The Finish Line - Chapter #2 - Free To Read

Chapter 2

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Chapter 2

The other two went back to pulling the tires off the Camaro. They knew when they could push and when they couldn’t. Jordan wouldn’t be pushed today. Even I could see it in the way his gaze hardened as he watched me, in the way the muscles in his jaw clenched.

Under his gaze, I reverted back to the little girl I used to be. I pulled at the fraying threads of my denim shorts and shifted from one foot to the other. I took one long look at the chopped up classic Camaro. “What are you working on, Jordan? Got a new car?”

Devin rolled the rear tire away with a grin on his face. “Nah, this one’s mine.”

“No way!” I couldn’t hide my surprise. Devin had always longed to race, but never could develop the competitive edge Jordan and my brother had.

“Yup.” He propped a hip against the hatchback of Vic’s familiar white Mustang.

Vic Morales had driven that car since the day he got his license. Maybe even before. I put nothing past Arkadia’s Race-Master Extraordinaire.

“Nice.” I ran my fingers down the gleaming black paint. The car was no longer completely steel as it had been decades before. Lighter weight fiberglass panels had replaced it. “What year is it, a sixty-nine?”

“Seventy.” Proudly, he puffed his chest out. “What are you running in her?”

“A small block three-oh-five.” Jordan came around the front and took over. He left no doubt who’d built the car. “Powerglide transmission, nitrous, and big ass tires.”

He had my full attention now, like nothing ugly had happened between us. Nitrous was instant horsepower at the push of a button. The larger tires gave the car more grip to the road. They raced on the street. Concrete roads weren’t prepped and sticky like a drag strip. “How many shots of nitrous?”

“Three.” He teased Devin. “But he’s never seen the third.”

“And you have?” I cocked my head in challenge, verbally ribbing Jordan as he had his friend.

“Yeah, twice.” This from Devin, who took it all with the same good humor he took everything. “The first two passes on her, he wheeled it. But I haven’t had to use the third shot yet. I win without it.”

I was proud of Devin. He spent his formative years with my brother and Jordan. Aiden was the only person I knew who had a prayer of beating Jordan at the racing thing. Devin had learned from the best and now he was coming into his own.

“He smoked Vic.” There was pride in Jordan’s voice as he stowed tools in the closest tool chest.

“Shit man, that road was sketchy.” Vic’s voice was strained with the weight of his hurried explanations. “It was like driving over speed bumps the whole way.”

“Excuses are like assholes, bro, everybody has one.” Devin snorted a laugh.

“God, I’ve missed y’all.” I bit my lip to keep the rush of emotion at bay. Standing here, with all of them, meant I was well and truly home. Even if the all mighty Jordan Slater could barely bother to have a full conversation with me.

I tried not to let his lack of reaction affect my mood, even while my eyes followed him as he bounced a new tire toward Vic. Vic chased it a few feet before rolling it back to the car.

“Those preppy college boys ain’t got nothin’ on us.” Devin mussed my hair as he leaned against the car beside me.

“No, and they aren’t nearly as entertaining.” My laugh was hollow. He didn’t know how right he was.

“Did you miss all of us?” Jordan stood a few feet away, looking over his shoulder at me from the toolbox.

There was a lot of Native American blood in me, as just about everyone this close to Oklahoma. But Jordan was almost full-blooded Cherokee, and I never failed to notice the rich caramel color of his skin or the onyx glimmer of his eyes so dark I could fall right into them. If his hair grew out longer than the dark shadow he kept it at, it would shine like midnight.

Stop staring, Raelynn.

“Yeah, all of you.” My mouth was dry, I licked my lips. That time, it was Jordan who was staring.

Jordan moved toward me. Suddenly no one else existed but him. The other two guys seemed to disappear into my peripheral. He wrapped me in a thick, muscular embrace.

Home. I was home.

The contact was a jolt. But the smell of him—of soap and the shop, of man and machine—was safety to me. I’d thought time and pain had changed me, had changed those feelings. They hadn’t.

His lips brushed my hair, and my lungs constricted in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I flexed my fingers to keep from tangling them in the tight cotton that stretched across his back.

“I missed you too, Rae.”

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