Engines. Gasoline. The roar of tires biting into asphalt. That's my music. Forget violins, forget pianos—this is the soundtrack of my life.
I tugged my helmet off as I stepped out of the car, sweat sticking to the back of my neck, the late-afternoon sun burning down on the track. People clapped from the bleachers, and yeah, I smirked. They weren't here for the hot dogs. They were here for me. Damon "DC" Carter—the kid who could drive before he could shave.
"Nice lap, son," Dad called from across the pit. He was talking with some guy in a suit, probably another sponsor he was trying to charm. I gave him a thumbs-up, though honestly, I didn't care about sponsors or polished handshakes. I cared about racing. Winning. The rest? Noise.
I peeled off my gloves, tossing them into the driver's seat, when Dad waved me over. "Damon! Come meet someone."
Great. Another businessman. I plastered on my polite-but-bored smile and trudged over. That's when I saw her.
And nearly laughed out loud.
Of course. Of course it had to be Jaques. The same girl I teased at the art exhibit, standing here in the pit lane with a camera slung around her neck like it was some kind of weapon. Her hair was tied up in this messy bun, flyaways sticking everywhere, and her face was all scrunched like she'd rather be getting her wisdom teeth pulled than breathing the same air as me.
"You've gotta be kidding me," I muttered.
Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Damon, this is Yasmin. She's going to be your personal photographer during events."
______
CHECK OUT YASMIN AND DAMON'S STORY- ''STUCK IN THE FAST LANE'', EXCLUSIVELY IN WATTPAD
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