Fast Lane Read Online Free

Josh:
     
    Josh: You two have about 5 minutes before I purposely misspell words on these pretty little tattoos of yours.
    Me: Shit. Sorry, Josh! We got held up at the Stoplight. It was busy in there today. Leaving now. See you in two.
    Josh: Make it snappy, woman! Time is money!
     
    “That was Josh, wasn’t it?” Brea asks.
    “Of course it was. We aren’t even technically late yet. Let’s go before he gets his briefs in even more of a bunch,” I say with a laugh. “He threatened to misspell words.”
    We hop in the car and head to the tattoo studio.

 
     
     
    PANTING.
    Sweaty.
    Spent.
    My bedroom smells like sex from the past two hours I’ve spent with this chick. She gives some of the best head I’ve ever had.
    I’m lying here, staring at the gray walls of my bedroom. Black silk sheets wrap around my sculpted body that I work so hard to maintain. I don’t make it a habit to bring random girls home, but after I won the race last night I was feeling the adrenaline surge. Plus, it had been a few months, and a man has needs.
    I feel the bed move and her tiny arm slides across my back.
    “Mmm…so what’s for breakfast in the morning?” she moans.
    And there go the alarms sounding in my head. Ding ding ding! Times up!
    “I don’t do the cuddling thing. You need to go now. Sorry if you got your hopes up. Thanks for a great time. I’ve called you a cab.”
    She jerks back and pulls her arm away from me, then rolls off the bed and jumps to her feet in a huff. “What the fuck, Coen? I didn’t know you were such a selfish asshole!” She continues stomping around my room gathering her clothes.
    “Yeah, well, you go throwing feelings into things and you just get hurt,” I reply.
    “Do you even know my name?” she asks.
    “No. And I don’t need or want to know it,” I say, lifting myself up to a sitting position against the headboard. I do know it, but I don’t want to give her any false hope. Easier to be an asshole now and get it over with. She tugs her shirt over her head in fury and lets out a loud, frustrated growl as she storms out and slams the door.
    I don’t have time for drama queens and clingy chicks. I learned a long time ago to not let anyone get too close. I have my car and my racing to keep me happy. Everyone only cares about themselves. No matter how much you bend over backwards for them, they’re all the same.
    I slide out of bed and stride over to the window to make sure Miss Drama Queen got into the cab safely. I can’t have it on my head if something would happen to her. She’s just climbing in as I glance down, and the cab pulls away.
    Rubbing my hands over my face, I let out a deep sigh and slip back under my silk sheets. My eyelids are feeling heavy. There’s nothing like a quick quarter mile victory and a two-hour romp to wear a guy out.
    Besides, I have a busy day planned tomorrow.
    When I wake up, I have only three things planned for the day.
     
    1. Washing my skanky sheets.
    2. Getting some fresh ink.
    3. Bringing home another win (minus a drama queen this time).
     
    I shower, change my sheets, and put on my favorite black, tight-fitting t-shirt and jeans, along with my favorite black pair of Chucks. As I’m lacing them up, my stomach growls. Maybe I better add “grabbing some lunch” to my to-do list. I pull my car into the gravel parking lot at the Stoplight Café, and notice that it’s a little busier than usual as my stomach growls again. I decide to take my chances on finding a seat. I’m fucking starving.
    The bells rattle against the glass door as I stride in. Right away, I spot one seat free at the counter. Perfect. I slip my legs over the red bar stool, and it’s not long before someone comes to take my order. Thank God! After reading the menu, I run my hand through my hair. I keep it long on top and shaved on the sides. Mentally, I run through my schedule again for the rest of the weekend. Worried I’m going to forget something important.
    My thoughts are