High Speed Lover Ch 01

"I'm just gonna go outside and grab a smoke, k?" This wasn't entirely where I wanted to be. It was the same thing, different night, different boys that were all exactly the same. Yeah, fuck that. She followed me outside even though she doesn't smoke.

"What's wrong?" She looked up at me; I could tell she was

trying

to look like she gave a fuck.

"You're seriously attracted to the dudes you pick up in there all the time?" Flick, puff. "They just don't do it for me, honestly. Fucking pretty-boy-wannabe-mister-smooths. Its pathetic."

"They're not that bad, Kid. That one that was talking to you earlier was kind of cute." She was grasping at straws.

"Are you fucking serious? One, he was wearing a

pink

fucking Ralph Lauren polo. Two, he was drinking a fucking mai tai. Three, he's a fucking business student. AND four - and this takes the cake - his name is Mike. How fucking generic can you get? Really . . . he probably drives a Prius."

"Mike isn't that common." I smirked and cracked the door open.

"HEY, MIKE!" I shouted it into the bar. She sighed, "How many dudes just turned around?" Long drag.

"That's a coincidence."

"How many?"

"Like twelve." She shuffled her feet.

"That's what I thought. Now I'm all fine and good if you want to bring Ken home with you, Barbie, but it's not what I want, okay? So stop trying to hook me up with all these sheep. Yeah?"

"I just thought that you need some fun."

"Fun?" she nodded. "How about

I

take you somewhere

I

think is fun next weekend?" I flicked the butt into the road.

"Kid, that's gonna be like some MMA fight or some crap. All those guys are missing teeth and smell funny."

"Okay, first of all, I go to MMA fights because I'm IN them, not because I'm trying to meet guys, and second . . . when the fuck have YOU been to a fight?" Sigh, shuffle. "Oh, and by the way, your new name is Shuffles."

"You're a bitch."

"You love me. ANYway, you come with me and we'll find you a guy that actually deserves your time . . . and maybe . . . MAYBE . . . I find someone we can go on a double with. Since you're so fucking antsy."

"What if we don't?"

"I'll go out with Mike . . . ONE date . . . and it's not my fault if I end up with assault charges and you end up three hundred dollars poorer because you had to bail my ass out of jail."

"Fine . . . I'll bite."

The next morning I woke up with a splitting fucking headache, Trish was singing into her hairbrush, the cat was eating out of the garbage and we had no clean spoons. Typical Monday.

"I'm going to work, Shuffles. I'll see you later." I grabbed my messenger bag and made my way to the kitchen. Even if we didn't have spoons, I needed to eat, and drinking yogurt is always classy. I heard a throat clear behind me. Turning, I saw Mike at the kitchen table. "Take your trash out, too . . ." I called to her, smirking at him "I'm sorry, I guess I just forgot your name."

The week went by pretty fast, Trish had a different guy over every fucking night, and every morning I woke up with a new headache . . . I think it had something to do with the stench of bullshit and cheap prom-night cologne.

"WHAT are we doing, Kid? I want to know what testosterone driven, lesbian infested, steroid induced crap-fest you've got planned for us."

"Its funny that you use the word driven . . . because we're going to a car meet."

"What the fuck? You have serious problems. You're sure you're not a lesbian?"

"Its an underground car meet, street races and shit, so don't wear fucking heels because there's a good chance we're gonna have to run."

"I don't know why I even bother speaking sometimes."

"Neither do I."

Friday wasn't going fast enough. Hopefully the speed of tonights less than legal activities could make up for it. Trish was ready by the time I got home; she was sitting at the table with her hair in front of her face, trying to look all abused and emo. "Glad to see that you're as excited as I am. Should I wear the leather jacket and my cons or the denim jacket and combat boots?"

"You could just wear your dad's flannel shirt and those carpenter jeans, Rosie."

"Leather and cons it is, thanks SO much for your advice."

"Seriously, you're one pair of Timbs away from full on butch fest."

"Don't you own Timbs?"

"They're pink."

"Oh, so you're like, the upscale version of lesbian, right?"

"Fuck you."

"See? Now you're coming on to me."

"Can we just go and get this over with?" I smiled and threw a Red Bull at her.

"You're gonna need this. It's gonna be a long night." She sighed and kicked her feet. "You're a bit old to throw tantrums, aren't you, princess?"

"I swear to GOD, Kida, if I end up in the back seat of some adrenaline junkie's car tonight, I'm going to FUCK your shit up."

"Its good to know that you actually CAN fuck my shit up, but don't worry, I won't let that happen." As I walked out of the room I turned back to her, "Besides, I was thinking more gagged and bound in the trunk."

