Boy Issues - Morticia Knight Page 0,24
the edges of his gloves, angry that he’d allowed himself to be manipulated by the smarmy ass into a testosterone-fueled showdown.
“Don’t worry about it, Bunny. I’m the one who took the bait.”
Bunny patted him on the shoulder. “Let me have the boys get the Porsche for you.”
Donovan shook his head. “You know how that’ll look.” He nodded in the direction of the stands. “He’s got his fellow asshat friends in the stands to bear witness. If I bring out the Porsche at this stage, I’d might as well announce that I’m a chickenshit who knows he’s going to lose.”
Bunny sighed and scratched his belly. “Yeah, I hear ya. Listen, her tires are new, so you’ve got plenty of tread to work with. The track is a little greasy from the heat, but you should be fine, as long as you let her glide through the turns. Don’t hold on too tight.”
“Got it.”
Bunny clapped him on the back. “I’ve got her fixed up so she’s light as air. You’ll have no problem annihilating that Charger.”
Donovan grunted. “At least there’s one thing in my favor.”
“Hey!” Jarrod yelled through cupped hands. “Have you changed your mind?”
Donovan raised his hand to indicate he was ready to go, then slid into the seat. He was rather proud of himself for not using his middle finger to communicate his true opinion. After bringing the engine to life, Donovan glanced over the gauges and digital readouts, mentally committing to memory what he’d need to know in the split of a second.
This is madness.
His gut tightened as he fully realized the stupidity of what he was doing. He sucked in a deep breath.
Focus.
If he didn’t get his head in the race and block out everything else, he was toast.
The roar of Jarrod’s engine brought him back to the present, and he revved his in response. Donovan clenched his jaw as he gripped the wheel in anticipation of the digital countdown. Why he’d let that shit stain get to him, he had no idea. The red bulbs of the tall sign lit up, and Donovan’s heart thundered, his hands tightening even more on the wheel.
The red lights blinked four times with the fifth flash turning green. Donovan stomped on the pedal and was rewarded with a slight fishtail. He cursed to himself and eased off a fraction, remembering Bunny’s remark on how light the Viper was.
Jarrod had already jetted to the lead, but Donovan was determined that it would be the only one he’d have. As the first turn approached, Donovan noted that Jarrod was hugging the inside. Now would be his chance to put Bunny’s advice to work—he’d sail the lighter Viper past Jarrod on the outside of the turn, which would jettison him into the lead. Then, all he’d have to do was maintain that by sticking to the inside for the remaining turns.
Easy peasy.
Donovan anticipated the curve, easing off the pedal as he shifted, then broke out in a cheer as he executed the move perfectly. He flicked his eyes to the rear view then narrowed his focus to the track and nothing else. The next bend in the track would be upon him in seconds.
Donovan stuck to his plan of holding to the inside, but the moment he overshot the turn, he sucked in a sharp breath, desperately trying to correct before he hit the dirt and gravel infield—but he was too late.
His last thought before he rolled the Viper was that he was going to owe Benny a new one.
Chapter Eight
Silver muttered under his breath as he glanced over the list of parts he’d made for the Morgan. He leaned back in the beat-up office chair that he kept on the garage level to work at the make-shift desk he used to house his laptop. Next to the desk was an old kitchen utility cart that he’d rigged to hold a coffee maker—along with his selection of coffees, creamers and sugar. He also had several mugs for when his buddies stopped by to hang out.
His upstairs living area remained his private domain. Not that he had much in the way of secrets, but his neatness standards tended to run contrary to most of his buddies. Except for Erika and Nico, he never let anyone else up there.
Once Silver had finished adding up the amount he’d need for the first set of parts he’d located, he decided it was time to face Carl. One of the least favorite aspects of his job was to talk