Bad Boy's Last Race (4 page)

“Sophie.”

She smiles and eases her shoulders back. “Okay. It takes a bit to get the hang of the drone’s paths. You’re watching Jagger’s car, right?”

“Right.” I laugh at myself.

She points to the screen. “He drives fast, but not reckless. There he is—see, with the blue xenon headlights, buzzing past Ricky Calaveras in the Impala. They got a steep turn coming up though—the one that drone’s already covering on the next screen over—so Jagger’ll either have to slow down and fall into line to go through the narrow pass, or he can try to cut to the front of the line.”

“Okay. I think I get it.” I watch Jagger’s car nose ahead of a spoiler-covered car, something flashy in lime green. “They’re almost at the turn now?”

“Yep. So watch the next screen.”

I suck in my breath. Jagger charges forward, like Gwen said he would, but he doesn’t gun it for the front of the line. When the cars reach the hairpin turn, he slows in sync with the others toward the front of the pack and holds onto his spot. Then the road straightens out into a straightaway along Ridgecrest Drive. That’s when Jagger floors it and surges ahead.

So he drives fast—he isn’t reckless. He knows his strengths and his limits, and plays to them. If I were to analyze him for one of my classes, I’d say he enjoys being in control, but he also knows when to relinquish it if it’s for a better opportunity.

Ugh. God, Sophie. Chill it with the psychobabble.

But it makes me feel safe, when I can pry someone apart and see all their little gears turning. If anything, I should have done that more in my life.

Gwen clasps her hands together suddenly. “Oh, my god! Look, Lennox is gonna win!”

My phone buzzes in my purse with an incoming text, but I ignore it and try to follow what Gwen is pointing out on the screens. They’re weaving back into downtown Ridgecrest now, taking a tight zig-zag pattern through the grid of streets. Jagger’s car is close behind another muscle car, this one solid black. He keeps looking for an opening, or so it appears to me, but never quite gets the opportunity to shoot ahead.

Gwen seizes my arm. “Okay. Get back.”

“What—?”

Then she yanks me out of the way. A mob of people are crushing into our alleyway, pressing up against the cones. The engine roars grow louder as the cars wind their way back to us. And then—

The cars pull back onto the plaza, one by one. And Jagger’s is the second to arrive.

The dubstep music throbs all around us as everyone screams and cheers. The announcer hops back up onto his box. “And we have our five qualifying contestants! First and second place, we have Lennox and Jagger, from the Drazic crew! In third, we have Ricky Calaveras . . .”

Jagger emerges from his car and flashes victory signs to the crowd. My breath catches at the sight of him, practically glowing with victory, as cocksure as ever. On other guys it’s a terrible look, but he makes it work. Oh, does he make it work. He has a grin made for the paparazzi, and the way everyone presses around him, he isn’t just a rock star in his own mind. I feel it; I’m caught up in the allure. Silver and gold flecks of confetti rain down from somewhere overhead.

I swallow, rocking back on my heels. Should I go congratulate him? Let him know I showed up after all? He looks plenty happy without my help. What would I say, anyway? I’m a poser here, completely out of my element. But I can’t deny the pull I feel toward him.

And for fuck’s sake, he’s the best lay I’ve had in my life.

Simple. Sexy. A guy who looks at me like a goddess and bangs me and leaves with a smile, no attachments, no questions asked. There’s nothing wrong with that. I could use a nice distraction. Something to tide me over while I finish my thesis. While I work on feeling safe. I work over the openers in my head—
Nice driving, Caesar.
No, he wouldn’t remember the reference.
So that wasn’t just a line about being tightly tuned.

My phone buzzes again, reminding me about the text.

I turn away from the crowd and pulled it out of my purse. Then nearly drop it.

How’s the weather up north?

I don’t recognize the number, but I don’t need to. The blood drains from my face. How the fuck does he know? My fist tightens around the phone as I fight against the urge to crush it. To throw it in the nearest trash can and run.

There’s no escaping
him
.

