All In (5 page)

“Thank you,” I say once my feet touch
the ground and I find my footing. “I’m Ashley, by the way,” I say,
looking up at him. He’s taller than he seemed earlier today, and
his hair is messier than it had been too. If it’s possible, he’s
even more gorgeous out of his waiter’s uniform. He’s wearing a pair
of dark jeans hung low on his hips, a fitted plain white tee shirt,
and a light blue zip up hooded sweatshirt that matches his eyes
exactly. I look away, worried I’m staring, when I realize I’m still
holding his hand. I drop it like it’s seared my skin, then
immediately miss the warmth of it.

“I’m Lane,” he says and there’s a
tightness in his voice, like he’s speaking through a clenched
jaw.

I wonder briefly if I’ve offended him
somehow by letting go of his hand so abruptly until I feel the
silky lining of a dress coat being placed over my shoulders. I can
smell Gregory’s cologne, and it makes my nose wrinkle it’s so
strong.

“What the hell are you doing here?”
Gregory asks Lane from behind me, his hands resting on my
arms.

“Whoa, dude, what’s your problem? I
invited him.” Andrew jumps in, looking back and forth between
Gregory and Lane, confused as to what the problem is.

“You invited the help?”

“Dude, I’m outta here,” Lane says,
turning to leave until Andrew stops him.

“Don’t listen to him. I rarely do,”
Andrew jokes, before he pulls Lane away and over to a cherry red
convertible that I assume is his.

I turn on my heel and level Gregory
with my eyes. “You can’t speak to people like that.” I shrug off
his coat and hand it back to him with some force.

“Ashley, you can’t be serious.” I hear
Gregory say as I walk away and over to where my brother, Lane, and
a few other guys are now hanging out, leaving Gregory by
himself.

“Sorry about that guy. He can be a
real dick sometimes,” Andrew says to Lane when I walk up. That’s an
understatement. And I think after this afternoon, Lane is well
aware of that fact.

“No joke. That jerk got me
fired today. Well, I guess
technically
it was my fault
considering I cleaned his fork with my spit after all.”

“You’re kidding?” Andrew says, nearly
spitting his drink out from laughing.

“No, it’s true, but I think he was
more ticked off I made him look like an idiot in front of his date
than anything else.” Lane glances in my direction for a split
second before looking away again and I want to correct him
immediately. It most definitely was not a date, but Andrew cuts in
before I can say a word.

“Oh man, I bet he was so pissed. He
absolutely hates not getting his way.” Andrew leans against the car
next to Lane and gives him another fist bump. “Nice.”

The crowd around Lane’s car grows, as
more and more people come over to admire it, until Gregory saunters
over but is met with uncomfortable silence, which he tries to
fill.

“Whose car?” he asks nonchalantly,
like it’s not obvious who it belongs to.

“Nice, huh?” Andrew says.
“Fast.”

Gregory looks it over before turning
his nose up. “Maybe. But I doubt it’s as fast as mine,” he says
with his shoulders pushed back and his chest puffed out.
Guys.

“How about we put it to the test?”
Andrew crosses his arms as he looks at Gregory, but his smile tells
me everything I need to know. If Andrew says it’s fast, I tend to
believe him, and I imagine Gregory should too.

“His car against mine?” Gregory gives
a dismissive nod towards Lane’s car. “Sure, I’ll take that bet,” he
says with an arrogant laugh, like Lane’s car, and Lane, by
extension, is just some kind of joke.

Lane looks behind Gregory and gestures
to his car. “I assume that silver BMW M-5 is yours?” Then, under
his breath, I swear I hear Lane say ‘figures’ before he plasters a
smile on his face. “Then it’s a bet,” Lane steps into Gregory’s
space, his posture issuing a challenge. “What’ya say? A hundred
bucks?”

“Oooooh, a hundred bucks. Big
spender.” Gregory smirks as a few people laugh at his taunt. He
pulls out his wallet and thumbs through the bills. “How about we
make it five?”

