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Hot Lap by Leslie Scott

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  • Arkadia Fast

    Starting a new life isn't easy when the skeletons locked in her closet are the notorious town drunk for a father and a haunted past. But, Hadley Morgan isn't one to shy away from second chances or giving them either.

    When a young, single father wrapped up in an octane fueled package takes particular interest in her, she begins to dream. But well-known drag racer Aiden Casey is also her boss, making her hesitate to grab at her chance at happiness.

    Will her secrets shatter their chance at love or will his past come back to destroy both of them?

    Rating: Spicy
    Page Count: 344
    Word Count: 88900
    978-1-5092-2319-0 Paperback
    978-1-5092-2320-6 Digital


    “Go, go, go!” Aiden Casey shouted over the throb of souped-up engines as his sister Breanna and I ducked beside the rear fenders of the race car. On the driver’s side, I poured sticky, violent smelling liquid in a puddle in front of the back tire. She performed the same service on the other side before he ushered us out of the way.

    He and Vic Morales held down the trunk of the car as the tires spun in the wet concoction we’d put down. Acrid white smoke rolled from beneath the car. The two men released their hold as the car shot forward on the street, laying down long streaks of rubber.

    “Good job, Hadley!” Breanna—the youngest of Arkadia’s motley street racing crew—gave an appreciative smile and a fist bump as she took the bottle from my hand and stashed it on the curb.

    There was a distinct thrill to standing on warm concrete, surrounded by darkness and spectators, with your index fingers shoved in your ears. The burned rubber and race fuel permeated the air, clutching at it with thick, fat fingers, and tasted metallic on my tongue. The roar of the engines slammed through my chest harder than standing by the tracks when a train rolled through town.

    Illuminated by the headlights in the caustic haze, Raelynn Casey walked in front of her boyfriend’s race car as he backed up. Working in tandem with her brother, who was behind the car, she used hand gestures to guide Jordan Slater into the black marks he’d left on the road’s surface.

    Street racing in Arkadia, Texas, was now an instrumental part of my life. And I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than standing behind Jordan’s classic muscle car, waiting on Vic to jog between the cars and start the race with one switch of a flashlight.

    Money, pride, and in this small town—celebrity hinged on the outcome of the last race of the night on the first warm weekend of spring.

    Beside me, my best friend Raelynn chased taillights on foot. As if running behind her boyfriend’s car would somehow give him an added push for the win. I ran too, though I pulled up short beside Vic who held a walkie-talkie to his ear.

    “Slater by a semi-truck!” Vic screamed over the din of thirty or so race fans crowded on the line. Jordan had won, by the length of an eighteen-wheeler.

    The party at his house that night would be a celebratory one. The best kind. Race season brought a reprieve from my regular life that couldn’t have come at a better time.

    I rode with Breanna to Jordan and Raelynn’s house and clambered from the truck with shaky knees and a clenched jaw. I doubt anyone would be surprised if the floorboard had a dent from my foot slamming into an imaginary brake.

    “What?” Breanna glared at me from across the hood of the red short-bed Chevy. “You didn’t die.”

    “No. But if I had, I’d have made it in record time with the way you drive.” She drove so fast I wouldn’t be surprised if she blew out a radar gun on the way there. Considering she was a Casey and the family owned a speed shop, that was expected.

    She smirked, unwrapped a piece of hard candy, and tossed it into her mouth.


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Hot Lap

Hot Lap

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