S
econd place
—I can certainly live with that. I never mind coming second. Heh. As soon as I saw Lennox had the lead, I stopped worrying about gunning for first place and instead focused on cementing the Drazic Muscleworks crew’s iron grip on the qualifying slots. I could see Elena creeping up in my rearview mirror, so I was fairly certain she’d stay in the top five. We just had to hold on and coast through the finish line. No need getting into a dick-wagging contest with my own crewmates.

I climb out of the Firebird and flash victory signs all around. This is the moment I live for—the crowd screaming my name, my groupies flocking around me, and the adrenaline still machine-gunning through my veins. Lights, music, action, and the smell of burnt oil hanging in the air. I take in a deep breath. Picture-perfect.

I hope Sophie is here to see it, too.

“Nice racing, J!” Krissy clomps up to me in her towering heels, her bodycon dress squished every which way. “You steer like that between the sheets,
chico
?”

I glance over Krissy. Usually she’s hanging on one of the Calaveras boys’ arms. Great tits—fake, probably, not that I’d complain—and lips you could use as a flotation device. But I’m not feeling it. This win is too good of a high to toss away on a cheap piece of meat. I want something juicy. Something sexy and smart and—

My stomach twists. I want Sophie.

God dammit, I want Sophie, and now no one else looks half as good as she does. What the fuck is she doing to me? I should say yes. Screw Krissy, and screw Sophie right on out of my head. But if there’s any chance Sophie is here . . .

“Not tonight.” I wave her off. “I’m sure Ricky’s wondering where you went.”

Her face crinkles. “Yeah, fuck you too.”

Thankfully, Lennox and Drazic appear beside me right then. Lennox slings one arm around my shoulder while Drazic crosses his arms, beaming like we’re his two jackass kids who’ve just won the spelling bee. “You boys wrecked it,” Drazic says. “Fucking
wrecked
. Third place wasn’t even close.”

“Thank me with my cut of the prize money.” I release my one-armed hug on Lennox and slug him in the shoulder. “Hey, man. Awesome work tonight.”

Lennox smiles, self-effacing. He’s always been quiet, but these days, he has a certain stillness to him. Probably too many ass-kickings in the pen. But he’s coming around. “You really think so?”

“I mean, I
could
have overtaken you, if I really wanted.” I grin back at him. “But I think you’re overdue for some wins.”

Lennox laughs at that, and slugs me right on the shoulder in return. Ouch. Dude’s stronger than I remembered, too.

Elena bounds toward us and leaps into Lennox’s arms with a shriek of glee. “We did it! Oh, my god! Did you see—on the hairpin turn, how I coasted just like you said, let the engine block settle—”

I saunter away from the couple, leaving them to their breathless rehash. I don’t want to review the race. Race is done, and we did what we needed to do. Now I want to find Sophie. God dammit. Surely she showed. I mean, it’s not like there’s anything better to do in Ridgecrest on a Saturday night. I scan the crowd. There’s Sleazy D, the race organizer, and DJ Kwerk, and Marcus and Perdita dropping rhymes, and then the groupies, oh, the groupies, in their halter tops and heels—

But no Sophie. I jam my hands into my pockets.
Fuck.

Drazic tags me on the shoulder. “Hey, man. You look pretty put out for second place.”

I force an easy grin to my lips. “Oh, no, it’s nothing. I just thought—”

“No, you did the right thing. Letting Lennox take first.” He tosses back his head, looking past the drones toward the star-smeared night. “And you got more than your fair share of ladies to choose from. Enjoy it. We’ll worry about the tri-state later, yeah?”

“I’ve never known Jagger to ‘choose,’” Cyrus says, approaching us. “He’ll take whatever he can get.”

“Oh, you’re a fucking riot.” I toss my Bluetooth earpiece toward Cyrus. “Nice guidance work, by the way. You made the right call on the straightaway.”

“Thanks, brother.” Cyrus tucks the Bluetooth in his pocket. “Drinks at the Crow?”

“Yeah, maybe in a bit.”

The Crow Club. Sure. A night of sloppy come-ons from groupies and maybe a second-tier piece of ass. I want to find Sophie, god dammit.

