#Junkie (GearShark #1)(30)

Sometimes the guy amazed me. The way he refused to let anything keep him down. I respected him so goddamn much in that moment.

“I’m not saying no,” Gamble said. I heard the respect in his voice.

“You aren’t?” Drew asked.

He smiled. “I know better than to let a future household name slip through my fingers.”

“So what are you saying exactly?” I said, point blank.

“I’m saying this has been an interesting conversation, and though I might have come here expecting one thing, I’m glad I got something else.”

“And what is that?” Drew crossed his arms over his chest.

Even Hopper seemed a little perplexed, as if for once he didn’t know what Gamble was going to say.

“You might not be a professional driver in the sense of someone ready to conform for NASCAR and Formula One standards… but you are driver all the same. You represent a much larger population. As you said, the underground racing scene is going to explode any minute now.”

“I think it’s going to be a little longer than that,” Drew replied, dry.

“Unless, of course, some eccentric with a lot of money comes along and wants to, as you said, throw in with the underdogs.”

“Are you saying you want to sponsor Drew on an indie level?” I asked.

“I’m saying I think the underground world of racing needs a face, one capable of bringing this unrecognized organization of racers into the spotlight.”

I felt my lips pull up into an excited smile.

“It’s cold out here, and we have a lot to discuss. Let’s meet over at headquarters.” Gamble pointed to the condos over the track. “We’ll be more comfortable, and there’s coffee.”

“Of course.” Drew agreed.

We waited ‘til Gamble and Hopper drove off in the Cadillac before going to the Mustang.

“What the f*ck just happened?” Drew pondered.

“Something big,” I said. “I don’t know what, but it’s going to be big.”

Drew made a whooping sound and pumped his fist in the air.

I laughed, but the sound was abrupt because he launched himself at me.

I didn’t see it coming and I wasn’t prepared. Even if I had time, I wouldn’t have been able to prepare for this.

One second we were laughing, and the next…

Drew was in my arms.

The weight of him barreling into me was shocking at first. Sure, with football, I was used to unnecessary roughness, but this was different. I wasn’t on a football field. This wasn’t some play, and I wasn’t on the defense. Drew wasn’t trying to knock me down; he was hugging me.

I liked the way his weight felt colliding into mine. It hit me immediately, but it was like my body was ready; my body knew how to react to Drew.

He bounced excitedly at first and slapped me on the back. I chuckled and pressed my palm against his back.

Something changed.

The excited, celebratory hug turned into more.

His body relaxed, and my arms moved, pulling him tighter, towing his chest right up against mine. Drew’s chin dropped onto my shoulder, and his hand stopped slapping my back. Instead, his fingers dug in.

So this is what it’s like.

This was what it was like to be held by Drew.

To hold him.

Damn.





Drew

A whole new brand of racing.

That was the proposal.

I came here hoping for a sponsorship, a car with a ton of logos slapped all over it, entrance fees paid to a bunch of legit, well-known races.

I didn’t get it.

I got something better: a chance.

Some driver’s would be kicking themselves in the ass right now. They’d be feeling let down, denied, rejected.

Not me.

No. I didn’t get a sponsorship or a deal with a lot of backing. I got something a hell of a lot more risky. Something that might ruin my career before it even got started. I got a dirt path through a heavily wooded forest.

All I needed was a path.

All I needed was a chance.

I liked risks.

Maybe I was reckless.

But with great risk comes great reward.

Or at the very least, one hell of an adrenaline rush.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the meeting with Gamble. About the sharp disappointment I felt when I heard the “but” in his voice before he finished critiquing my driving.

The critique itself was on point, so I couldn’t be mad about it. The bottom line was drivers had to mesh with their main sponsor. Drivers had to be given the freedom to drive the way they wanted. I wasn’t going to ask Gamble to look for something other than he normally did in his drivers. Just as I would never change the way I raced to please a sponsor.

I think it was my “rebel without a cause” attitude that put what happened back there into motion.

“Seriously, though.” Trent scoffed. “This is going to be huge.”

It was midafternoon, and we were on the highway headed back home. Soon as the meeting ended, we grabbed some food and hit the road. Trent was driving. I wasn’t sure he knew, but he was the only person I’d ever let drive my car.

Usually handing anyone the keys gave me anxiety like a dog in a room full of cats. But not with him. Everyone knew how much I loved my car.