Oversteer

Copyright © 2023 by Billie Lustig Oversteer Copyright © 2023 by Billie Lustig All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This novel is entirely a work of fiction, all names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental. Billie Lustig asserts the moral rights to be identified as the author of this work. Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks, and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book. First Edition. ISBN: 978-9-0832501-8-2 Cover Design: © The Pretty Little Design Co. Editor & Proofread: Nice Girl, Naughty Edits Formatting: NRA Publishing To all the girls whose hearts flutter from roaring engines. Me too, girl. Contents 1. TRISTAN 2. TRISTAN 3. NIKKIE 4. TRISTAN 5. NIKKIE 6. TRISTAN 7. NIKKI 8. TRISTAN 9. NIKKIE 10. TRISTAN 11. NIKKIE 12. TRISTAN 13. NIKKIE 14. NIKKIE 15. TRISTAN 16. NIKKIE 17. TRISTAN 18. NIKKIE 19. TRISTAN 20. NIKKIE 21. TRISTAN 22. NIKKIE 23. TRISTAN 24. NIKKIE 25. TRISTAN 26. NIKKIE 27. NIKKIE 28. NIKKIE 29. TRISTAN 30. NIKKIE 31. TRISTAN 32. NIKKIE 33. TRISTAN 34. NIKKIE 35. TRISTAN 36. NIKKIE 37. NIKKIE 38. TRISTAN 39. NIKKIE 40. NIKKIE 41. NIKKIE 42. TRISTAN 43. NIKKIE 44. TRISTAN 45. NIKKIE 46. TRISTAN 47. NIKKIE 48. NIKKIE 49. TRISTAN 50. NIKKIE 51. TRISTAN 52. TRISTAN 53. TRISTAN 54. NIKKIE 55. EPILOGUE Acknowledgments About the Author Also By B. Lustig 1 “Yeah, we fancy like Applebee’s on a date night…” I sing as the rhythm of the Walker Hayes song rolls through my mind. My hips sway as I dance my way forward, shuffling my feet over the metal ramp. I spin myself around, facing the portable Callahan Motors motorhome, with a grin infectious enough to bubble up Axel’s full laugh. All I need is a cowboy hat and I’d fit right into a honky-tonk, but I don’t care. I’m the kind of person who starts dancing when I’m cheery. And I have every reason to be cheery. Finally, my car feels great. The first rounds of free practice went better than expected today, making me believe this is going to be a good weekend, and I needed some good news. For this first half of the season, luck hasn’t been on my side. I’ve had a rough start this year, having a hard time getting the car to do what I want on the track. But today is the start of a new phase. I can feel it tingling in my bones. I’m going to make it work and show the world I deserve another championship. That I’m not some fluke. “You really are a bit kooky, aren’t you?” Axel’s gaze aligns with mine from under his glasses, a dark eyebrow popping above the rim. My mouth crinkles with a smile as I hold my agent’s eyes. We’re nothing alike; he’s the yin to my yang. The Patrick to my SpongeBob. Can’t tell him that, though, because he’d probably fight me on it, arguing that he’s not the pink thing with the pointy head. But he’s also been my best friend since the fourth grade, the one who’s been there for as long as I can remember. And for the last few years, the man who makes sure my career stays right on track. “Come on, X-man.” I glance up at the clear blue sky, the pine-scented breeze ruffling my already messy hair. “The sun is out. We’re in Spa-Francorchamps. Free practice went splendid. It’s gonna be a great weekend!” Francorchamps is only a small village in the Belgium Ardennes, but the track is fun, and this circuit is known for its rainy days. The fact that the sun is out should be considered a blessing from the racing gods. “Splendid? Really?” We walk into the motorhome, taking the stairs to the executive office on the top floor. These portable constructions are the size of full, two-story buildings, and Callahan’s is known for the fully windowed front with a huge logo on top. It still amazes me every season how a line of massive motorhomes creates an equivalent to the main street of a small town. It’s a long way removed from the simplicity of the kart tracks, where I started my career once upon a time. “Not good? Is swell better?” I goof. “Definitely not.” The wrinkle in his forehead is holding small drops of sweat, and he rolls up the sleeves of his gray dress shirt to let the AC cool his skin. He’s, without a doubt, the more pragmatic one of the two of us, always keeping my ass out of trouble and looking the part of my advisor in every way. But I can’t help trying to poke him out of business mode every now and then, just because I know he’s got a fun side to him. The side that turns him into a dauntless Steve Irwin when he’s had a few drinks. ‘Oh! Look at that beauty!’ He will go to the first bee or ladybug he can spot, finding amazement or humor in everything around him. I always laugh my ass off. But on a race weekend, he rarely shows that side of him. Always the professional. “Outstanding?” “No.” “Excellent?” “You sound British.” “How about adequate?” “How about you just shut up and look pretty?” We enter the executive office, where Will Packers, CEO of Callahan Motors, and