The moment I stepped into the pit, I was surprised at the amount of noise and activity all around me. Some groups were assembling canopies to cover their work area, while others were simply arranging their tools and supplies in front of their trailers. There was a plethora of cars, some models I recognized and some that looked too strange to be from any manufacturer I knew of. They were built light and low to the ground, their interiors gutted down to bare metal. Manson explained that it made the car lighter, faster, and easier to maneuver.
Like Jason’s Z, these cars weren’t built for comfort; they were built for performance.
The vibe was overwhelmingly positive. Multiple people greeted the boys as they passed us by, some drivers stopping to chat. I kept out of the way, perching myself in the front seat of the Bronco with the door open and my feet propped up in the open window. I could watch the action from there, eating a corn dog Vincent had bought me from inside.
The excitement in the air reminded me of the energy of a pep rally before a big game. Except I didn’t see any animosity from the various drivers, despite them all being about to compete against each other. I saw lots of people smiling and laughing, playing music on portable Bluetooth speakers. Some of the drivers had even brought their families along.
Jason appeared in the Bronco’s open door, leaning against the frame as he smiled at me. He was wearing a black jumpsuit, the style of it reminding me of a certain Halloween party and the costume he wore that night. I remembered him zipping it down while I was on my knees, revealing his brightly tattooed chest and stroking his thick cock in front of me.
Oooh, I did not need to be thinking about his dick right now. My panties were wet enough.
I was still so uncomfortably turned on from that blow job. I didn’t know why Lucas tried so damn hard to pretend he didn’t enjoy anything. It made me want to rattle that hard-ass exterior and get into his head. Maybe my discovery of his little kink would enable me to do that.
Who would have thought that big bad Lucas wanted to be called a good boy? The thought filled me with wicked glee.
“Some of the guys are about to do a few practice runs,” Jason said, grasping my outstretched leg. I was wearing denim shorts today so my skin was bare, and he turned his head to kiss my ankle, keeping his sharp blue eyes on me as he did. “Want to watch?”
Unsure of what exactly I was about to see, I nodded. He walked with me to the front of the Bronco and helped me climb up, sitting beside me on the hood with our feet resting on the bumper. A chain-link fence and a low embankment separated the pit from the track beyond. It was a wide, vaguely oval-shaped expanse of asphalt, marked with white paint and orange traffic cones. On the side closest to us, a curved road led out of the pit and onto the track, leading toward a starting line. A pole with a series of yellow, green, and red lights was affixed into the ground just beside the line.
An older, deep gray BMW pulled up to the starting line, and Jason leaned closer to me as he explained, “The drivers will be judged on three things: line, angle, and style. The line has to do with how the car is positioned. See those squares and diagonal lines on the track? Those are inside clips and fill zones. We’re required to get our front or back bumpers into those zones as we move through the track.”
He pointed them out, white squares and lines positioned either on the inside of tight turns or around the edges of the wide one. Suddenly, with a massive roar that made me clap my hands over my ears, the old BMW flew from the starting line and onto the course. Clouds of thick white smoke poured from its tires as it slid into the first turn, its back bumper gliding through the painted zone that curved along the first wall.
“We’re judged on angle,” Jason shouted over the engine’s blaring scream. “See when he turns, how smooth it looks? His car isn’t wobbling around, he isn’t overcorrecting his steering. Last is style. The judges will look at how you initiate going into the first turn, and how well you transition through the course.”
The driver sped through the course in mere seconds, leaving clouds of smoke and the aroma of burning rubber drifting through the air. The noise and speed were stunning, and I watched with rapt attention as more drivers lined up to practice.
“They’re going so fast,” I said. “It’s amazing they don’t crash.”
“It takes a lot of practice,” Jason said, giving me a toothy grin. “I’m going to get in a few rounds of my own before the competition starts.” He leaned closer, his eyes flickering down to my lips. “Will you be cheering for me?”
I scrunched up my mouth in thought, as if it was even a question. “I don’t know…That driver over there in the Corvette is pretty cute…” His eyes flashed dangerously, and I laughed, kissing him. “Of course I’ll be cheering for you. You’d better win.”
