Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Much as I’d like that, we don’t have time. This is a one-afternoon thing. Come on.” He heads outside, and I follow.
“If you’re about to take me to something like the Renaissance Fair, please tell me now. I’m not a medieval kind of gal.”
“Better than that.”
“One of those movies with dinner and drinks?”
“Even better.”
“Oh, laser tag.”
He pauses and looks surprised. “That’s better?”
“I love laser tag.”
“Noted.” He puts an arm around me. “But better.” We walk to the end of the block, and he turns left toward a shady spot lined with trees.
I slow and come to a complete stop, my mouth falling open. He keeps going, looking smug.
Under other circumstances, I’d want to slap that smirk off his face.
But all I can do is stare.
“That’s not what I think it is,” I say, taking a step forward.
“This is the 1975 Alfa Romeo 2000 Spider Veloce Series 2. Not the exact same model as what you’re rebuilding, but—”
I walk around the car, my heart racing, my mouth hanging open. “Twin-cam 2-liter four, around 130 horses, five-speed manual, dual Weber carbs, independent front suspension—”
He beams at me dangerously and dangles keys from his finger. “Want to take it for a spin?”
I stand there for all of three seconds before I straight up attack him. He laughs as I grab the keys and throw myself behind the wheel like a rabid animal. I sink into the plush leather seat and stare at all the original dials, rubbing the steering wheel like petting a cranky old dog.
“Where the hell did you get this?” I whisper, stomach twisting with excitement. I hover the key over the ignition and start squirming like an impatient little kid.
“Borrowed it from a friend. You were upset last night, and I wanted to do something for you.”
I turn and stare at him. Which is a feat, considering how much I love this car. “You really do give a shit, don’t you?”
He shrugs slightly. “Unfortunately.”
I jam the key in and crank it.
The engine purrs to life, and I nearly orgasm and die right there on the spot. “Fuuuucking hell,” I moan.
“You are so fucking hot right now. And I’m also weirdly jealous.”
“Don’t be.” I stroke the gear shift. “It can’t fuck me. But it can definitely satisfy.”
“I’m going to burn this car to the fucking ground.”
“After I drive it, please.” I lean across the car, heedless of how stupid it is, and I kiss him. I run my fingers through his thick hair, mauling his mouth with mine, giddy and excited.
“Keep kissing me like that and I’ll steal this fucking thing for you.”
I laugh, put it into gear, and hit the gas.
Chapter 22
Fiorella
Iunderstand why I love cars so much.
It’s not really a mystery. Anyone who knows what happened to me can figure it out in like ten seconds.
Cars are freedom.
They’re the open road, wind in my hair, nothing holding me back.
Normally, I’m a relatively small girl with pretty decent upper body strength, all things considered.
But in a car, I’m a few hundred pounds of steel and power.
I drive like an absolute maniac. Luca grips the handle above the window and grimaces every time I take a turn and let the tires spin out. I’m being reckless, and I just don’t care.
This is the best day of my life.
I open her up once we’re out of the city. The suburbs are my playground. I find a highway and see how fast she can go, weaving in and out of traffic, borderline getting into multiple accidents. It’s selfish and stupid, and I just don’t care. Luca’s grinning as I find some back streets with lots of curves, and I take them going fast.
We roll past rivers and streams, over covered bridges, alongside canals with dirty brackish water. I honk at a biker. He flips me off. I laugh as I blow past him.
“Honestly, Fio, if I knew you’d end up being the most psychotic driver in the world, I never would’ve let you behind the wheel.”
“Don’t be such a baby.”
“Oh, no, trust me, I’m loving this. You look beautiful. You look alive.”
I laugh because I feel beautiful and alive.
We drive for a few hours. At some point, Luca has to check his phone’s GPS to figure out where the hell we are. Somewhere north of the city, out in some little place called Doylestown. I roll along a cute main street, pass the county courthouse, and end up at a crappy little greasy spoon diner set back in the middle of absolute nowhere. I whip into a spot behind the building and smash on the brakes.
“Let’s eat,” I say, killing the engine and kicking the door open. “I’m starving.”
It’s around three in the afternoon. We’re seated toward the back. There are only a couple of old locals sitting at the counter, and the waitress is a sleepy younger girl with dyed black hair and thick eyeliner. I ask for a burger and fries. Luca wants pancakes and coffee.