Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (9 page)

“I won’t keep y’all, then. Dale’s voice jerked me back to the call. “Just wanted to tell you, Shelby, how much I appreciate the gift. Best sittin’ chair I ever had, darlin’.”

“Happy belated Valentine’s Day,” I muttered. “It was supposed to arrive back in February, before the season started. Bet now, you won’t sit in it five minutes till after Halloween.”

“Sugar, I didn’t have to put my ass in it to feel the comfort it brought. Now, don’t forget to send me the video of you slingin’ that Audi around a few curves, so I can show it off to the crew this week. I love you, babe.”

Caine squatted, then shoved the huge door on the back of the trailer high. His arms and shoulders bulged under the strain and those motherfucking Wranglers cupped his ass like lover’s hands. Windows along the façade of Pell Hall flew up. Heads poked out. A couple of wolf whistles split the quiet campus. A handful of girls coming from the library stopped to stare.

Caine pressed a button inside the trailer. A pair of bright yellow ramps slid out. Another press of the button lowered them to the ground.

“I love you,” I murmured. Eyes riveted on Caine, I thumbed the button to disconnect the call.

W
ith Ernie at my side, I stumbled along the drive.

“Hey, Ernie. Shelby.” Caine extended a ring of keys in my direction. “Back ‘er out.”

Fighting for composure, I peered into the dark interior. I spied three sets of taillights in the gloom, but the walls seemed uncomfortably close. What if I accidentally scraped the metal with a side mirror? My stomach took a nosedive.
Or drive right off the side of those narrow ramps?

I glanced at Caine. “Um, do you mind doing it?”

His eyes went wide. “You mean to tell me, you’ll hit one-fifty in a drag race, but you’re afraid to back off a trailer goin’ two miles an hour?”

“Something like that.” I wanted to glare, but couldn’t make myself look up.

“Kinda surprisin’, since you’re brave enough to buy Dad a recliner. Me and Colt was gonna do that at Christmas, but we didn’t wanna start nothin’.”

Maybe, since Ernie was here, he planned to act like a normal brother.

I tried to smile. “Dale said something about Mom and a wet hen.”

He cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah? Well, everybody within three thousand miles of home knows you’re Dad’s pet. He went all pussy-whipped when Macy was buyin’ stuff to fill up that house and told her he could live without one. But, if you sent him a wooden crate to sit on, it would by God get the place of honor. Even Macy knows that.”

Before I could say anything about the astonishing proclamation, he elbowed me. “But, girl, buyin’ him that chair’s like pokin’ a stick in your mama’s eye. Since when are you a card carryin’ mean girl?” From the side of my eye, I watched him cross his feet at the ankles and drive one toe onto the pavement. He leaned a hip against the trailer, like he had all day to chat.

“Since when am I his pet?”

Caine snorted. “Don’t play dumb. We all know better.” Rolling his eyes, he added, “You wasn’t around to cause him a minute’s trouble growin’ up. You bragged on him real good in front of all his friends at the Christmas party. And then, you beat the fuck outta his real problem child. Of course, you’re his pet. Little suck up.” He gently punched my arm to take the sting out of his words.

Why can’t he be in a hurry to get to Atlanta?

I decided to match his breezy attitude. Both men guffawed when I gave them a look of round-eyed innocence and raised three fingers in what I thought might be a Girl Scout salute.

“If the shoe fits, it’s probably best to buy a pair of those bitches and strut.”

Caine barked a short laugh. “She might be mad today, but by this time next week, Macy’ll be tellin’ folks she was just waitin’ for you to have time to help her pick out the perfect recliner.”

I stared, amazed Caine was so perceptive. Of course, he’d lived with her for the last four years, not me.

“Every man needs three things to succeed.” Ernie shoved his hands into the rear pockets of his no-name jeans. “A dream to fire his soul, a throne in his castle to rest his weary bones when he comes home dog-tired from chasin’ that dream, and a queen at his side, willin’ to let him warm his soul inside her when the dream seems too far away.”

Thank you Ernie, for making this awkward as hell. Sugar rush, much?

“Sounds ‘bout right to me.” Caine held out a fist. After a moment, Ernie tugged one hand free and brought his fist down on top.

Caine jumped onto the closest ramp. Sauntering inside, he flipped a switch near the door. Small dome lights lit the forty-foot box, giving me a good view of his 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 direction.

“Shelby!” My classmate tossed glossy black hair over her shoulder, giving Caine the once-over as she approached. Joelle Fitzgerald swung her hips in a manner she hadn’t used when I’d climbed the cafeteria stairs behind her at lunchtime.