Okay. Hold it together, Jags. I make myself a promise—I’ve got five minutes to find Sophie, and then I give it the fuck up. I’ll find a nice pair of tits to motorboat and be on my fucking merry. No more pining for her. I’ll put her out of mind for good.

Five minutes . . .

I push away from the central crowd and start peering down the alleys. Okay, this is getting just stupid. She isn’t here. She’d have made herself known by now if she was. Fine. I’ll go grab a beer with the crew, grab a piece of ass at the Crow, and grab a fucking hold of myself. Hell, I barely know Sophie. She’s a beast in bed, sure, but who the fuck is she, beyond that sarcastic, sexy front? But that’s the trouble, I think She’s a big question mark, and I’ve started pretending she’s more than what she was—just another lay.

Five mnutes—

“Hey, Jagger. Nice work out there.”

It’s Gwen, one of Jin’s girls. Her tight bod is squeezed into some even tighter cutoff shorts, but something about the way she stands is closed off. I have a feeling her tastes lay elsewhere. “Thanks, Gwen. How’d your boys end up doing?”

“Fourth place for Jin. Not bad, but I’m gonna kick his ass for screwing up the hairpin.” She cracks her gum. “I hear you got a secret admirer.”

I arch my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Real cute. That kinda golden red thing, with the hair? Long-ass legs.” Gwen grins. “She doesn’t know shit about racing, but I tried to teach her the basics.”

My heart flips over in my chest. Sophie—it has to be. “Where is she?” My mouth feels dry as I scrub a hand through my hair.

Gwen jabs her shoulders in a shrug. “She took off right after the race, man, sorry. You know her?”

“Yeah. I do.” A smile wedges itself on my face and refuses to leave. “And I know where to find her, too.”

I start shoving my way through the crowd. 51 Willow Lane—that’s what her niece had said. If she bothered to show up, then she must be at least a little interested in me. And if she’s interested, then maybe she won’t mind me stopping by. No expectations, no pressure.

“Yo, Jagger.” Francesca grabs my arm as I shove through the crowd. “You gonna let me suck your dick? You lookin’ mighty fine tonight.”

I give her a quick look over. Flawless tan, too-white teeth, giant earrings, and a corset shoving her boobs straight up into her chin. She’d be fun, I’ll give her that. But I’m not just looking for fun.

I’m looking for my fiery Sophie with her razorwire wit. The legs that don’t quit are just bonus.

I roll my eyes at Francesca and rip my arm away. “Yeah, well, you look a mess.”

She reels back, hurt. I mean, I’ve never said no before. But not tonight.

Tonight, I have a far better chance.

* * *

5
1 Willow Lane
, near the top of the Ridgecrest mountainside, is not at all what I’d expected. It isn’t an over-the-top McMansion like the ones in Alexander Cartwright’s neighborhood, but it isn’t exactly shabby, either. The main house is two stories of blue clapboard with Victorian detailings, and a carriage house around back holds a garage and what looks like a studio or apartment above it. I park along the street and try to calm my racing heartbeat. Jesus. I
never
get nervous. But this place intimidates the hell out of me.

I climb out of the Firebird and survey the main house. Dark. Only the faint flicker of nightlights. I recognize the wiring for a high-end security system on the exterior of the main house, too, one of the ones that make me think twice whenever I’m on a job. Paranoid, or just rich? Maybe a little of both. A few scattered playsets dot the side yard, but it’s far from cluttered. If this is Sophie’s sister’s house, the lady definitely likes it neat.

I walk around to the carriage house. It’s the same blue clapboard in two stories, narrow and tall. On the second floor apartment over the garage, golden light dances against the lace curtains, then a dark shadow passes over them. Sophie—I’d bet money on it. Good. I don’t feel like meeting the family just now, anyway.

Hell, I’ll be lucky if Sophie doesn’t slam the door in my face.

I climb the exterior stairs toward the apartment over the garage and knock. The faint sounds of movement I heard inside stopped immediately. No footsteps. Like she froze. Weird.

“Hey,” I call out, tentative. “It’s Jagger.”