"See, this is what I'm fucking talking about. Why do I live with you? You're seriously messed up." I was in my room, so listening to her banter wasn't necessary. Skinny jeans - check. Cons - check. Chevy t - check. Leather jacket - check. Lipstick, eyeliner, nose stud . . . . anything else? Nope. All good.

"You live with me because you're my best friend, and you LOVE putting up with my shit because I put up with yours. Now let's go."

Okay, Chambers Street to the A train at 14th, L train to third, four blocks left, two blocks straight ahead. "Kid, where the fuck are we?"

"Shhhh, listen." The unmistakable sound of ricers and the smell of tire smoke permeated the night air. "It's just down this alley."

"I'm not walking down there. There are SO TOTALLY going to be creepers down there."

"Well, maybe this creeper could accompany two young ladies such as yourselves?" We both turned to see a shockingly attractive . . . creeper. "Then again, what exactly classifies a creeper?"

"Well, I don't know the names of any creepers, so I guess if you have a name, you're not a creeper." I jested.

"I'm Brighton. You are?" He said, smiling. His smile was fucking gorgeous. I glanced over at Trish, whose mouth was just kind of hanging there.

"I'm Kida, and this is Trish . . . I apologize, she's chronically enfeebled . . . you can call her Shuffles, though." Trish broke from her trance and punched me in the arm. "Thanks, Shuffles, I had an itch." He looked confused.

"Okay, then. Well, shall we?" He motioned down the alley. Alright, so now we walk down this dark path - in the middle of the city - in the middle of the night - with a fucking Adonis . . . I'm SO glad I forgot my mace . . . does it still count as rape if I ask for it? Apparently we had both been standing there for a bit because he cleared his throat and motioned again. "Madam."

"Oh, um, yeah, sorry," and off we went. He walked a few paces ahead of us, which gave me a perfect opportunity to check him out. I leaned over to whisper to Trish. "See what I'm talking about? This guy is fucking GORGEOUS."

"Yeah, but he's still got MAJOR creeper potential. I mean, walking up behind us and all that? I'm not into the silent-stalker type."

"Just the loud and boisterous ones, then?"

"You know what I'm talking about." She gave me the eye roll.

"Cool."

"Cool? Cool what?"

"That means I can have him, right?" She rolled her eyes again and huffed.

"Fine. By the way, I already called us a taxi to get home later."

"What? I didn't think they ran that late."

"How late are we going to be here?"

"These things are usually at LEAST a few hours, and they move around a lot depending on how quick the cops catch on. I wouldn't even know where to have the taxi pick us up."

"Oh, fuck. Well, that's just awesome."

"Well, how about this. If we're here for a while and you decide that you want to go, you can get the taxi and I'll hitch a ride from someone."

"Yeah, and I won't be bailing you out of jail, I'll be identifying your corpse."

"I'll hitch a ride with HIM. You know what he looks like." I said, motioning towards Brighton.

"Fine. HOLY SHIT!!!! What is THAT?" Trish was off through the crowd, I found her gawking at a fucking turbo'd out Neon. I turned to see where Brighton went and he's gone. Fuck, so much for that.

"It's a Neon, Trish. Your grandmother drives one."

"Yeah but its all . . . like . . . awesome and shit."

"You see that?" I say, pointing to the spoiler that could fit a small colony under it. "You know what that does?"

"Noo, but it looks important."

"That's about all it fucking does . . . and it's not really good at it either. It makes no sense on a Neon, it's a waste of money."

"It's so LOUD! It must be really fucking fast."

"Not really. I mean . . . I'm pretty sure the driver just has a thing for the sound of farting."

"You're gross."

"There's a reason they're called fart cans, Hun." I scanned the other cars. There was the typical menagerie of Hondas, none of which were all that impressive, there was a Supra, naturally, which looked decent. Two Evo's, which I was admittedly happy to see, a few Nissan Z's, along with a Skyline. Very nice. "Hey, Trish, see that car down there?" I said, pointing to the Skyline.

"The blue one?"

"There are, like, four blue ones, Trish. The one all the way down at the end."

"I like that one. I want one."

"I was just going to tell you that they're illegal in this country, imported from Japan, soo, good luck with that."

"Fuck, the US takes all the fun out of everything."

