Crash into You (Pushing the Limits, #3)(69)

She lowers her head, raises it, then lets it fall back. I can’t read her very well and I wish I could. “What’s going on in your head?” I ask.

Rachel sucks in a breath to answer right as the driver of the Camaro slides out. Doing what I asked of her earlier when a possible bet came into the picture, she walks straight for the grandstands. Her long hair swings forward, hiding her face. My legs twitch with the desire to follow her, kiss her and ask what’s wrong.

When Rachel arrived at the garage yesterday, she was one hundred percent with me, but by the time I finished her car, she became distant again. I’ll dig for the issues tonight. Now I need to focus and win us money.

I glance behind me at Logan. He’s already deep in conversation with his competition: a Dodge Charger. That’ll be a nice race for Logan. That driver always jumps the green light.

The Camaro driver appreciates Rachel’s car. “When did you upgrade?”

He may not know my name, but he recognizes me by my old car. I’m the same with him. “This week.”

“Still think you can take me?” he asks.

“Easily.”

He nods to his car. “I’ve made some updates, too.”

“Not concerned.”

Just as I hoped, he produces a wad of cash from his pocket. “Then you won’t mind putting money on the table.”

No. I wouldn’t.





Chapter 40

Rachel

MY FINGERS KNOT AROUND THE cold metal fence as I watch Isaiah drive my car to the burnout area. The accident we saw occurred a second after the race began. A tire blew, causing the driver to lose control and ram into the side of a Chevy Comet.

It scared the crap out of me—especially when a burst of flame shot out one of the cars. Men scrambled over the barricades, hauling the drivers to safety, spraying fire extinguishers at the hood. Isaiah went to launch himself over the fence to help, but my grip on his arm stopped him.

I looked up at him. He looked down at me. And when my body began to tremble, he placed an arm around me.

Isaiah drives past the waterline, jerking me back to the present, and he immediately heads to the staging area. The unexpected move paralyzes the anxiety spiders crawling in my stomach. “Why isn’t he doing a burnout?” I whisper.

“Because the car doesn’t have slicks,” says Zach as he approaches me and leans an arm on the fence. His blond hair shags over his face. “Street cars typically avoid burnouts.”

Right. Slicks are a type of tire that sticks better to the tracks. Zach was nice last weekend, but he reminds me of the guys from my school—how he speaks, knows everyone, and how he has plenty of the girls vying for him. So, in other words, he puts me on edge, and I slip back into Rachel mode. I step away from him when he invades my personal space.

The driver competing against Isaiah spins his tires at the waterline, creating a haze of white smoke. Because the Camaro has slicks, will it have an advantage? Isaiah bet everything he had against this guy: fifty dollars. If we don’t win, we go home.

“I haven’t seen you race,” I say to Zach when I think of something coherent.

“The Cobra sounded funny so I’m sitting her out.”

I nod to let him know that I heard him, but keep my eyes on Isaiah. Please, please, please God, take care of Isaiah.

“That’s your car, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yes.” I wish he’d be silent. If he talks then I can’t concentrate, and if I can’t concentrate then God will stop listening to my prayers.

“Why aren’t you driving?” he asks.

Isaiah’s competition hits the second staging line. The yellow lights flash down and right; as the light turns green, my car lurches with a power I never believed possible, lifting the front wheels. Isaiah rushes forward, with the Camaro following less than a second behind. Both cars fly by me, with Isaiah easily in the lead.

Come on, come on, come on... Yes! Isaiah crosses the finish line first. I lower my head and suck in a breath. Thank You, God, for keeping him safe.

“Did you hear me?” asks Zach.

“Um...” This is awkward. “No. Sorry.”

“I said that I want to race against you.”

The red lights of my car glow in the distance as Isaiah leaves the track. My body automatically angles toward the exit, as if a gravitational pull exists between Isaiah and me. “I’ll tell Isaiah.”

“No, Rachel.” Zach places a hand on my arm and his unwanted touch feels foreign against my skin. “I want to race you when you drive your car.”

I move my arm, pretending to itch my shoulder. “I won’t be racing.”

“Why?”

“Because...” I don’t know how to explain in a way that doesn’t make me appear weak.

“Because Isaiah’s one of those guys that doesn’t think that a girl should be behind a wheel.”

I huff. “No, he’s not.”

“I’ve got money.” Zach smirks. “And I hear he needs it. Tell him I’ll race, but only against you. He knows my stakes.”

Something deep inside of me shifts, and it’s not the good type of stirring.

“And Rachel?” Zach begins to slowly walk backward. “If you were my girl, I’d let you race.”

“He’s not like that,” I say, but Zach already turned his back to me and is too far away to hear.