That seems to break whatever spell she’d fallen under. Footsteps approach the door. “Step back. You’re not in the peephole.”

“Uh, sorry.” Definitely paranoid, then—seems to run in the family. I take a step back, shove my aviators on top of my head, and mug for the peephole.

Chains rustle, deadbolts slide open, and finally, the door cracks. Sophie leans against the door, looking utterly devastating. Her golden hair falls in loose waves around those luscious breasts of hers, and all I want to do is fondle them and suck them and tease them till she begs me for more. She’s wearing another tight sweater, ultra-soft, over a cotton miniskirt. And those legs, oh, lord, those legs—soft and creamy and slim and so long, perfect for wrapping around my face—

Oh, and she’s clutching a chef’s knife.

“Whoa. Okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” I hold up my hands. “Heard you were at the race. Just wanted to . . . stop by.”

Her eyebrows draw down; she raised the knife. “How do you know I was at the race?”

“Gwen, one of Jin’s groupies. You met her tonight? She told me I had a smoking hot secret admirer. She wasn’t wrong.” I wink. “She didn’t say anything about the cutlery, though. Probably should’ve warned me about that.”

Sophie glances at the knife, like she’s forgotten it’s there. “Huh.” She sets it aside behind the door. “Should’ve known she would rat me out.”

I glance Sophie over again. She looks so fucking amazing, I want nothing more than to back her up against a wall right now and hear those sweet moans of hers again. Had she dressed up for the race? For me? Once again, I can’t help but smile. Maybe my luck is starting to turn. “I’m glad you showed up. You should’ve let me know you were there, though. I could’ve given you a ride.”

“You looked like you had more than enough girls lining up to ride you.” Sophie leans against the door with a sigh.

I grin wider. “Jealous?”

“
Envious.
People are always misusing that word, jealous.” She shook her head. “You envy things that don’t belong to you, and are jealous of things you already have. But you can’t be jealous of something that isn’t yours.”

“I could be yours.”

The words are out of my mouth before I know it, hanging between us. Shit. No use playing it off, though. I’ve tossed all my chips in the pot, and all I can do now is play the hand I’ve got. I bare my teeth in my best rock-star grin.

Sophie arches one eyebrow at me, and looks me over again, but something in her expression is like she was seeing me for the first time. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders fades and she swings the door wider. “You want a drink?” she asks.

Point: Jagger. I followed her inside.

The carriage studio is cramped, but cute. A kitchenette takes up one corner of the room, then she’s wedged a sofa and bookshelf into another, while a bed and walled-off bathroom took up the other half. “Nice place,” I say. I live in the apartments above Drazic Muscleworks, so I’m no stranger to cramped spaces. I walked over to the couch and settle down just to one side of the middle. Let’s see how close she feels like getting.

Apparently, not very. Sophie perches on the arm of the couch farthest from me and extends a beer toward me. Something obscure, crafty—I’ve never had it before. I take a swig, though, and it’s delicious.

“You can sit with me, you know.” I pat the cushion next to me. “What’re you scared of?”

Sophie chews on one fingernail, her creamy cheeks going red. “Well . . . you, for starters.”

“Me?” I gesture to the length of my body. Drink it in, girls. “I know I’m something of a Greek god, but I’m harmless.”

She starts to ease toward me, but then she tenses again. “I hardly know you.” She shakes her head. “And that’s dangerous.”

I take another drink of beer, then set it down on the coffee table and lean toward her. Her dark blue eyes locked onto mine, pupils dilating. “You like danger. You’re plenty of trouble yourself.”

“I like it better when I’m the one causing it.”

She smirks, and I saw a flash of that confident goddess I’d met in the bar a few weeks back. How did she change so quickly from that girl into the timid bunny she is the rest of the time? I don’t understand it at all. “Tell you what. Maybe you’d feel better if you knew a little more about me. Would that help?” I ask. Talking is the last thing I want to do—I can’t keep my eyes off those legs, those lips, that sinister glint in her gaze—but I want her to feel comfortable around me. Whatever it takes for her to relax.

“What’s there to know? You come in second place in big races. Congratulations.”