Lane flinches, almost undetectably,
before he scoffs at Gregory. “Nah, man, I wouldn’t want to take
your money, it’d be too easy.” Lane leans back against the side of
his car with his sleeves pushed up and his arms crossed. Looking
cool and indifferent, like Martha’s Vineyard’s very own rebel
without a cause.

Gregory doesn’t buy it; I
can see it in his eyes. “Really?” He takes slow deliberate steps
around Lane’s car, like a lion stalking its prey. “You don’t want
to take
my
money?
Because you’re raking in the tips at the Grille,” Gregory says
condescendingly. “Or at least you
were
. Right, big guy?”

Andrew leans into Lane. “Dude, you
have to take this bet, you’ll totally smoke him.”

I’m not surprised Andrew is trying to
persuade Lane. My brother’s favorite pastimes are being persuasive
and taking chances. My father always says Andrew would make the
perfect politician or CEO, but I think Andrew rather likes to use
his skills for more advantageous endeavors. Like gambling and
girls.

“Yeah, I know, but…” Lane trails off
then quietly says to Andrew, “I can’t cover the bet. I don’t have
that kinda cash.” His eyes dart to me and when he sees I can hear
him, he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away
embarrassed.

“Dude, I got you. You still have that
bill I gave you earlier?”

Earlier? Why would he have given Lane
money earlier? And how exactly does Andrew even know Lane in the
first place? I shake my head. I’ll have to get the whole story from
Andrew later, that’s for sure.

“Yeah…” Lane says, dragging out his
response; his brows furrow as Andrew covertly pulls out nine one
hundred dollar bills from his wallet and hands them to
Lane.

Lane’s eyes go wide. “What are you
doing? I can’t take this,” he says under his breath, trying to hand
the money back without anyone noticing.

“Yes, you can. Just pay me back when
you win.” Andrew clasps Lane’s fist closed over the money then
pushes himself off of Lane’s car, grinning at Gregory. Conversation
over.

“Make it a thousand and Lane’s
in.”

Lane

What. The. Hell?

Less than an hour ago I was scrounging
for five bucks to get a burger and fries for dinner because I
didn’t want to break the hundred dollar bill I got as a tip, and
now, I’m at the bluffs with a bunch of Stays with a thousand
dollars in my hand and apparently I’m about to drag race. Oh, and
the girl I haven’t been able to get out of my mind all day is here
with her jerk of a boyfriend, and she just happens to be Andrew’s
sister. Not exactly the night I bargained for.

I glance around at all the unfamiliar
faces cheering me on and stop when I come to Ashley’s. She’s
standing with a group of girls a few feet away, whispering back and
forth, but she’s not paying them any attention, she’s smiling, at
me.

Her long dark hair is blowing in the
wind and she looks cold, only wearing a thin sweater and a short
dress. I should look away since she’s already taken, but just like
this afternoon, I can’t take my eyes off of her.

“I’m all in.” I hear myself say, still
staring at Ashley, my adrenaline pumping. I’m not a big gambler,
but the chance to make a thousand bucks is just too much to turn
down, and if it means she’ll keep looking at me with that smile
then I’m in. All in.

Gregory pulls out his wallet again and
grabs a few more bills. He waves them in the air like it’s nothing
while I have mine gripped tightly in my fist.

“You’re on,” Gregory says smugly, like
he really believes he’s going to win, and I have to keep myself
from laughing in his face. I have this in the bag.

Some guy standing near Gregory shouts
for everyone to be quiet. “Alright, alright. Here’s the deal,” he
says. “You two will start up Lighthouse road where it forks.
Whoever makes it back to the bluffs first, wins. No other rules.
Agree?” He looks between Gregory and me.

“Agreed,” we say at the same
time.

I drive to the end of the road, about
three miles away from the bluffs, with Gregory close behind me. The
road is dark, quiet and fairly straight, a perfect place to race.
My heart pounds and the palms of my hands sweat as I pull up to the
starting line and wait.

I think about earlier today when I
passed him, Mr. M-5, on the beach road, and laugh at the way the
day has unfolded. It seems fitting we’re about to race for nearly a
month’s worth of pay washing dishes at the club, considering he’s
the guy who got me demoted to dishwasher in the first place. Taking
his money will be sweet revenge.