I eyed her short skirt and long boots, feeling like a ragamuffin. My sweatshirt was a men’s medium, bought on sale at the college bookstore. It was three times bigger than me, but, at least I could get the sleeve over my cast.

“Joelle.” I responded with a terse nod. Meanwhile, Caine bounded to the passenger side and leaned his arms on the top of the low-slung coupe.

“Is this your car?” Joelle bated her lashes at Caine. I ground off a layer of tooth enamel. She stepped closer and peered through the sloping back window. “Two engines? Oh, my.”

“My sister’s car.” Caine tipped his head in my direction. “She won it off Kolby Barnes.”

“I heard that story.” Joelle flipped her hair. “Isn’t that the guy who wrecked his brother last weekend at Daytona?”

My mouth fell open. I’d have bet the damn car that Joelle Fitzgerald didn’t know NASCAR from Nabisco. I’d foregone watching the race to study, so the wreck was news to me.

“Idiot,” Caine spat. “Dumbass coulda finished second and his brother first, but he had to go and clip Kasey in the rear. Ended up a DNF with one fuckin’ lap to go.” He dropped his fists to the car roof, making me jerk.

“Oh, I know.” I nearly choked when the trust fund baby made it sound like she lived to watch fucking NASCAR. “But, didn’t I read that Kasey kicked his brother’s ass for that?”

Caine laughed. “Best part of a bad day. Cars flyin’ by on all sides, but Kasey laid a solid ass whoopin’ on Kolby.” His grin faded and he turned toward me. “Of course now, the idiot’s drivin’ this week with taped-up ribs. We’ll do good to come in in the top twenty-five in Atlanta, and we do not get paid to rank that low.”

“So, you work for NASCAR?” Joelle raked her fingers through her hair and stuck out her boobs.

Caine straightened, pulling his arms off the car. “Yep. C’mon, Shelby. We’re burnin’ daylight. Let me show you a few things before we go tearin’ out of here.” Caine plopped into the passenger seat and slammed his door.

Joelle looked at me with raised brows. “How rude.”

Oh, sweetie. I’ll show you rude.
I tapped the end of her stuck up nose. “Caine’s rule is gas or ass if you wanna ride with him, Joelle. I guess he can tell you aren’t good for either.” With a huff, she whirled and stalked away. I jumped in the car, grinning.

Once behind the wheel, I tried to take in the astonishing array of controls. “This is why they pay airline pilots the big bucks,” I exclaimed, praying Caine bought my ploy. There was no way I was ‘tearin’ out of here’. Not with Caine, not with anyone, any time soon. “Jesus, this is a lot to take in.”

Caine whistled. “You ain’t kiddin’. I spent a week lookin’ at the owner’s manual. Actually, it comes with a DVD that’ll help you learn your way around.” He pointed between his feet. “That’s in the glove box, under the seat. Most of it’s stuff you’ll never use, but I ain’t gonna lie. There’s a world of difference between this and what you’re used to drivin’.”

He chuckled. “Fuck, a world of difference between this and what I’m used to drivin’. All-wheel drive and the all-wheel brakin’ system means this baby grips the road tighter than a tick on a hound dog. You’ll have to work to make the rear end slide out, and it ain’t gonna burn rubber less’n you start off in second.”

My heart kicked. This car was safer than the ‘Cuda? I gripped the steering wheel, squeezing the perforated leather. The whiff of Hugo Boss and Dial soap did little to soothe me. Goddammit, why’d he have to smell so good?

“Colt put her on the test track up in Mooresville. He hit two-ten on the straightaway and said the pedal wasn’t all the way to the metal. He ran out of balls when he felt it lift. If you need to go faster than that, I gotta make it some wings.” Satisfaction radiated from his expression. 

Who in their right mind wants to do two hundred and ten miles an hour? If a person’s in that big of a hurry, they should buy a damn plane ticket.

“Do I owe y’all for the work?” I’d pinched pennies to save the majority of what was left from my Google ad money after buying the recliner. The check he’d written me was tucked in the back of my wallet for a rainy day. Mom had deposited three hundred bucks in my account yesterday.

“Well, since we slapped our name on the doors, I reckon we can call it even. You’re the best advertisin’ money could buy. Not to mention, it’s your birthday.”

Something I couldn’t mistake glowed in his eyes. I squeezed my thighs together while my tummy did a slow tumble. When I looked away, he returned to describing the car’s myriad systems. I absorbed perhaps every fifth word. My gaze shifted to the various features he pointed out, but my thoughts bounced around like a beach ball in a hurricane.