“I’m not going to lose against a fucking Corvette, that’s for sure,” he said, excitement in his voice as he slid down from the Bronco and headed toward his car. But he gave me one last wink over his shoulder before he got into the driver’s seat. “I’ll win just for you, princess.”
The stands had filled, crowds gathering along the fence for a better view of the action as the first segment of the competition began. Lucas and Manson had come equipped with tools, extra parts, and even spare tires. Our area of the pit was set up like a miniature version of their garage.
“Excited?” Vincent said, coming to join me on my perch atop the Bronco. It was the perfect spot to watch the action, and was partially shaded from the sun by the canopy the men had assembled to work underneath.
“Very,” I said. Jason was about to start his first official run through the course, and nerves were making my hands sweat. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so anxiously invested on someone else’s behalf. I’d really meant it when I’d said I wanted him to win today. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but all these drivers seem so good.”
“Believe it or not, this isn’t even a professional-level competition,” Vincent said. “All these drivers are considered amateurs.”
“What?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Holy shit, I can’t imagine what the pros are like, then!”
“Their cars are a hell of a lot louder, for one,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Speaking of which, I was supposed to give you these.” I held out my hand, and he dropped a pair of plastic earbuds into them. “They’re earplugs. They’ll block out the worst of the noise, but you’ll still be able to hear conversations up close. Try them out if you like. It can get pretty loud.”
There was something exciting about the noise though, so I left out the earplugs for the time being. When Jason moved up to the starting line and revved his engine, burning out his tires and spewing clouds of smoke, I loved feeling the rumble of the engine through my limbs and how the deep sound reverberated in my chest.
When he shot forward from the starting line, I couldn’t look away. I held my breath as he entered the first curve, his car sliding sideways as his back tires stayed perfectly within the lined zone along the wall. The next turn required him to wrench his wheel in the opposite direction, changing the angle of his slide. As he came into the last turn, I could barely see him through the smoke, so I balanced myself on the Bronco’s front bumper as I tried to see.
He came flying out of the cloud, swerving through the final turn. The audience cheered, the metallic voice of the announcer calling the run “impressive.”
Impressive wasn’t a good enough word for it. It was incredible, heart-stopping. To control a vehicle going at those speeds through turns like that was stunning.
Jason went again, and this time, his driving was even faster and tighter. I was too enthralled by the excitement of it all to realize he’d hit every mark he was required to until Vincent pumped his fist victoriously.
“He’s on it today,” Manson said, smiling proudly as Jason slowly drove the Z around the backside of the track and back toward the pit.
“Heading for first, baby, I can feel it!” Vincent said excitedly, clapping his hands as Jason backed the Z under the canopy.
“You’ll get into the Top 32 for sure, man,” Lucas said, offering Jason his hand to pull himself out of the car. He pulled off his helmet, smiling widely as he shook his hair out of his face. Lucas and Manson were immediately getting down to business, opening the hood and beginning the process of replacing the tires.
“How’s she driving out there?” Manson said, pulling on his gloves.
“Might be running a little rich. I was idling rough after the first run,” Jason said, unzipping his jumpsuit as he stood in the shade. He poured half a bottle of water over his head, and the liquid dripped down his chest. I used a pamphlet I’d found like a fan, waving it to help cool him down. The sun was out in full force today; he was probably sweating his balls off in that jumpsuit.
The announcer gave Jason’s final score, and Vincent cheered again. “Ninety-three!” he exclaimed, shaking Jason’s shoulders in his excitement as the smaller man laughed. “I knew you fucking killed it out there.”
With the top half of his jumpsuit tied around his waist, Jason came over to rest beside me in the shade. They were selling beers inside and Vincent had gotten one for me, although none of the men were drinking. But I was having a great time, sipping an ice-cold beer and watching the competition.
“Rub that on my back, would you?” Jason said, leaning against the hood as I ran the cold aluminum can over his shoulders. He shivered in contentment, sighing as he closed his eyes. “It’s hot as fuck in that car.”
“You were amazing to watch out there,” I said, my breath hitching for a moment when he opened his eyes. I didn’t think I would ever quite get used to how blue they were. “What happens now?”
