“Rev…” Wes instructed as Chase accelerated out of the curve.
“And floor it,” he said as soon as they hit the short straightaway.
Chase hyperfocused on every shove of the gear shift, every tweak of the steering wheel. Tried to memorize his adjustments on the gas pedal and every nuance of the road.
“Three, two, one,” Wes counted down as they approached the final maneuver, “and slide.”
Chase downshifted, tapped the brake pedal, and yanked on the parking brake. The muscle car performed perfectly, taking a sideways slide into a curve, tires screeching and smoking. He gunned it out of the curve, then pulled his foot from the gas to come to a final stop. The cast and crew cheered for Chase’s accomplishment.
He exhaled hard. Sweat slid down his face and dampened his T-shirt. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he fought to catch his breath.
Chase had lost count of how many times he’d practiced this with Wes, but every ride drove so much adrenaline through his system, he wouldn’t be surprised if his heart gave out under the pressure.
“I think you’ve got it.” Wes’s casual, all-in-a-day’s-work tone made Chase laugh. “Ready to drive Despina?”
Despina, yes. But Zahara? He looked at Wes. “Is that really how fast I’ll be going when Zahara bails?”
“Nothing changes. The way you drove with me is the way you drive with Despina and the way you drive with Z. No alterations, understand? Alterations at the last minute cause crashes.”
“Maybe you ought to drive Zahara.”
Wes cocked his head and studied Chase a second. “The more you do it, the easier it gets. When your confidence builds, this will be fun, not terrorizing. If you want me to drive Z, I will, but you’re completely capable.”
He couldn’t keep himself from picturing Zahara throwing herself from the car during the final slide. “How could she possibly stay safe at that speed?”
This protectiveness toward her was definitely new. Every one of her crazy-assed stunts in Chilled had thrilled him. He couldn’t get enough of watching the magic she could make with that wicked little body of hers, packed with lean muscle and more talent than Chase had in his little finger.
“You don’t worry about Z,” Wes said. “She’s a professional. You just focus on driving that strip of road the way you’ve driven it the last twelve times.”
“Twelve?” he huffed a laugh. “No wonder I’m on the verge of a coronary.”
Wes laughed and slapped Chase’s shoulder. “Let’s get the girls. I’m sure they want in on this fun.”
Chase turned off the engine with Wes’s “She’s a professional” echoing in his head. She was a little too professional for Chase’s taste. She’d worked beside him like they’d never had that fight on the plane. Like they weren’t both still pissed and hurt. Like there was nothing between them. Like there had never been anything between them.
He took a breather as the assistant directors and production assistants guided extras onto the streets and gave them instructions. The crew checked the cameras on the car, adjusted their stationary cameras, and prepped the chaser, another car equipped with several cameras to follow Chase. This would be filmed from every angle, then spliced together and edited on the back end.
He wandered toward Despina and Zahara. Looking at them standing side by side, wearing the same outfit, with the same hairstyle, was like looking at fraternal twins—definitely related but not identical.
“So what do you think?” Despina asked him, her smile beaming.
He gave a one-shoulder shrug and looked at Zahara. “What kind of safety gear will you be wearing?”
“I’m wearing it.”
He looked her up and down. “Where?”
Zahara lifted the black T-shirt to reveal more black beneath. “Body armor.”
His stomach dropped. “That’s it?”
“I’ve got knee, elbow, and shoulder pads.”
“What about your head?”
“My head won’t hit the ground.”
“How could you possibly be sure? At that speed? With all the variables? Can’t you wear some kind of helmet?”