Cristobal Rodriguez ♦ Coyote (coyoti) wrote in paxemerituslog, @ 2018-05-07 13:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | ares, coyote |
knock, knock, it's me
Who: Daniel & Chris.
What: Chris and Daniel go on a date.
Where: Racer's Edge Indoor Karting.
When: Feb. 14!
Chris took a deep breath, forcing his gaze onto his phone's screen instead of staring at the elevator like he'd set it on fire if Daniel didn't appear in the next five minutes. He'd texted the other man after finally receiving confirmation that his former beau would take him up on the go-kart offer. Now he was here, waiting in the lobby, ready to drive them to their destination. He was trying to adopt a cool, casual, 'I couldn't care less if he stood me up right now' demeanor.
He was failing spectacularly.
First off, the line of his shoulders was too tight. Secondly, his phone screen was the black lock screen, and not any actual content. So his eyes kept darting furtively toward the two wrought iron-bound elevators, waiting to see which would bring his date downstairs. He pushed off of the wall he was leaning against, slide his phone into his pocket and went over his outfit again—one hand gripped his cane, his brace having been abandoned in favor of simple comfort despite the 'old man' connotations the device implied. His outfit was just a simple set of jeans over sneakers, a white shirt emblazoned with a print of Elvis, and a used leather jacket. He couldn't have been more the picture of relaxation, and yet feel anything but.
Switching his cane to his other hand, he flexed his leg for a moment, and glanced around for a chair, wondering how much longer he'd be kept waiting.
It had been Daniel's intention to keep his date waiting, though not for as long as he had. He had labored over what to wear, how best to attractively muss his hair, what cologne to wear to be appealing but subtle. Even now, stepping off the elevator and striding across the great expanse of the lobby, Daniel was not entirely sure he had achieved the effect he had hoped. He looked good, to be sure, confident and comfortable in fitted black jeans, red high-top Chucks, and a red tee that clung to him in a manner just shy of obscene. But the nearer he drew to Chris the more uncharacteristically uncertain he felt, and he caught himself watching Chris's expression for even a hint of his reaction.
Still he was smiling before he reached Chris's side. When he stopped just in front of him, he allowed himself an unchecked, unabashed look down his former partner's form. He let that gesture be comment enough, still too proud—and too anxious, truth be told—to be the first to issue a compliment.
"Ready to get your ass kicked?" he asked, grinning wolfishly.
Chris had looked up long before Daniel had reached him, one hand still pressed to his chest as all senses became acutely aware of the person heading in his direction. Just a few feet out, though, he'd managed to wipe the dope-ish look from his face and replace it with a trademark smirk curling one side of his mouth.
"Don't count your chickens before they hatch, Ciin," he managed to carefully reply, giving himself a mental pat on the back for the calm, together tone of his voice. He licked his lips, considering saying something about the outfit, about how carefully Daniel had obviously worked to piece himself together for this afternoon's fun—but in the end, his throat dried up, and nothing came to pass. He nodded toward the doors, pulling his keys out of his pants pocket.
"So I take it you've driven one of these things before?"
Daniel shrugged. "I mean not since I was kid," he admitted. "But how hard can it be? I bet it's like ridin' a bike." He elbowed Chris as they strode to the doors, causing the other man to smile, then stepped ahead of him to hold one open. He motioned Chris through. "Trust me, I have every faith in my abilities. You better bring your A game, buddy."
He nodded toward Chris's keys. "We takin' your car? You sure you don't wanna take mine, see what all that money of yours paid for?"
Chris likewise glanced down to the keys in his hand, tossing them into the air briefly before looking back at Daniel with a raised brow. His leg begged him to accept the offer, but he felt torn—the whole idea of him inviting Daniel out was to play at the idea of attempting to sweep him off his feet. In Chris's mind, that meant playing the attentive date, up to and including transportation. But he had to admit that some rest before they got to the go-kart arena would not be the worst idea.
"You tryin' to get some practice in before we get there? Because I don't want you to feel like you've got an edge, you know," he teased in reply, all the while tucking his keys back into his pocket. Daniel only laughed. "But sure. It's been awhile since I've seen the inside of that thing, and you do have a point about seeing where my taxes are going, so to speak."
With a nod and a grin Daniel led Chris toward the car. He stopped at the passenger side door, unlocking it with a touch of his hand. Then he held it open, gesturing for Chris to move inside, where the new and freshly oiled black leather seats gleamed, waiting. Chris's smirk widened into a near grin, his hand brushing Daniel's as he slid into the passenger seat. Then Daniel moved to the driver's side, starting the car and pulling off the moment their seatbelts were fastened.
Now and again, as they drove, Daniel caught himself glancing over to Chris's side. It was clear he both wanted to talk and could think of nothing to say; he'd wet his lips, part them and close them, only to repeat the process again and again. At last he shook his head, smirking at his own foolish hesitation.
"So how've things been?" he asked, jumping in headlong, as he was wont to do. "I mean I know I see you for workouts and stuff, but… we don't really talk, y'know?"
