Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“You can do this, sunshine,” Chick said supportively, his hands rubbing my shoulders like I was his prize fighter and he was about to toss me into the ring against the evil, or possibly misunderstood, opponent. “I can’t, and this is only reinforcing my aversion to ever getting behind the wheel of a car, but you’ve been driving long distances since you were sixteen. Switchbacks and freeways. The open road and LA traffic. You were born for this moment. This is your destiny.”
“I’m vaguely inspired,” Kingston said dryly. “I would need a soundtrack and some CGI to push me over the edge, but I’m close.”
Chick muttered something I couldn’t hear because my heart was beating too hard. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t flattering to Kingston.
“She still looks pale. August? Do you want to stretch a little first?”
Bernie bent her leg behind her and pulled it up over her head in a shocking move meant to snap me out of my daze.
Funnily enough, it totally worked. “I’m too tense to stretch, but I’m pretty sure the guy in the next crew over just passed out, B. You’ve still got it.”
She batted her eyelashes in that general direction. “Why, thank you. The judges had the same reaction yesterday.”
“If Granny Hudson is done showing off, it’s time to get serious,” Rick said from the sidelines.
She dropped her pose and rounded on him with an angry stare. “Call me Granny again. I dare you.”
He ignored her and looked at me instead. “You know what to do. Remember what we’ve talked about over the last few months.”
Bernie snorted. “Winning isn’t the point because you set depressingly low expectations for yourselves?”
“Fun is the point,” I repeated dutifully. “After survival. First survival, and then, if you survive? Fun.”
It was Rick’s turn to snort. “Don’t worry. You will survive.”
I giggled a little hysterically when his words hit the button on my mental jukebox and Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” started playing in my head.
“At first I was afraid. I was petrified.”
Yep. That tracked.
“She’ll be fine. We’ll make sure of it.” Lucy came out of the tent for the first time since the race started, still holding a radio in his hand. “The key for you is not to worry about your speed. There’s a group of ladies in their sixties driving a pink Cadillac out there right now. They’re regular racers, and none of them ever go over seventy miles per hour. And why is that? Because they’re only here to have fun. As long as you don’t drive like an asshole, you’ll do great.”
I pointed at Lucy and looked around, making direct eye contact with the rest of my so-called cheerleaders. “That made me feel better. Someone should have led with that right away. The seventy-miles-per-hour-Mary-Kay-lady thing? I’m good now. Much better. Saint Lucy strikes again.”
He cocked his hip and beamed at me. “I do what I can.”
“Will you stop posing, man? We’re old enough for that to be embarrassing,” Rick muttered, but he said it with a grin.
“This is such an odd group of people.” Chick had a bemused expression on his face. “I don’t say this lightly, but it’s almost better than fiction.”
“High praise,” Kingston said behind him, causing Chick to stiffen.
“Gus?”
Wade took my hand and tugged me off to the side, away from the others at the same time that Jiminy entered the paddock in the distance.
Something was wrong. He looked upset.
“What’s going on? Is it your turn to get last-minute jitters?”
“No jitters. You’re a careful driver and you’ve been practicing. I know you’ll be fine.” He grimaced, his hand tightening on mine. “There was something important I wanted to tell you before we left the parking lot.”
A tickle of non-race-related worry crept into my mind. “It’s not about the car?”
“No.”
The loud cheer as Rick started unhooking and detaching Gene from Jiminy momentarily distracted me. Morgan really came down to greet him with a bucket of fried chicken and a cake?
“He deserves some excessive celebration,” I told Wade fondly. “Lucy said he made great time today.”
“Yeah, Gene did great. August, about earlier—”
“August Retta, come on down,” Gene shouted like a game show host from beside the car, his bald head raining sweat, a smile bigger than I’d ever seen from him gracing his bright-red face.
I looked back and covered Wade’s hand with mine. “I really want to hear this, but is it an emergency, or something that can wait until I’m done with my turn? I don’t want to lose my nerve again and I feel like I’m about to.”
There was a slight hitch in his shoulders. “Yeah. Yes, of course. It can wait. Focus on the race.”
He dropped his hand and took a step back, putting more distance between us than I wanted. “I’ll see you when it’s over.”
Chick grabbed my hand and half dragged me away. As they harnessed me into the seat, the others offered up last-minute advice about how to handle myself on the track, but I wasn’t that nervous anymore. At least not about the race.