I give Gregory a sideways glance when
he pulls beside me, but I keep my face emotionless. My hands grip
the steering wheel so tight my knuckles start to turn white from
the force, and I’m wound up and ready to snap. “Let’s do this,
Stay.”

“Maybe I’ll hire you to spit shine my
shoes so you can pay Andrew back when you lose.” Gregory smirks and
I wince. I didn’t think anyone saw Andrew give me the money, let
alone him. “You didn’t really think anyone believed you had a
thousand dollars?” His laugh makes my blood boil. “What a
joke.”

That’s it. I jerk my stick shift from
first to neutral and then back into first position again, revving
my engine loudly.

The guy who set the rules, or lack
thereof, pulls up and parks. He walks to the middle of the road,
straddles the solid white line, and raises his arms.

My heart starts to hammer so fast with
a mixture of adrenaline, fear and excitement that I feel ready to
explode.

“On your mark. Get ready. Go!” he
shouts over the roar of our engines, dropping his arms to his
sides.

I slam my foot on the gas pedal and
let off the clutch with my other foot. My tires squeal against the
pavement, sending up a puff of white smoke caused by the friction
of rubber burning against the asphalt road. The smell is strong and
familiar.

In my peripheral vision, I can see
Gregory’s car fly off the line, but it takes only a fraction of a
second before I’m ahead of him. I shoot a look in his direction and
see he’s surprised. He shouldn’t be. My car is a classic roadster,
built to race, and can easily do one sixty if I have the road to do
it, no problem.

This is a short drag, and I won’t need
to get anywhere close to those speeds to win. I glance at my
speedometer as it hits the eighty mile an hour mark before I look
up and see headlights in the distance approaching me.

“Shit.”

I send a panicked look at Gregory, and
it’s clear by the wicked smile on his face he sees them
too.

I increase my speed to cut in front of
him, but he pushes forward matching my pace, keeping me from
changing lanes. Is he insane? Is winning really worth putting
someone’s life in danger for this guy?

I have no choice but to slow down. I’m
not gonna risk killing myself or whoever’s in that oncoming car for
a thousand bucks, and I can’t believe Richie-rich would either.
Clearly I don’t know the lengths this guy would go to
win.

I take my foot off the gas, but right
as I’m about to cut over and get behind Gregory, he suddenly slows
down, keeping me trapped.

“What the hell?” I shout even though
I’m sure he can’t hear me over the noise of our engines and the
frantic honking of the oncoming car. I quickly, but carefully, put
my foot on the brake to slow down without causing my car to fish
tail and lose control, when I see the blaring red glow of Gregory’s
brake lights slowing down as well.

“This isn’t a joke!” I scream, but he
continues to brake, causing me to play an involuntary and dangerous
game of chicken. I look back at the oncoming car that’s no more
than a hundred and fifty feet away now and see they’ve pulled off
on the side of the road as far as possible, but there’s still no
way all three cars are going to make it without a huge accident. I
make a split second decision. If he’s not going to let me slow
down, then I’m going to have to speed up. Again. But this time it’s
about more than a stupid bet. My car is faster than his and I’m
going to have to prove it. It’s life or death.

I tap my brakes to get him to do the
same then without a moment of hesitation I down shift into third
gear, shove my gas pedal to the floor and send my rmp’s into
critical mass, catapulting my car forward. Gregory’s car is nothing
but a blur as I pass it. With less than a car length between me and
the oncoming car, I cut my wheel sharply to the right getting out
in front of Gregory at the very last second.

My vision starts to get grey and fuzzy
around the edges. I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I take a
long deep pull of air that fills my lungs, clearing my sight, and I
don’t let up on the accelerator. At all.

I’m done with his guy and this race.
I’m pushing just over a hundred and fifteen miles per hour when I
fly around a small bend in the road right before it opens up to the
cliffs. I glance in my rear-view mirror and see Gregory’s at least
four car lengths behind me when I cross the designated finish line.
I slam on my brakes and skid across the red dirt, stopping less
than hundred feet from the edge of the cliffs.