Page 96 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
Any act of nature is valid, according to our rules.
So when the wind knocks a massive tree branch down, and it falls directly in front of me, it’s my problem.
I twist the wheel hard to the left, turning the car and using the natural slide of the mud to make myself spin. I end up sliding past it, ass first, facing in the wrong direction. My rear wheels get stuck in one of the rapidly filling puddles near the center of the track, and I find myself spinning my wheels in the muck as I grit my teeth in frustration.
Fuck.
This is not goddamn happening to me! Not with so much on the line. I don’t just mean myself—although that’s enough—but Evelyn. Evelyn and the blood on the cement, and the surprised look stuck to her face, and Bohnes asking me out on a date when I want nothing but sex in my life and zero romance.
Why does he have to push me like that? Why do I want to push back?
With a growl, I watch as Aspen approaches on his next lap, easing around the outside of the tree branch and then scooting past it. He doesn’t bother to pick up much speed, anticipating having to do the same thing again on the next round.
But what about me?
Easiest way to escape the mud is to get out of the car, drop a rubber floor mat under the tires, and use that for traction. Thing is, I can’t get out during a race. Too dangerous.
Instead, I shift gears and put the barest amount of pressure on the clutch, slowly working myself forward. Slowly, but not too slowly. Going too fast will cause the tires to spin and create bigger ruts while going too slow will get me mired in the mud and stuck.
I keep an even pace, moving the steering wheel from left to right to gain the most possible traction. While I’m working my way out of a tight spot, I ignore Aspen Kelly. There’s nothing I can do about him right now; I can only worry about myself.
By the grace of some dark and forgiving goddess, I manage to get my car out of the rut, waiting for Aspen to pass me yet again, so that I can maneuver around the branch.
I have no idea how many laps ahead of me he is at this point, but I can only do my best.
Throwing caution to the wind, I crank up the speed, taking my chances at a slide to try to make up some of the distance between us. My focus narrows to a single, sharp point, and I make myself breathe deep, long, slow inhales.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m going to lose this thing.
What a cruel twist of fate, for me to get fucked by my own track, on a day when I should’ve been able to kick Aspen’s ass hands-down. Most important race of my life, and I’m going to lose it.
This’ll be my first loss on the Prescott track, and the biggest failure of my burgeoning career.
Aspen’s going to bend me over that car and fuck me, and that’s not what I’m most upset about. That scares me, too, because while I can’t forget my initial and semi-recurrent revulsion and hatred toward Aspen Kelly, I also can’t deny that there’s an attraction there, too, one that I didn’t want. One that I’m disturbed by. One that’s eating away at my insides like a disease.
No, I’m not upset about the idea of fucking this guy—only about the fact that I’m about to miss out on crucial intel.
“Holy fuckballs, Scarlett Force,” I murmur, gripping the wheel and forcing all of those unhelpful thoughts to the side. It’s not over till it’s over, right? Thing is, I’ve been here, done this enough times to know when the odds are stacked against me.
I’ve counted twelve laps for myself—at least fourteen or fifteen for Aspen—when I see him take the next turn far too close to the inside of the track. He does it to avoid the tree branch, but why not continue to use the outside of the track instead?
I figure he was trying to pick up speed since I already passed him once, and I’m on my way to catching up. But then, why bother? I can’t possibly pass him three more times before the end of the race. He had it in the bag.
Plausibly, there’s an excuse for what he’s doing. To anyone else—maybe everyone else—watching from above (if they’re still there, braving out the storm) it probably looks like a genuine mistake.
It looks like something else to me.
I don’t have time to analyze Aspen’s actions, so I blast past him on the outside of the track and then, when I come around again, I see that he’s not having nearly as much luck as I did escaping that trap. From the quick glimpse I get as I pass him, it seems like the rut I left, that he fell into, has gotten too deep to get out of.
