Elijah's favourite part was the adrenaline.

It spread through his body in a red-hot wildfire, caught his veins all the way down to the tips of his fingers as they shook around the steering wheel. It felt akin to the high he got on something else illegal— but if he had to choose which one was better, it'd be this.

He'd probably pick racing over anything.

He never paid the flag-girls much time, his best friend, Jax, being the one to choose them each time they'd race. They'd wave their checkered flags, taking the risk of standing between two cars ready to go a million miles a minute.

He was always too focused on the race. The only glance he'd take at them would be to ensure the race had begun.

But when you had come along today, his body ran hot.

You held those checkered flags like you owned the whole street, clad in tight red shorts that matched Elijah's car just a little too well. He had never seen fishnets look so good on someone's legs before, but your legs went on for days. And all that was before he even considered the cropped black jacket or the tiny little shirt to go beneath it.

Elijah had never been so tense in the driver's seat. And he'd never made full eye contact with a flag girl before, never caught the gleam of mirth in anyone's gaze through his freshly cleaned windshield.

He'd never had them return his looks or cast him a playful wink with the over-exaggerated mouthing of "good luck" through pretty pink lips.

Jax had to have done this on purpose, to distract him.