“I qualified for the next stage of competition,” he said, humming gratefully when I slid the can down his back. “Next up is tandem drifting.”
“Tandem? What’s that?”
“You’ll see. I’d hate to spoil the surprise for you.” He straightened, the two of us watching Lucas and Manson work. Vincent had brought a small speaker along and Manson had his phone hooked up to it, playing “Hunting Season” by Ice Nine Kills. It was the first time I’d watched him and Lucas working together, and it was clear how practiced they were. It was like they could read each other’s minds, grabbing tools for each other before a single word had been said.
At one point, as they both fiddled with something under the hood, Manson leaned close and whispered in Lucas’s ear. Lucas looked up at him with wide eyes, freezing for a moment before he shook his head and scoffed, his face reddening. I had no idea what had been said, but it still made me smile.
“What are you grinning about?” Jason said, resting his arm on my thighs.
“Just watching you guys,” I said, leaning back on my hands. “It makes me feel happy when Manson and Lucas flirt with each other, or you and Vincent…I don’t know, it’s nice to see. I’m not sure if I can explain it.”
“Sounds like compersion,” he said. “It’s when you feel happy for someone else’s happiness. Like when Vincent flirts with you, I know he’s enjoying himself and enjoying your company. So it makes me happy.”
“I had no idea there was a word for that,” I said. “It’s like the opposite of jealousy.”
“Yeah, it’s like that. Finding joy in other people’s joy. That’s part of why the four of us get along so well. We really want to see each other happy.”
This was something I’d never experienced before. Having a partner flirt with anyone besides myself had always been a threat, not something to be joyful over. But this was different. It genuinely did make me feel happy to see their closeness to each other, or to see how absolutely hyped Vincent was as Jason prepared for the next phase of the competition to start.
“You’ve got this, babe. Easy shit,” he said, hugging Jason close. Jason zipped back up his suit and pulled on his gloves, flexing his fingers. But before he put his helmet on, he came over to me again and cupped my face, leaving me with a long, slow kiss that made my knees weak.
“Good luck,” I said.
“I told you I’d win for you,” he said. “I still plan on doing that.”
The drivers lined up for the next phase of competition, but this time, they were paired together. Two drivers came up simultaneously to the line, and I frowned in confusion.
“Are they racing?” I said, and Lucas shook his head. “Then what —”
The lights blinked and the cars flew forward, one pulling ahead of the other as they came up on the first turn. To my complete shock, the two cars drifted through the curve side by side. Tires squealing, engines rumbling, the two vehicles skidded within inches of each other before switching up their angle and flying into the next turn.
“No fucking way…” I said, eyes wide as I leaned forward on the hood, staring in disbelief. “Are they on a team together? How the hell aren’t they crashing into each other?”
“Same way they aren’t crashing into the walls,” Lucas said. “They’ll switch off for the next run, and the other car will lead instead.”
“You’re telling me they haven’t practiced with each other? Like those two drivers haven’t worked together before?” It was hard to believe something so flawlessly, terrifyingly smooth could possibly have been done without hours of practicing together to get it right.
“They may have competed against each other before,” Lucas said. “But drivers are paired up according to their scores in the qualifying runs, so they couldn’t know ahead of time who they’d be paired with.” He glanced back at me, his cigarette dangling from his lips. “They’re just that good. You may see a few drivers tap each other, or even crash, but they’re here for a reason. They’re really damn skilled, and Jason’s one of the best.”
He sounded proud, the words not leaving even a shadow of a doubt that Jason was going to win. But my heart still hammered as the white Z pulled up to the starting line. I stood up on the bumper again to try to get a better view, but this time, Vincent noticed and came over to me, squatting down in front of me.
“Get on my shoulders,” he said. “We’ll go to the fence.”
I climbed on, wavering for a moment when he stood up. Holy shit, he was tall. He walked with me over to the fence, giving me a perfect view of the competition. Manson and Lucas came up alongside us, and together, we watched the lights flash, counting down to the start.
