Page 49 of Hyperspeed
His dark hair hung loose around his shoulders, and even under the smoggy skies of Thrylon Prime, it shone with blue, purple, and green highlights as it fluttered in the breeze. The pointed tips of his ears peeked through, as did the fine lines that illuminated whenever I wound him up.
My eyes drifted down the length of him, remembering the way they decorated his upper body, currently covered by his racing suit.
“Do I have something on my face?”
Rev’s voice jolted me out of my daydream, and I realised I’d been staring. His ears twitched under my attention, and the lines I could see pulsed a bright tangerine colour.
Faced with awkwardness, it seemed my brain felt the safest option was to power down.
So instead, I grunted like a caveman.
He frowned, but his dark eyes sparkled. “Bash your head too hard in qualifying, hotshot? Maybe you need a new helmet.”
“Huh?”
Okay, so words were still beyond my current capabilities.
Still, the faint twitch of Rev’s lips told me I’d dented the armour of his usually unshakable composure.
“Actually, keep your current helmet,” he went on. “With your head that scrambled, I might just bag a win.”
My brain chose that moment to restart, his snark forcing us back into our usual routine. Verbal sparring was our baseline, and after he’d weaselled his way into my brain, this put me back on even footing.
“I could beat you even on my deathbed, rookie.”
“At least I’ll outlive you, old man. That’s some comfort.” He scowled, crimson streaking the markings I’d imagined following with my tongue.
“You’re only four years younger than me,” I scoffed, shaking off my inappropriate thoughts.
“That’s four more years of peak performance than you’ll ever manage.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Bite me.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, rookie?” I purred.
Rev exhaled, and when the lines on his skin glowed red with threads of pink, I smirked. Stars, I may not know what the colours meant, but that onehadto mean arousal.
He growled, eyes narrowed and ears twitching under his hair. “Fuck off, Mercer.”
When he stormed into Zenith’s garage, out of sight yet not out of mind, I chuckled.
That was more like it.
I didn’t see Rev again.
Jax and I had a last-minute team meeting with Ailor, while the crew performed their final checks. When we headed to the grid, I was high on the smell of burnt rubber and biofuel. Spectators packed the grandstands, their roars deafening.
We lined up for Thrylon Prime’s national anthem, and three fighter shuttles zoomed through the smog overhead in a triangular formation, leaving a trail of red and orange clouds in their wake.
With the pomp and circumstance done, it was time to race. Jax and I exchanged fist bumps by my vehicle before he walked off to fourth position.
Dray smirked at me from under his helmet. “Here’s hoping for a repeat of the last race, eh, Mercer?”
I flipped him off with a sneer, and the smarmy prick laughed before flicking his visor down.
I put on my helmet and surveyed my competitors, spotting Rev in fifth. He took his helmet from one of the Zenith crew, and our gazes met as he turned to face his vehicle.
