Good to Be Back

Mason

“Holy fuck,” I murmured as Rick drove us beneath the overpass and to the clearing where all the drivers and members of the underground scene were gathered.

            There was a shit ton of people. At least two hundred and fifty. This was way bigger than what I’d expected, and a bit of anxiety started chewing at my insides.

            Rick slowed to a crawl as we drove through the swarm of bodies. People got out of our way for the most part, and I was glad the Fastback had blacked-out windows. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be recognized yet.

            Eyes were drawn to the green car like moths to a flame. People stopped and pointed, and Rick revved the engine a bit.

            “Knock that shit off,” I said.

            “What? I’m just giving them a show.”

            “I don’t want to tip anyone off as to what’s under our hood. Slow and steady.”

            Rick grumbled about how I was no fun at all, but I didn’t care. He found a spot to park and turned off the engine. He tossed me the keys, and I slid them into my pocket. “What’s the plan?”

            I craned around and looked out the back window. We had driven past the registration table where I knew Harley would be collecting information from all the drivers. “I’m going to go register. You stay with the car. Like I said, I don’t want anyone knowing what’s under her hood. That’s only for us to know.”

            “It’s better to be underestimated than overestimated, right?” Rick winked.

            I chuckled. “You’re catching on.”

            Rick got out of the car. People were already gathering around the Mustang and wanting to ask questions. Rick directed their attention to him, saying he was the owner, and I heard him turning down requests to see under the hood as I slid out of the passenger side and ducked through the crowd to make my way to the registration table.

            I cut in front of a young kid who shot me a dirty look but didn’t say anything. There were perks to looking the way I did.

            I only had to wait a couple minutes before I stepped up to the table. A beautiful woman was sitting there alone with her head down as she filled out the last bits of information from the previous driver. Her hair was red. Not a natural red or a fire engine red, but a deep almost purple sort of red. It was long and thick and hung in a curtain in front of her face as her hand moved frantically from side to side as she wrote.

            “Next,” she said, not bothering to look up.

            “That’s all I get? ‘Next’?”

            Harley looked up with a smile curling her mouth. “Well, I’ll be damned. Mason Thomas. You panty-soaking bastard.” She got to her feet and walked around the table to wrap her arms around me. Her rather large breasts crushed against my chest, and when we parted, she kissed my cheek. “How have you been?”

            “I’m good. You look great.”

            “I’d better,” she said, putting a hand on her hip and batting her lashes at me. “This body takes a lot of work.”

            “I can only imagine,” I said. Harley was a beautiful woman. She was the sort of woman men couldn’t keep their eyes off of when she walked into a room. Her features were fierce, her eyes calculating and intelligent, and she had a mouth on her that would curl any Girl Next Door’s hair.

            “If you’re ever looking for someone to keep you company at night, you have my number,” she purred as she dragged her finger down my chest.

            I caught her wrist and flashed her a seductive smile of my own. “I think we both know that would be a bad idea.”

            “Perhaps.” She shrugged. Then she walked around the table and took her seat. “You’re here to race, not flirt with me, I presume?”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “What are you driving?”

            “A ‘67 Mustang Fastback.”

            Her eyebrows lifted as she looked up at me. “And you plan on winning tonight?”

            “I’m not here to lose.”

            “The other cars are faster, Mason. We’ve got Skylines and RSs all souped to shit. I can pull strings, but I can’t help you win a race if you’re driving an old box.”

            I chuckled. “Just write it down, Harley.”

            She clicked her tongue at me. “That confidence. Always such a turn-on.” She picked up a yellow badge from beside her with the number seventeen on it. “Good luck out there, Mason.”

             “Thanks.”

            As I turned to leave, she called out to me, and I looked back at her. She winked. “It’s good to see you back. Put it all out there, won’t you?”

            “You know who you’re talking to, right?”

            She smirked and disappeared from my view as the next driver stepped up to register.