Jason and the other driver rocketed from the starting line. I cheered as they whipped through the turns, Jason chasing the car in the lead. He stayed so close, I couldn’t understand how they didn’t collide when the vehicles changed their angle and their tires screamed, leaving long streaks of black rubber on the track.
“Fuck yes, that was good,” Vincent said, leaning closer to the fence. The only thing I had to hold on to up there was his head, so my fingers were tangled in his long hair. But he didn’t seem to mind at all. “That was a really solid run.”
The two cars went again, with Jason in the lead this time. But his opponent faltered behind, struggling to keep up with Jason’s speed and securing him the win.
The competition was whittled down from thirty-two drivers to sixteen, then eight, and finally down to only four drivers remaining. Manson and Lucas worked quickly in between runs, changing tires and refueling as Jason cooled off in the shade. He hadn’t eaten a thing all day, but when I offered him some fries, he just bounced on his feet, shaking his head.
“Can’t eat, too excited,” he said. He was absolutely thriving here, all smiles as he zipped up for the next run.
Jason remained solidly consistent through every match-up, even when the lead driver in his last run lost control and spun out, swerving across the asphalt in front of him. He had to move quickly to avoid them, and my heart was in my throat as he executed the remainder of the course alone. His opponent was eliminated, and the competition had come down to the final two drivers.
Jason and the driver of the old gray BMW I’d watched practice when we first arrived.
Anxious energy vibrated through me as I sat on Vincent’s shoulders, waiting for them to begin. Lucas was pacing along the fence, and Manson had his arm braced against the wire, his foot tapping rapidly as he watched.
The first run started, with Jason chasing the other driver. His opponent’s car was clearly powerful, pulling ahead of him at first. But he readjusted and closed the gap. The two cars were impossibly in sync, as if they were controlled by the same person as they flew through the course. My throat was raw from cheering so loud, but I couldn’t contain my excitement as they finished and lined up for the final run.
“Trying to pull my hair out, Jess?” Vincent said, and I hurriedly loosened my frantic grip on his hair.
“Sorry, I’m really excited,” I said, and he laughed, giving my leg a squeeze as it dangled over his shoulder.
“You can pull as much as you want,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
It was a good thing he didn’t, because as soon as Jason’s tires touched the starting line again, I was right back to gripping his hair. When the Z launched forward, I was screaming at the top of my lungs.
I was no expert by any means, but from my viewpoint, Jason made it through the course without any flaw. The crowd erupted into cheers; the announcer claiming that the run was stunningly close. Manson was smiling wide, giving a high-five to Lucas and clasping his hand. Vincent squeezed my legs. Everyone’s excitement was palpable in the air as Jason drove back into the pit to join us.
Vincent let me down from his shoulders, and the moment Jason stepped out of the driver’s seat, I flung my arms around him. He lifted me completely off my feet, holding me with just one arm as he pulled his helmet off with the other.
“That was amazing!” I exclaimed, breathless as I kissed him. He put me back on my feet, but kept his arm gripped around my waist as Vincent kissed him.
“You nailed that,” Vincent said, smiling wide. “That was a first-place run, no doubt about it.”
“We don’t know that yet,” Jason said, but I could see the hope on his face. He knew he’d done well, but he reserved celebrating until everyone had gathered at the podium in front of the stands. The day had flown by and the sun was now set, the track’s massive overhead lights illuminating the podium as the announcer introduced the third-place winner before turning his attention to the final two drivers.
“We had a very close run between our two top drivers today. I know it came down to the details for our judges.” As the crowd’s cheering for both drivers settled down, I stood between Vincent and Manson, waiting with bated breath. “But there can only be one winner, and I’ve got the final scores from the judges here. First place is…”
I was practically crushing Manson’s hand in anticipation.
“Jason Roth!”
The crowd erupted, but I could barely hear them over my own cheering and the excited yelling from the boys as Jason accepted his trophy from the announcer. We surrounded him the moment he stepped off the podium, other drivers coming up to congratulate him and shake his hand.
It was the first time I’d seen them all look truly, unabashedly joyful. This was their world, this was where they found happiness. And they’d invited me into that, they’d brought me to share in their joy.
As it turned out, the things they loved made me happy too.
