Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) by Eden Connor

loose-hipped swagger while he crossed the empty footage. Dear Lord, how many cars does this thing haul? And, is that Colt’s Mustang?  
    To my astonishment, Caine sped up and leaped onto the trunk of the closest car. He jogged up the sloping rear glass to the roof, where he squatted. Sliding his legs through the lowered drivers’ side glass, he worked those broad shoulders through the window while my mouth hung ajar. Hot damn.
    Four interlocked silver rings gleamed from the rear deck. The Audi cranked. Taillights flared. The narrow confines condensed the throbbing exhaust to a roar.
    I squinted as the vehicle rolled down the ramps. Caine moved past at a crawl, giving me plenty of time to eye the new paint job. The Audi appeared royal purple one moment, and royal blue the next, but I’d never seen anything like the finish—not on a car, at least. Up close, the paint shimmered, but when I stepped back, the surface resembled suede.
    As the passenger door cleared the edge of the trailer, I squinted at the now-familiar handwritten scrawl. The Hannah-Built logo stretched from edge to edge on the door. Black shadows accented glossy white lettering, making the logo leap from the field of rich color.
    “Damned if that ain’t purdy.” Ernie slid a hand across the chest of his jacket. “Heck fire, left my glasses in the truck.”
    I moved toward the end of the ramp to get a different perspective. A difference in texture caught my eye. I took a step back while Caine reversed. I leaned left, then right, gasping with delight.
    As I shifted, one floating feather, then another, leaped into view. The shapes weren’t made with color, but with texture—a difference in the finish. The feathers looked like gleaming glass—or frosted, depending on my position. Once my eye honed in on the difference, the design I’d drawn at eighteen—the tilted version Caine had put on the Camaro I’d lost to Jonny driving—morphed to life.
    The four interlocked circles on the rear end and nose were now sparkling chrome. The wheels... I had no idea whether those were stock or aftermarket, but they shined like new money. Narrow spokes revealed bright red brake calipers. My designer’s eye appreciated the foil to all the purple.
    Caine swung the door open and climbed out. Ernie crept closer. From the way he moved his head, I could tell he’d spied the feathers.
    “Damn, son, you sure ‘nuff know how to pretty up a car. I thought it looked tough done with the Johnny Cash effect, but this here gives me a hard di—”
    I rolled my eyes when Ernie cut off his sentence, no doubt to spare my delicate sensibilities.
    “It’s a skin.” Caine tapped his knuckles on the fender. “Tough vinyl, shrink-wrapped around the metal. Protects the paint. It’s still factory black underneath, by the way.” He tossed a glance in my direction. “Makes it easy to change up the graphics. Lasts about seven years. No need to wax it, neither, but don’t you go to one of them automated car washes.”
    “Never put a car through one of those in my life. Don’t plan to start now,” I snapped, lifting my chin. “If you can’t hand wash, you ride dirty. And a Hannah never rides dirty. Dale taught me, too, Caine.”
    After Ernie peered inside and Caine answered a few of his questions, the older man said he’d better get home.
    “Thanks again, Ernie.” I waved.
    “I see you got your cast off.” Caine waggled my left arm.
    I refused to wince as pain shrieked along my collarbone. A different sensation slithered to another spot, but I couldn’t afford to go there.
    “Yep. The doctor asked me to sign my cast for his dad. Can you believe that? His father’s not much of a Barnes fan, it would seem.”
    “That’s a growin’ group.” Caine’s eyes glinted with anger. “Kolby needs to get his head out of his ass.”
    I didn’t want to think about the wreck, much less rehash it. I was relieved when one of the staring group from the library peeled off in our