"Eddie, where you been?" I asked, slapping his hand when he held it out toward me.
"Working, man, working. Car needed some work after that last shitshow."
The last big meet-up had been broken up by the cops, leaving all of us racing off in different directions, trying to outrun the cops and their new fleet of powerful—but luckily heavy—cars.
"Yeah, I heard someone said you fucked up your quarter panel on a cop car."
"Yeah, but the fucker didn't catch me, so it's all good. Got my baby back. Ready to make some of that money back now."
Depending on who originally organized the race, we were typically not paired up together anymore. No one wanted to bet on us since it was always a fifty-fifty thing, not fun odds.
"Who is running this one? You figure it out yet?" I asked, looking around.
"Donovan."
"He's back?" I asked, surprised. Last I heard, he was heading up north.
"Said one winter in the snow was enough for a lifetime. Got back two weeks ago. Threw this together."
Eddie was more social than I was, keeping contact with the rest of the major racers in the area, the organizers. I usually only knew about a race when someone texted me a time and address.
Donovan running things made the large crowd make more sense. The other organizers had different rules than Donovan did. He was the only organizer who insisted people still play for pinks in at least two of the races on any given night. Hardly anyone played for pinks anymore. It was too big of a risk. But the spectators loved that shit. They bet high on it. Which was good for Donovan. And the winners.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"He's driving the blue Shelby. Can't miss it," he said, offering his hand again for a quick shake and fist bump. "I'll bet on you if you're racing."
"You should unless you want to lose your money," I told him, moving down the line of cars, checking out the competition.
As Eddie said, I found Donovan leaning on the hood of his Shelby. He'd always been a fan of muscle back when he raced. Before he realized it was more profitable for him to run the show, taking a cut from everyone's winnings instead of just his own.
Donovan was around my age, tall, covered in black and gray ink, with gray eyes, black hair, and a beard. He'd grown out his hair a bit since I'd last seen him, leaving it longer on top.
Even in the heat, he was wearing pricey gray slacks but with a black tee that showed off his Rolex.
"Donovan," I called, walking up.
"I was wondering if you were going to show up," he said by way of greeting, inclining his chin at me. "You want in?"
"Always," I agreed.
"I can put you in at—" he started, getting cut off by someone else walking up.
"Yo, Donovan, tell this bitch she can't just join a race," Mack, someone I'd never liked, but had to give him credit, was on his way up, announced.
"What bitch is that?" Donovan asked, giving Mack a hard look.
"That would be me," a husky female voice said, walking up behind Mack, chin lifted, jaw tight. Pissed, but trying not to show it.
She was too young for me to notice, but she was a fucking knockout.
Her curvy hourglass frame was in a pair of black jeans that were ripped in the knees and a lightweight blue top that tied in the front. Her long white-blonde hair was pulled into a braid down one shoulder, pulled away from her pretty face dominated by striking green eyes.
"I'm figuring your name isn't This Bitch," Donovan said, giving Mack a hard look.
"Saskia. Sass," she said, giving Donovan a small smile.
"Are you even old enough to drive, Sass?" he asked, eyeing her up in a big brother sort of way.
"I'm eighteen," she said, daring him to say she was too young. He'd be a hypocrite if he tried since he and I had both been around the same age when we'd started.
"You got a car, Sass?"
"Yes."
"You got the entry fee?" he asked, watching as she reached into her back pocket to produce the cash.
"You're not fucking serious," Mack snapped.
"Want to smoke this asshole?" Donovan asked, taking the cash, jerking his head toward Mack.
"More than you know," she agreed.
"He's playing for pinks tonight, though," Donovan warned.
The fact that she didn't even hesitate was proof that she was too new to jump in like she was doing.
It was one thing to play for cash.
It was a set amount you could lose.
But playing for pinks could mean you lost thousands and thousands in upgrades on top of the cost of the car itself.
"Alright, good luck, Sass," Donovan said a minute later, after ironing out the details. "We can use some more female drivers. Don't let their boys club bullshit drive you off," he said, dismissing her, turning back to me. "Okay where were we?"
"How many races is Mack doing tonight?"
"Three."
"I want in on the last one," I said, gaze slipping over toward Saskia's retreating form, trying not to let my gaze slide down to her round ass.
To that, Donovan let out a short chuckle.
"She's got to learn, man. You can't be the hero forever."
"Not forever," I said, shaking my head. "Just this once."
"Alright. You got it. But you better win. It would be a fucking shame if Mack was driving around in your car next week because you were thinking with your dick."
With that, he pushed off his car to go talk to whatever guy he had listening to the police scanner.
I moved down the street near the finish line, finding someone I knew with a pick-up, hopping up in the back for a better view, watching the first few races with little to no interest. The young kids, hungry to prove themselves. All balls, no skills. One idiot nearly took out a crowd on the sidelines when he overcorrected.
It was only when Mack's first race was lining up that I got interested.
"You got money in this one?" Eddie asked, walking over, his arms over two girls' shoulders. Neither of them was the girl with the belly button ring from before.
"Just hoping someone takes Mack down a few notches," I said, shrugging, trying for casual.
"Heard some chick was in this one," he said.
Of course he'd heard. Female racers still weren't that common. There were a few that came down in the summer and took the locals for a ride, but there was only one regular racer in the area.
"Yeah."
"Maybe this one won't steal my women like fucking Penn does," he said, referencing our local female racer. Who, yes, happened to be a lesbian. I'd once seen her lean into the ear of a woman Eddie had been chatting up, maybe saying a total of ten words, then walking off. The other woman practically ran to catch up with her.
One of Donovan's flag girls moved into the middle of the street, taking the bandana out of her back pocket, raising her arms over her head, getting a chorus of revving engines. Her arms dropped, and the cars shot off.
"Which one is she driving?" Eddie asked.
"The white FR-S," I said, not recognizing it. It was a new racer's car. Cheap base price. No frills. Likely had minimal upgrades.
"Nah, man. She ain't gonna pull it off," he said, sounding disappointed. Mack was pretty universally disliked in our circle.