Chapter 2
“Don’t I always?”
“Well…”
Letting out a boisterous laugh, Will released him. “Not on your life are you bringing that up. I settled that debt.”
Chris grinned. Even the blistering, dry, hundred-and-ten-degree heat couldn’t overpower the memory. Both barely twenty-one, and Will would not give up on going to the Pima Fair for Beerfest. It took a lot of wheedling, but Will had finally talked Chris into going. They’d been having far too much fun to stop when Will’s measly fifty bucks had run out, so Chris kept picking up the tab. The night had been certainly worth the four hundred it ended up costing. Especially when Will had paid him back with an all-access pass to Comicon that year.
“Touché.”
As soon as they reached the parking lot, Chris groaned. Really, he should have known. Sitting on the sweltering asphalt of the lot, like an exotic beast from an ancient tale, was Will’s ‘57 Chevy. A beauty of pearlescent sea-foam green paint, polished chrome, and black leather seats. They had spent years working on this car.
“Why didn’t you bring your truck?”
Will shrugged. “Do I ever take my truck to a race?”
“Fine. Let’s go.” Chris pointed a finger at his friend. “But if I bake to death in there, you’re paying for my funeral.”
* * * *
Rush hour really turned into a bitch. The drive from Skyline down Campbell wasn’t too bad, though he really wished the old Chevy had air conditioning. Having the windows down barely put a dent in the scorching temperature. Sweltering August afternoon aside, it was nice to simply relax.
Taking Twenty-Second ended up being a serious mistake.
To be fair, stopping for an early dinner at the taco shop is what caught them behind traffic. Some moron had gotten in a huge fender bender up at Wilmot. On a Friday afternoon, it was guaranteed to lock up the road.
“Shoulda waited ‘til we hit Houghton,” Will groused, tapping at the steering wheel with his thick fingers. It must have been some new song Will heard recently on the radio because Chris didn’t recognize the beat.
“Yeah, and end up with food poisoning yet again?” Chris glared at Will as he took a sip of his horchata. “I don’t think so.”
“Not my fault you’ve got a weak stomach,” Will shot at him, flashing a wicked grin.
Chris could only gape at him for a second. “Weak!” He whacked Will in the shoulder, offended. “No. Your mom’s been poisoning you all these years with her awful cooking, and that’s why that travesty of a taco shop doesn’t make you sick.”
Will’s jaw dropped, and he chanced a quick look at Chris. Chris simply stared at his gorgeous best friend and continued to munch on his burrito, face plastered into his most innocent, wide-eyed look. Finally, Will’s mouth snapped shut.
“You might have a point,” Will mumbled.
“Damn right.”
It went back to being a smooth, peaceful ride after they passed the wreck, clear out to the Raceway. Parking was a nightmare to find, always was, but they paid and were in their sets with a couple minutes to spare.
Chris scowled when Will almost immediately snatched the last bite of his burrito away and scarfed it down. “Hey!”
The smile he received was unrepentant, the shithead. “Sorry. Still hungry.”
As big as his best friend was, that never shocked Chris in all the years they’d known each other. Still, though.
“So go get some nachos or something from the concession stand. I’m all out of things for you to eat.”
Will treated him to a sly look. It must have been the heat making him see things, but he could have sworn Will’s turquoise eyes were electric with want.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Chris’ mouth dropped open as Will heaved himself off of the bleacher’s seat and ambled away. No way had his friend just said that. No fucking way. Granted, it was well known that Will was an unbearable flirt to everyone, but he never flirted with Chris. Ever. It was because Chris just wasn’t Will’s type, he guessed. All the men and women Will had charmed into his bed over the years had been exotic, feisty, effervescent beauties. Chris was a goofy, exasperated mess of lanky stature and plain black hair and plain brown eyes. Asshole was probably just having a little bit of fun with him. Teasing, just like usual.
Cracking open one of the water bottles they had brought in, Chris kept half an ear on the announcer droning on over the crackling speakers about the drivers and placements, and the other to listening for Will’s heavy boot steps. The lineup of cars looked a little shorter than the standard forty or so cars for a small race. Probably the heat had killed some of the engines during the qualifying runs yesterday and the day before. Not that TRP had much in the way of qualifying. For such a short track, it was more about how safely a driver could make the short turns than overrunning a track speed limit that didn’t actually exist. But since this was supposed to be an exhibition race, Chris doubted any of the drivers would be aiming for more than a good run and to give a good show for the fans.