"Not true. I'm actually pretty disappointed that there aren't any American cars here. Someone needs to rep the muscle." No sooner had I finished my sentence, I heard it. Loud, deep, throaty, orgasmic, it was rumbling like thunder and there was only one thing it could be . . . FUCK YEAH! "TRISH! Let's go." I grabbed her hand and practically dragged her through the crowd, bypassing the rice rockets and the tiny Asian girls. There she was, a fucking gorgeous 2010 Camaro SS. She was dripping in gloss black paint, all the way through to the rims. I could hear the familiar whine of a supercharger, even over the growling exhaust. That sound could only mean one thing -- full Borla system. She had red pin striping and carbon fiber everywhere. Oh, and nice touch, the badges were switched out for the vintage '69 trim. The only problem with it was that the windows were tinted so dark that I couldn't see who was driving. I needed to meet this person. I needed to get in that car. "I don't even think you understand how hot this makes me." Trish gave me the lobsters-crawling-out-your-ears look.

"Yeah, you're a lesbian."

"Right, because the stud that walked us through the alley was the hottest chick I've ever see . . ." I was interrupted by a sound I hadn't heard except in movies. The whoosh was unmistakable.

"What was that?"

"Oh fuck. Nitrous Oxide. Oh fuck. This is gonna get real ugly, real fast." Trish pulled my hand back, people had started backing away from the cars, they were starting. The Camaro was racing a crew of tuners, a Civic, a 240sx, and the Supra. The Honda and the Nissan had no fucking chance, but I was interested to see how the Supra and Camaro would fare. This was going to be close. This was going to be GOOD. The tuners revved their engines for a bit and died down. Chevy's turn. Thunder boomed, and he dropped the clutch, lighting up the rear tires and engulfing the crowd in thick white tire smoke. "Fucking HOT!" Trish sighed at me. "Oh come on, you know that was fucking awesome."

"Yeah. Yeah it was." We laughed. The smoke cleared and the staple scantily clad girl walked out into the road. She acknowledged all four drivers, raised her arms, and dropped them. The Camaro and the Supra shot off, leaving the two "children" to fend for themselves. The crowd made their way to the finishing point, which is two blocks away and around some corners. The loop that the cars were making was pretty sizeable; I figured a good finishing time was going to be about six and some. Trish looked at me. "How long are they gonna be gone?"

"Depends. The loop should take about six minutes. If they run into cops, they'll be significantly longer."

"Why?"

"Well, they've gotta shake them. They don't want to bring them back here. So once they lose the cops they basically find their way back here to the finish."

"Oh. Interesting." She was losing interest.

"Hey, if you want to call that cab, there are no hard feelings. I'll just hang out and be home later."

"You sure?" She raised her eyebrows at me.

"Yeah."

"Okay, but you have to let me know who wins." she said, smiling.

"Look at you! Told you you'd like it." I gave her a hug and stood with her while she called the cab, I made sure she got in safe and handed her the fare. "I'll see you later, alright? Don't wait up for me." I winked and tapped the trunk.

"COPS! SHIT! COPS!" The cab pulled off as the crowd scattered. Fuck. How'd I know this was going to happen? I took off running, away from the sirens (got to remember that one.) and dodged down a side street. Fuck, its really dark down here. I'm alone. I don't have any mace. I don't have a lighter so I can't even light a cigarette. I kept scanning the road as I walked. Suddenly, there were headlights behind me. I turned to see Angel Eyes. It was the Camaro! They're slowing down . . . that's weird. The window rolled down a bit, not far enough for me to see who was in the car but enough to hear them tell me to get in. Awesome. I really wanted a ride in this car.

"Sure!" I scurried around to the passenger side, opening the door. The interior was red, black and carbon fiber . . . the driver's got good taste.

"Still a creeper, I guess." It's Brighton. Fuck yeah; this night couldn't get any fucking better. Hot car,

hotter

driver. Jesus, Lord and Savior, thank you for the jackpot.

"Um, no. Having a car like this completely voids you of any creeper status."

"You like cars?" He asked, smiling.

"I like this one." I said, putting my un-lit cigarette back in the pack.

"Good answer. Here, have one of mine." He handed me a Marlboro Skyline, exactly what I smoke, weird.

"Umm, cool, thanks." I noticed his hands as he lit my cigarette. Hands are kind of my thing, and wrists, and his . . . well, they were a perfect ten. "So are you from around here?"

"Lower Manhattan, actually. You?"

"West Village, I like how artsy it is there. Manhattan, wow, its not cheap living there. I've always been intrigued by that area, but could never afford it."

"Well, would you like to see it? Up close and personal?" He shot me a sideways glance. Fuck yeah I would.

"Um, yeah, sure. I'd like that. Let me just text Trish and let her know that I'm going to be a bit."

"We have to finish the race, first, though, of course." He laughed.

