Page 4 of Home Stretch

“Excuse me?” Malia growls, stepping into his space. I hurry to accept before she can punch him in his smug face. He deserves it, but I don’t want her hurting herself when I can easily win the bet. It’s a win-win, right? I get to beat him, and Malia gets away from him.

“Deal.”

Malia’s head whips around, and she glares at me, equal parts shock, rage, and hurt. Shit. Was that the wrong thing to say? I want to take it back. I want to apologize. I didn’t mean to upset her, but obviously, I just did.

“Malia,” I start, but the asshole cuts me off.

“Let’s go then!” he shouts, and his friends clap him on the back as he heads back to his car.

“Malia,” I try again, but she’s already walking off through the crowd.

I sigh and head to my car too. I’ll find Malia and apologize after. She probably just needs time to cool off. It all happened so fast, but she’ll understand when I explain it to her. I just want her to be free from those guys. And yeah, I don’t mind winning a bet, especially against a dick like that guy.

I slide behind the wheel of my Camaro and pull out of the long line of cars to head over to the starting line. Malia’s date, whose name I still didn’t get, is already there, and I stop next to him. He’s staring at his friends, who are cheering him on from the sidelines, but I’m scanning the crowd to try to find Malia.

I finally spot her over by the announcer’s chair. She still looks angry, but there’s something else there. She looks like she’s… crying? Fuck. My heart sinks, and I hate myself for doing this to her.

“All bets are now closed!” the announcer says as a scantily clad girl walks into the center of the track with a black and white checkered flag.

She smirks at both of us and raises the flag above her head. I tighten my grip on my steering wheel, my eyes locked onto the flag.

I push all thoughts of my obsession with Malia and any thoughts of the bet out of my head. It’s just me and the track.

Racing has always been like that for me. There wasn’t much else to do in my small town. I was never into football, but cars were in my blood. My dad and grandad were both mechanics. They had their own garage in town, and I used to dream of taking it over.

Then my dad was hit by a drunk driver, and my whole world was turned upside down. There were too many memories in my house and town, so I jumped at going to college in California. Meeting Hendrix and Thorne was the cherry on top. They love cars as much as I do, so we decided our freshman year to open a garage together.

We all take mechanical engineering and double major in a business class. Mine is accounting, and I can’t wait to graduate next year and finally start our dream.

“Ready?” the girl calls to us. I nod, hitting the gas as the flag drops.

I take off, my tires spitting gravel as I race across the starting line.

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