#Rev (GearShark #2) (13 page)

This was only the second time I’d called off since starting that job, the first time being when Ivy had Nova. I wasn’t even worried they would see me out because I was going where people I worked with never did.

After that, I settled back against T and drifted back into this weird but utterly comfortable place between deep sleep and consciousness. It was the place where my body and mind was totally relaxed, but I was still aware. I felt the rhythm of Trent’s breathing, the hardness of his body but the softness in which his arm wrapped around my waist. Those sounds were like rainfall pattering against the windows and overhead on the roof. Soothing, comforting, and the stuff that made you snuggle in a little tighter.

The second he worked his body from beneath mine, I was awake, fully and totally. Not even my lazy-ass brain wanted to sleep without him.

I watched through slumber-heavy eyes as he moved around the tiny room. When he disappeared to the bathroom, I listened for any sound he might make or any kind of disruption to what he was doing in the bathroom.

I wasn’t supposed to let anyone know I was in here, but so help me God, if anyone fucked with him, I’d fly out of this room so fast they wouldn’t even see who was beating their ass.

Luckily for all the fuckers in this house, no one caused an issue and I didn’t have to whoop any ass.

Trent let himself back in the room within minutes. His hair was of course styled into place, not so neat it looked anal, but not messy like mine usually was. Sometimes I’d almost dare to call his style preppy… but I couldn’t. His overall demeanor wasn’t preppy. He was too laidback for that label.

Besides, I hated labels. Any kind. And I wasn’t about to label my person with one so silly it was associated with the way he looked.

Trent wasn’t wearing a shirt, a fact that sort of made me crazy. This wasn’t an empty house. Who knows who saw him here on a daily basis without his shirt? It never bothered me before when guys walked around half naked. Hell, it was natural.

But it bothered me now.

Correction.

It only bothered me in relation to Trent. I didn’t want anyone looking at
him
.

He saw me watching and smiled. His lip was no longer puffy; it just had a healing cut. His eye was still slightly swollen but would likely be back to normal by end of day. The bruising was still heavy, that blue-ish purple shade that would soon start turning that ugly shade of yellow.

The Band-Aid on his head was gone, but the butterfly bandage was still in place. Personally, I would have preferred it to be covered completely, but I knew it needed air.

The button on his slightly faded jeans was undone, the band of my boxers visible, and I smiled. I guessed he hadn’t showered. His waist was tight and defined, and it made me think of how it felt to run my fingers up the ripples of muscles last night as I straddled him.

“You have time for breakfast before class?” I asked, still surveying his body. My eyes were just as hungry as my stomach.

“If we go now.” He picked up a shirt lying nearby, and it made my face pull up like the Cheshire cat.

“Wearing my shirt again today?”

He flashed a quick smile. “I like it better than mine.”

It was my favorite, but it was clear I’d never get it back. Which oddly made me like it more. The fabric was faded blue cotton, what used to be a vibrant shade now more subdued from wash and wear. The front of the shirt had the outline of a Mustang on it, kind of like a drawing but just the bones of the car without any details.

It fit Trent tighter than me, and the sleeves clung to the rounded muscles of his arms. Once it was on, he stepped to a dresser and rummaged around to pull out a pullover sweatshirt. Instead of having a hood, it had some kind of funnel neck, which bunched up around his jaw in a casual way. It was white, and the ends of my blue T-shirt stuck out from the hem, giving him some kind of stylish double-layered look.

When he was done getting dressed, he pulled out another shirt and tossed it at me. It landed on my face, and I was momentarily blinded by cotton. I took that as a hint I was taking too long, so I slid out of bed.

The sweats I’d worn here last night were lying on the floor, and I pulled them on. They were a shade of charcoal and kind of slouchy. The shirt Trent tossed me wasn’t the one I wore last night, but one of his. It was black, my favorite, with a silver Under Armour logo on the chest.

Maybe this one would replace the one he stole.

Once I was dressed, I ran my hands through my hair and called it done. I’d grab a shower and shit later.