"Oh, of course. Any idea where the Supra is? The Honda and Nissan were blown away by your tail-smoke, hah" He smiled, man I love that smile.

"He's prowling, like me. Because the finish was interrupted, that's where the cops are going to be. We're waiting for the new finish line."

"How will you know?" Just then there was a knock on the window. He rolled it down a crack.

"Lower east side, through China Town and Little Italy, meet back at the entrance to the Williamsburg Bridge." It was the starter girl.

"Right." He rolled the window back up. "I'm not gonna have time to stop and drop you off with the rest of the crowd. Its gonna slow me down a little but you're going to have to ride with me."

"I beg your pardon. I'm not that heavy."

"It has nothing to do with your weight, love, it has to do with the fact that passenger and driver is going to be heavier than driver alone. I'm good enough, though, so we've got this." He called me love. I could've seriously just melted at that point.

I texted Trish as we pull off

'Soo, I'm gonna b later than we thought.'

She texts back quickly, so I know she's home.

'Lucky bitch. Is he tasty? Nail him twice. ;)'

'Oh, yeah, he's tasty. Ur not gonna ask who?'

'As long as I'm the M.O.H. and God-mother to all your lesbian creeper babies I don't want to kno.'

'Of course you will b. :] see you later, Hun.'

'Be safe!'

"So you and Trish live together?" I nod. "In the Village." Another nod. "So, um, how long have you two . . ."

"Oh, hah, no we're not a couple. We're best friends. I guess it seems that way though, doesn't it? What with my masculinity and the way we bicker."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean that you're masculine. I just thought because, you know, the Village."

"Yeah, it's kinda known for that." There was a long pause in conversation. The rumbling of the engine in this car was amazing; it was making my whole body vibrate. Every time he shifted, my weight was thrown back into the seat. Seriously, being in a car like this was like having sex. No joke.

"So you like cars?" He asked again, shifting into fourth.

"Its more of a fascination than a passion. I know a little bit, but not much. I can just appreciate their characteristics, you know? It's a very shallow interest."

"You're wearing a Chevy shirt, which I like, by the way." He smiled at me again, and I lost my train of thought. "It's cute." Back again.

"I drive a Corvette ZR1, Chevys are kinda my thing, you know, Chevy runs deep." Immediately after spurting that tag line, I regretted it. That couldn't have been cheesier.

"Yeah, yeah it does. A ZR1, huh? No shit." He didn't seem to mind my awkwardness, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"What kind of motor do you have in this anyway? She purrs way too nice to be stock." I asked, hastily cutting back to something he could ramble about. That way, I wouldn't have to worry about anything stupid coming out of my mouth.

"It's a 6.2 liter LS3, bored and stroked out to a 412, supercharged at 9psi. It's got about 685 rear wheel horsepower and 702 foot pounds of torque. You wouldn't find that interesting, though, would you?"

"I was wondering, I know you've got a Borla set, and Nos, of course." I was trying to impress him now.

"Oh! You do know something about cars, hah." He said, eyebrows raised.

"Enough to know that 'bored and stroked' isn't nearly as perverted as it sounds." He laughed, good.

"Hold on, this is the last stretch." Had we been driving that fast, for that long? I hadn't even noticed. I glanced over at the speedometer, we were on a straight stretch, the last quarter mile and we were going a buck fifty. God that car felt good.

"The Supra is two lengths ahead of you, you're not gonna make it!" I shouted over the sound of the engine. He just glanced at me briefly and smiled as he pushed a button on the dash. My body was suddenly thrust back into the seat as the burst of Nitrous pushed us well past the Supra. The crowd cheered as we sped past them, slowing down now. "What's the prize for this one?"

"Four. Its not as good as it could've been, but it'll keep me in Manhattan for a little while longer." He tapped his DSC to make sure it was off and spun the tail end of his car around, fishtailing. I was nearly positive that the back corner of the car was going to go off the edge of the bridge but he caught it. We sped up back to the crowd, he rolled his window down and the hostess handed him a stack of bills.

"Get home safe, Speed Racer." She said, smiling. "I don't know how you keep doing this, but don't stop, it's getting us a ton of good publicity." He smiled back and rolled the window up.

"Its not going to be too long before we get to my area, is there anything you need?" I need you to stop and buy me an engagement ring.

"No, I'm good." I lie. You know what? I really like this guy, and the worst that could happen is he denies me. I'm going all or nothing tonight, because if I don't, I'm going to regret it forever. "It's kind of embarrassing but cars like this really turn me on." He raised an eyebrow and smirked as he shifted.