FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #1

She told him with a little gesture he had never seen her use before.

Her middle finger protruded from the sunroof of the Mustang like a cactus in Hawaii. Out of character, out of place. And yet, the meaning was crystal.

It's on, Damon thought and slammed his Toyota into third gear.

Sloane's car was older, his faster. She drove with the skill of a pro, but the caution of a lady, while he pushed his Celica to its adrenaline-seeking limits. By flipping him the bird she was telling him she planned to throw caution to the wind.

About time. 

He admired the crisp line of the GT's back end as it rounded the corner. Red, like Sloane's lips and as sharp as her razor tongue. Her car cornered on rails, she often said, generally through a sexy smirk she reserved only for race day. 

It had been like this for two years. The initial race like a first date, and subsequent events filling in the dance card of their courtship. But this race marked a new phase of their high-speed romance. He wondered if she was ready to take the next step. 

She dashed in front of a tourist bus, narrowly missing one of the only guard rails on this narrow stretch of road. Oblivious to the horns of protest, she lurched the Mustang forward and wedged herself between a truck and an SUV.

Crazy.

There wasn’t enough room for him to follow, so he hung back and jockeyed his car into position. Patience was one of his virtues.

But he was off his game today. Her fault. She'd arrived at the starting point in full race leather, black with cherry stripes. Her dark hair hung in loose curls, framing a perfect heart-shaped face. Mischief twinkled from eyes the color of violet, particularly when she caught his gaze move from lush lips to her chest. 

Yeah, he thought, peering around the pick-up in front of him. The race was on and she held a clear advantage. 

He allowed a truck to pass, then punched his Celica into fourth gear. He’d anticipated Sloane would also take advantage of the break and so let off the gas to allow her into the lane. It didn’t matter who was in the lead now, but rather who crossed the finish line first.

He had little doubt she wanted it to be her. Their relationship was marked with firsts. He’d never dated a woman with such a thirst for adrenaline. Had never enjoyed being behind the wheel – or in someone’s company – so much.

Sloane’s hair blew out the sunroof and flicked like dark flames. The scent of her strawberry shampoo moved like a tidal wave across the heat and drowned out the familiar scents of Franganpini blossoms and ocean salt. She caught his eye from her rear view mirror and the light of glee all but blinded him.

Confidence. It radiated from her like the Hawaiian heat. She was in her element, and though he could admire her hunger for challenge, a small piece of him wallowed in self pity.

Racing was his religion and this road his church.

Though not a native to Hawaii, he’d driven the route to Hana for more than five years. She was akin to his mistress – and he knew her every corner, every crack, every dip. He could plot every roadside turnout along the 35-mile stretch by memory and could predict traffic jams just from knowing where each waterfall fell.

Palm trees and ocean tides failed to inspire him now. Even the expansive black sand beach did little to impress. The natives steered clear of this busy stretch of paradise, but Damon rose to its weekly challenge.

One could never quite predict how many tourists would be on the roads, or whether a herd of wild boars would cross his path. If a tire blew, or the engine gave out, he might find himself careening over the edge of a cliff into a black hole of water.

Sloane used to think he had a death wish.

And then she’d driven the road herself.

Now he questioned which one of them was the true speed junkie, which of them would be worse off if the addiction wasn’t fed.

He watched Sloane’s Mustang gear down behind a Honda and imagined her cursing at the driver. The image made him smile. Though she had many of her own virtues, patience was not one of them. He’d warned her lack of it would be her downfall, and though he’d rather die than admit it, he worried about her safety.

She swung out in front of the Civic, throwing her head back to laugh at his frustration. And for the second time in less than an hour, she flipped another man the bird.

Damon could see her smile from her profile view and wondered if the driver of the Honda found the gesture even half as sexy as he did. He doubted he had even a fraction of appreciation for the fact that this was out of character for Sloane, that this act of rebellion warred against her anti-cursing mantra.

Something he intended to discuss with her at their post-race feast.

Her car shot forward, and this time Damon followed. Their bumpers so close they might have been kissing. Music pulsed through one thousand watts of her amp.

Their song.

He tried not to think of its significance and ignored the flutter against his chest. Sentiment would make him careless and he couldn’t afford the risk.

Damon prepared for the long stretch of straight pavement, knowing that it was in this moment he could pass her, take the lead. They had still ten miles of narrow roadway to cover, but soon, the lane would become barely wide enough for one vehicle.

Too dangerous to throw too much caution to the wind.

She moved to the center of the lane and blocked the pass. He dismissed annoyance and focused on the road, on her.

What kind of woman felt as comfortable in a leather race suit as she did in plaid pyjamas?

His woman, he thought, surprised by a wave of pride.

Their relationship had the pacing of an action flick. High speed. Choppy dialogue. Passion.

And now suddenly he wanted more. He felt compelled to stop the car and embrace her, hold her safe in his arms. He dreamed of sunsets and long walks. Holding hands and tender kisses.

He eased off the gas and allowed her to dive forward, knowing the lead would bring pride and happiness. The Mustang slid into the corner and churned up a swarm of dust and gravel. He laughed at her determination, feeling alive for the first time in almost a decade.

These feelings had been suppressed for too long.

He loved her.

Sloane hit the guardrail as realization slammed into his heart. The car shot into the air and twisted over the bank, smashing against the edge. Shattered glass flew from all directions.

Damon heard his scream above the roar of her engine.

Seconds later, he heard nothing at all.

 

back to Contest #1