I don’t mind the view while they work. Especially when Dustin peels off his shirt and tosses it to me for safekeeping.

  18

  It’s easy to fall into our routine. Me and Tommy under my hood, Hannah pacing around us, complaining about the heat until drivers show up and she can talk shit about them. Tommy gets pissed when Hannah says something a little too loud, but a minute later, he joins in, ripping on the lame puttering of some kid’s muffler.

  “You used to love the loud muffler shit, too, ya know,” I tease Tommy.

  “Pfft, yeah. When I was twelve.”

  My friend circles the Supra as I drop the hood, his eyes set on a line of cars about a hundred yards down the road. I step in next to him and nod.

  “Rookies,” I say.

  “That’s what I thought, too,” he answers.

  There are four of them, probably friends who grew up watching the Fast & Furious movies so they think they know shit about racing. Definitely punks from money because their rides are tricked out like mad with custom wraps and high-dollar wheels and shit. Nothing so far says fast to me, especially the drivers.

  My friend is reaching for his wallet, a sign that he smells a sucker the same way I do. Tommy doesn’t like the money part of this game, but when it’s easy . . . like this? It seems foolish not to invest.

  I wipe my hands clean from the little tune-up work we just finished and trek across the street to welcome the new guys. Hannah saunters down the middle of the road, her lemonade cup refilled with water she got from one of the guys we know from the tracks down south. Every one of those newbie assholes turns their heads, and while one of them whistles, another makes a joke—probably about her ass—while leaning into his friend’s ear.

  I’m gonna fuck them up on the road.

  My eyes on my targets, I reach out as Hannah gets closer and snake my hand around her body until my palm finds her ass. I pull her into me. My gaze stays on the competition while I kiss her, and three of the four assholes instantly avert their eyes. One of them, though—the one with the pointless-ass designer sunglasses perched on his probably-permed hair—keeps right on looking.

  “You find your guy?” Hannah says as our kiss breaks, her mouth hovering around my ear.

  “Sure did,” I say through a smug grin.

  I move my focus to her and she lifts up on her toes to brush our noses together, wrinkling hers and bunching up her lips in the cutest way. I’m sure Tommy is catching this little show and wants to punch me again, but he’s gotta prefer his sister being with me over one of these douchebags.

  “I’m gonna start the race,” she says, slipping back down to her heels.

  She drops her sunglasses on her nose and slinks her hand around my chest, then bicep, as she walks around me. I swear, those denim shorts did not show off that much of her ass cheeks this morning. I’m hypnotized by them as she walks back toward her car, the only thing to break me out of it Tommy’s firm palm flat on my chest as he pushes me a few steps back.

  “All right, that’s enough. I can only be so cool with this. Besides, you need to save that focus for sundown. We got some bets to make,” Tommy says.

  I spin until I’m walking in sync with him, acutely aware of the tightness in my jeans, an aftereffect of his sister’s sexy-as-hell exit. I roll my shoulders while we walk to shake off the tingles left from her hand, and shove my hands in my pockets as we approach our targets.

  I know a few people out here. It’s hard not to run into regulars when you race
this circuit. But we all follow a code —nobody jacks with anyone else’s game. Everyone has something going. Like Jimmy, the guy with the Dodge Challenger who I’ve beaten so many times he flat out refuses to race me. We make eye contact as I pass, and I catch the slight tick in his lip, a flash of a smile that lets me know he’s already made a bet with one of these rich dudes. As far as they know, though? None of us know each other. We’re all just a bunch of gearheads who want to drive fast.

  I’m headed right for the guy who watched me kiss Hannah with a little too much investment. Every fiber of my soul wants to flex and show my cards early just to make him feel small, but I keep it in check, balling my fists in my pockets and forcing my voice to come out meek.

  “Hey, guys,” I greet them, plastering a toothy smile on my face that makes me feel like such a fraud. Tommy shakes beside me with a short, silent laugh and coughs to cover it. He’s always had a hard time keeping a straight face when I play the part of a sucker. I’m going to have to change it up a little this time, only because my mark saw me kiss Hannah. My normal character wouldn’t flaunt something like that.

  “What’s up?” The guy I’ve picked out lifts his chin to acknowledge me, then pushes up from leaning on the hood of his car. His eyes flick over my shoulder, probably to Hannah laying out on the top of her car. I curl my fist to release the need to punch him in the eye, then pull my hand free.

  “I’m Dustin. Mind if I check out your rides?” I hold my open palm out, same stupid grin on my face.

  My mark closes the distance, squinting as he sizes me up. I’m about an inch taller than he is, which I bet he hates, so I slouch to make it less evident. He takes my hand and I let him go ahead and squeeze just a little harder, waiting for the flicker in his eyes when I know I’ve got him. He holds it back, longer than I expect. I have to give it to him, but it comes when our handshake ends.

  “Your girl over there. She’s . . . something,” he says. I pass him and move toward his car, mashing my molars together.