“Ready?” Trent grabbed his book bag and slung it over his shoulder.

I stepped up to him, welcoming that little sizzle I always felt between us, and held his stare. My deft fingers reached between us and found the undone button at the top of his pants and easily put it how it belonged.

“Oops,” Trent whispered.

My fingers lingered a little longer than necessary down by his fly. His breath smelled like mint.

“You did that on purpose.” Slowly, I drew my hands back and pulled his shirts back into place.

“I would never do such a thing.” He winked.

He was a charming bastard.

“Come on,” he murmured and caught my hand. “Let’s go eat.”

At the door, he paused and opened it a crack to peer out into the hallway. “Move fast,” he said, coming back inside and handing me the keys to his Mustang. “I’ll drive you over to your car.”

I nodded.

Before turning back, he swooped in and kissed me hard and fast.

Somehow we got lucky. I made it out of the house without anyone seeing me. We rushed across the front walkway like we’d just broken the law.

Soon as we were in T’s Mustang with the engine running, we looked at each other and laughed.

Before pulling out of the lot, Trent grasped my hand and put it on the stick shift. “I’ll drive, you shift.”

“Think that will work?” I asked, wondering how my shifting would match up to his footwork with the clutch.

“Everything else about us does,” he quipped and gripped the wheel.

Anticipating his action, I put the car in reverse. We slid back in the lot. Then I put it in one, and he spurred us forward.

It was actually a pretty cool thing. It was like proof we were as in sync as I thought. But even though the driving came natural to us, something about what he said bothered me.

Everything else about us does.

I wanted to believe that was true. I wasn’t so sure.

There was something I sensed that wasn’t exactly working for us. Our engine could be running just a little smoother.

I had some not-so-easy decisions to make.

Trent

The point of no return.

I was there.

For so long, I felt I was standing on a precipice. Looking back, but longing to gaze forward. You can’t walk forward when your eyes are looking back.

I stumbled. I fell.

I got back up.

I tried to prevent the future from becoming the past by pushing Drew away. Drew wouldn’t go. Even my family seemed to sense I had one foot out the door.

They rallied around me. Around us.

I accepted Drew’s heart and tucked it right next to mine.

So here I was. Standing in the present, turning my back on the past.

Our r
evol
ution began with love.

Drew

It felt like forever.

Being in my car and speeding down the road seemed like a distant memory in my rearview. Really, it had only been a few days. However, when the minutes between now and then were filled with so much else, it was easy for the feel of the clutch beneath my foot and the sound of the rumbling engine to cease to exist in my mind.

But never in my heart.

Fast cars and driving would be in my heart until the day it stopped beating. It could live right next to Trent.

After breakfast, T went to class, and I hit the road.

Driving alone was sometimes therapeutic. It gave me a good chance to really think and let my mind drift.

It was also damn good practice.

I could make mistakes, I could try out new maneuvers, and I did it without the watchful eye of those I might be competing against. I also could fly in an even less-controlled manner than I usually drove.

Ron Gamble would probably have a fit. If he thought I was too uninhibited when I tried out for him—when I was actually holding back—well, he’d likely fire my ass if he saw me now.

Oddly, that just made me push harder.

I went to the back roads Trent and I drove a lot. I coasted up and down hills, powered around corners, and drifted around curves. After that, I hit up a couple straightaways and opened up the engine. The Fastback needed some work. I’d been driving her hard lately and hadn’t really babied the engine as much as usual. I’d been too busy.

After I spent a few hours on the asphalt, I drove across town to an auto parts shop to get some of the stuff I needed beneath the hood. I liked an auto parts store; it was what a bookstore was to a bookworm. I liked the smells, the crowded shelves, the chrome (oh yeah, the chrome). I even liked shooting the shit with the guys behind the counter. They all knew me by now. So we talked parts and sometimes they gave me deals or the inside scoop on new shit before it hit the shelves.

My hands were full when I stepped out onto the sidewalk and let the door swing shut behind me.

The sound of a smooth engine caught my attention, and I looked up. Lorhaven’s black Camaro slid into the parking spot right beside my Fastback.

