Bad Boy's Last Race by Dallas Cole

picking through her toolbox and all the scary-looking wrenches and pneumatic drills there, it’s hard not to feel like I’m in the middle of some interrogation. So tell me, Miss Gallagher . . . Vat are your intentions vith our Jagger?
    “Are you from Ridgecrest?” Elena asks, circling around to what must be the control panel for the lifters. The Camaro she’d been working on starts to descend with a whine of the gears. “Went to Ridgecrest High School, maybe? You do look familiar.”
    “I used to be from around here. Eagle’s View, actually. I’m going to college downstate, but I’m back up here for a little while. Until I finish my master’s thesis.”
    I wait for Elena to raise her eyebrows or press her lips together at the mention of Eagle’s View. Something to show her disdain for Ridgecrest’s wealthier counterpart to the northeast; something to indicate she knows I don’t belong around here. But she does nothing of the sort. Just smiles, finds the tool she wants, and drags a stepstool toward herself with her foot. “What’s your thesis about?”
    I relax my stance. “Um, let’s see if I can nail it in one sentence. ‘Survey of alternative strategies in counseling at-risk juveniles.’”
    Elena laughs. “Plenty of those around here. In fact, I’ve got a whole shop full of at-risk manbabies you can use for your study, if you need.”
    We share a quick laugh. This almost feels comfortable, shooting the shit with one of Jagger’s closest friends. Not at all like the walk of shame I feared. I can almost forget about Tyler . . .
    “Do you drive?” Elena asks as she slides underneath the car.
    I blush. “Nah. Not like you. Jagger showed me how to gun it on a straightaway down on Highway 12, but . . .”
    “You should join us sometime,” Elena says. “I’ll teach you to hold your own with these boys.”
    “I’d like that.”
    Jagger bursts out of the same stairwell I came from, his short hair rumpled, but still incredibly sexy. He looks from me to Elena with narrowed eyes. “What’s all this laughing I hear?” he asks in a playful tone.
    “Elena’s going to teach me how to kick your ass on the circuit,” I reply.
    Jagger laughs and pulls me into an embrace, then presses a kiss to my temple. “Good luck with that. I thought you had to be on your way.”
    “I had to check her out first. Make sure she has only the most of dishonorable intentions for you,” Elena says.
    Jagger tightens his grip on my hips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got dishonorable covered.”
    My whole body must be blushing now as I arch my back against him. Shit. “I—I really do have to go, though.” I pull away from him with a sigh. “It was great to meet you, Elena.”
    “You’re coming to the semifinals, right?” Elena asks. “Down in Rose Grove Saturday night?”
    I look back at Jagger. “I didn’t know . . .”
    Jagger grabs my hand and clutches it tight. “Fuck, yeah. She’s joining us.”
    I grin. “And be your track bunny? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

8
    Jagger
    S ophie rides with me out to Rose Grove in the southern edge of the state for the Tristate Circuit Semifinals. The high desert whips past us while Sophie belts out some of her favorite ‘90s songs from her phone. I’m grooving right along with her, and even when she can’t hit the high notes, I feel myself falling for her a little more. She looks so happy, so gorgeous, so alive that I can’t complain about a damn thing.
    I’m amazed she agreed to come at all. Amazed that this . . . whatever we have between us is working still. It’s not my usual M. O., and that’s putting it lightly, but there’s something intoxicating about her that makes me wonder if it might not be so bad. Maybe I’d be tempted not to be pinned down if she didn’t make everyone else in the world just look so . . . bland.
    We head through the outskirts of Rose Grove, following in formation behind Elena and Drazic ahead of us in Elena’s Camaro. Rose Grove