Goody gumdrops.

As I was stepping off the sidewalk, his driver’s door popped open and the dyed blond head of Arrow emerged.

I was relieved it was him and not Lorhaven himself. In fact, I kinda liked this kid, even if he was a Justin Bieber lookalike and my rival’s kid brother.

I felt his eyes even though I didn’t look at him. “Hey, kid, give me a hand,” I called behind me as I went around to my trunk.

He appeared beside me, and I lifted one finger off the box in my hands and wiggled it so my keys would jingle. He took them and popped open the trunk.

“Thanks,” I grunted, piling in my stuff.

“That’s a lotta shit,” Arrow said, poking around in it all.

“Thank your brother for me. All that money I won at his last race sure has come in handy.”

“I’ll be sure to
not
pass on that message,” Arrow said pointedly, then turned to walk away.

“Loyalty, huh? I like that.”

He stopped between our two cars and turned. “He’s my brother.”

“Your brother teach you how to drive?”

Beneath the light-gray plain and oversized hoodie he wore, his shoulders shrugged. His jeans were tight yet still seemed to fall past his ass. How was that even possible? I guess it really shouldn’t matter because the sweatshirt and T-shirt beneath it hung so low it covered his boxer-clad ass.

At least I hoped it was boxers. Tightie whities would be fucking wrong.

Nobody needed to see that.

His tight yet too large jeans were ripped at the knees, but his shoes… his shoes were pristine. White high-tops of a very designer brand.

Kid had priorities I supposed.

“He shows me some stuff.”

I nodded and slammed the trunk, leaning a hip against the back end. “So you drive ‘cause he does, or is it something you love, too?”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

I held up my hands and pushed off my car. “Just making conversation. Contrary to what your brother says, I’m not that bad.”

I walked around the Mustang toward the driver’s side. I wanted to get home and get to work. The driving had been awesome; now I just needed some grease under my fingernails and I’d feel back on track. Besides, the sky was looking a little gray and moody. I wanted to get some work in before rain ruined it all.

“He doesn’t talk bad about you,” Arrow said.

I glanced over the roof; I know I looked surprised.

He smirked. “At least not to me.”

I respected a guy who didn’t teach his little brother to disrespect other people.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m almost twenty.”

A little older than I thought. I cocked my head to the side. “You not in college?”

He glanced away. “I don’t like school.”

Why did I feel like there was more to it than that? In fact, why did I suddenly feel like there was a
lot
more to Arrow than just bleach-blond hair and ill-fitting clothes?

“So you’re more like a free-range chicken.” I nodded.

“A what?” he echoed.

“You roam free. It’s what you do.” I finished.

He laughed. I think it was the first genuine laugh and maybe smile I’d seen from this kid.

“I don’t roam. I drive.”

I chuckled. “All right, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.” He half growled, the annoyance clear in his face. In fact, the way his eyes whipped up to me and flashed said a lot more than his words.

“All right,
Arrow
.” I put emphasis on his actual name. Seriously, though, was that his real name? “You doing anything right now? Wanna drive?”

“With you?” His voice took on a curious tone.

“Sure. How about a friendly race?”

“Friendly?” He scoffed.

I felt my face crack into a smile. “Yeah, as in we won’t run each other off the road and I won’t take your money when I leave you in my dust.”

Arrow sneered. “I’m not that easy to beat.”

“Why do you think I’m asking you to ride?” I lifted a brow. “No one likes an easy win.”

Truth was the kid—
I mean Arrow
—was a good driver. I wouldn’t necessarily say beating him would be easy, but I’d be surprised if I lost. He just needed some practice and a couple more years.

“Where?” He lifted his chin.

I grinned. “Your turf. You pick the road, and I’ll follow.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

I smacked the top of my Mustang. “Oh, hey, not downtown.”

“Why?” He glanced over his shoulder curiously.

“‘Cause I’m supposed to be at work right now.”

“You a free-range chicken, too?” he cracked.

“Just on days I’m sick.” I made a bogus coughing sound.

He tossed back the long hair falling over the side of his head and laughed. “Let’s go.”

I followed him… Okay, I rode his ass a few miles away to what looked like an old airstrip that wasn’t used much anymore. There was a chain-link fence around the wide, open area, and as we drove closer, I could see the long tufts of brown grass that had grown up and since died between some of the cracks in the pavement.

There was an old, all-white pretty jenky control tower that looked more like a lighthouse perched down the strip, with windows all around the top.

Parked near the fencing in the overgrown grass were planes that were old and looked abandoned. They weren’t the big commercial planes; most of these looked like they were (or had been) privately owned.

On the far side of the strip were some metal buildings, all with rounded tops and huge doors that opened. Basically, they were barns for planes.

Arrow pulled up to the gate and got out. My car idled behind his as I watched him jog over where it was locked. For as abandoned as most of the place looked, the lock and security was state of the art. After he flipped up some kind of latch, he moved to a sleek-looking keypad and punched a few buttons.

Seconds later, the chain-link gate swung inward. Arrow made a motion for me to follow him before getting back into his car and driving through. After I followed, the gates swung closed behind my car.

Maybe this place wasn’t as unused as I assumed. If so, why would anyone bother with such a nice lock?

I followed him across the pavement toward one of the longest looking strips. He stopped at a white painted line (not faded and chipped, but freshly painted), so I did the same.

He didn’t bother to roll down his window; he just revved the engine.

I did the same.

We took off seconds later, and I opened her up, but like always, never going as hard or fast as I knew I could.

It was awesome.

We did a couple drag runs up and down the strip. I beat him every time.

The fourth time I beat him, he hit his brakes and fishtailed to an immediate stop. I was a little more delicate.

He slammed out of the car and glared at me. “Why the fuck do I keep losing?”

I grinned. “You’re trying too hard.”

He cussed at me some more.

“You’re too worried about what I’m doing. Start putting all that energy into what
you’re
doing.”

He gave me a look and crossed his arms. “Aren’t I supposed to pay attention to you?”

“Yes and no.” I began and then straightened away from my car. “Obviously, you need to know where I am so we don’t collide. And obviously, you want to be able to anticipate my moves. But this is a private road. It’s just you and me here, and we’re dragging.”

“So?”

“So a lot of variables are taken out. Pay less attention to me.”

He nodded, thoughtful.

“And stop letting off the gas at the finish line.”

“I don’t,” he argued like I was insulting him.

“The fuck you don’t.” I chuckled. “Maybe you don’t realize it, but you do. Keep that foot pressed down all the way through the line.”

“I drive through the line every. Single. Time,” he growled.

“Yeah, and that’s good. Keep that shit up. But don’t slow down. Keep going, even if you think you’ll lose.”

He studied me like he was trying to decide if I was bullshitting him. I didn’t plead my case. I didn’t have to.

“Why would you help me?” He challenged.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Let’s go again.”

We lined up again and gunned the engines. We both tore off the line at the same time, and he did better. I don’t know if it was frustration at losing so much or maybe he took my advice, but he punched it more. He was more involved with his own driving.

This time I barely beat him.

(Maybe I slowed down a little.)

He didn’t hesitate at the end.

When he pulled up beside me and rolled down his window, the grin on his face said it all. “Almost!”

“I’m tired of driving in a straight line,” I told him. “What’s over there?” I pointed toward the plane barns.

“Race ya!” he yelled as his tires squealed away.

I gunned it and caught up to swerve around him and slide my car right in front of his. He swung out, and I hit my emergency brake and drifted into a wide circle. Doing this always made me feel a little off balance. Kind of like being on a ride at some theme park. The kind you loved but also made you want to hurl.

A feeling of Trent overcame me.

He didn’t flash behind my eyes. He wasn’t a picture in my mind.

He was a
feeling
.

Trent made me feel as if I were drifting in a circle. It was like catching a whiff of some cologne off a complete stranger at the mall, but the scent transported you back to something utterly familiar.