Chris found himself chewing the inside of his lip; talking, the honest kind anyway, was not his forte, and he certainly didn't want to point out that they hadn't ever really talked during their brief, former relationship. Even now, he found himself both more and less guarded than before, trying to figure out which amount of input would result in the outcome he wanted—only to realize he was being just as manipulative as before, leaving him feeling far out of his depth. He pressed back into the leather seat, a hand raising to scratch at the back of his head as his gaze swung to outside the windshield, where other cars, pedestrians, and objects hurtled past.
"They're... I mean, they're good. What can I say? I'm a boring person," he started, his mouth fitting almost easily around the words. His arm dropped back into his lap. "Trying to find more to do, actually, now that...ah, I've cut down on extracurriculars. Been..." Here his tongue tripped him up, trying to not phrase the next bit of information in an ingratiating manner. "Just been trying to find ways to give back. Mostly donating to charities. The leg makes it rough to do anything more, you know?" Chris glanced sidelong at Daniel, trying to keep the look casual even while seeking to weigh the other man's response.
Daniel answered with a noncommittal grunt, though the pointed way he did not look over at Chris hinted he was giving more thought to the question than he wanted to appear. Slowly the angle of his shoulders eased. "Yeah, I imagine," he said. "I could probably find some options if you wanted. But donations help. Most nonprofits are scrapin' by. The smaller, local ones, anyway. Everybody gives where they know it'll be noticed, y'know? So it ends up all goin' to the same folks, most of the time." He glanced briefly to his passenger. Flicked his tongue over his lips.
"Good for you," he said, softly. "Glad to hear it. You're not boring though. Ass. But I wanna know about the 'extracurriculars.' When you say you've cut down..."
"I mean gone," Chris quickly supplied, his face paling a little. "Done. I haven't been doing anything like that anymore. I've been working with Mr. Brandt—Obed—and otherwise everything is above board. Completely." A hand rose from his lap, cutting through the air to even more viscerally show how relieved he was to be rid of his past.
"So yeah, all I'm looking to do now is get back on the right foot. Do some reparations, what I can do, where I can. And just... make amends, where I can." He stopped, his gaze drifting back toward Daniel's face, hoping for some sign he was making progress.
Daniel easily read the question in his former partner's eyes. Though some part of him wanted to hold back, to make him work—as though he wasn't already, as though he hadn't already made Chris suffer in so many ways—he knew that for the cruelty it was. So he smiled, and nodded, and let his posture further relax. A smile edged around Chris's mouth at the sight, reading it for what it was, but he still felt a tight line of tension in his shoulders.
"OK," Daniel said. "OK. So whatever's goin' on with Obed, that's all legal? I mean you say 'otherwise aboveboard' and it sounds a certain way, but.." Chris nodded, starting to open his mouth. Daniel's hands briefly tightened on the steering wheel. They loosed once more. "OK, I'm gonna trust you. I like this new leaf, Chris. I just hope it's real.
"Uh, so how's it feel? You missin' that life?"
Chris turned back to the windshield, staring out at the L.A. afternoon traffic. "No, not even a little. I think I've been out of it longer than I realized and—really out of it, not just disconnected like I was trying to be. I don't miss the drama at all.
"I think I had this idea, when I was younger, of what things might be like. That changed...pretty quickly, after certain things," his eyes darted down to his thigh for a brief moment, but he managed to keep his hands in his lap. "It definitely made me realize what I do want. I think if you take a left here, there's some side streets we can go through, get there a little faster," he offered, switching himself away from the discomforting discussion. Even though they were veering into things he'd rather left unsaid, he was willing to tell Daniel anything.
"You know, some afternoons watching wrestling and eating tamales. My tamales, of course," he teased, glancing at Daniel again. "You were getting there, though. Just a little more practice."
Daniel laughed, shaking his head. He kept his eyes on the road as they wended their way down narrower—though far less crowded—side streets, but his expression was easily read all the same.
"Well," he said, "I uh… I'm glad you're figurin' out what you want, then. Means a lot to me, y'know, you bein' up front like this. Even if you do keep bustin' my balls over perfectly good cooking…"
Chris grinned widely. "It's all I've got over you, Ciin, so I'm gonna enjoy it while it lasts."
Chris's shortcut stood them in good stead; they arrived at Racer's Edge in far less time than Daniel had anticipated, and found close parking without having to resort to a handicapped spot. It was a small victory he hoped would help Chris feel still more at ease, though he called no attention to it as he exited the car and held the door for his date. Chris did take note, but he swallowed back any comments as they made their way toward the establishment's front. Daniel did the same as they entered the building, as bright and colorful inside as it was drab and nondescript outside. Chris couldn't help but inhale a good bit of the cologne Daniel was wearing as he walked by the other man and through the front doors, the hand around the head of his cane tightening to prevent him from doing more than that.
As soon as the door was opened, they could hear the sound of zipping cars in the background, smell burned rubber. The entryway was a closed off area, though the wall that rose behind the front desk did not meet the tall, tall ceiling hanging above them. The repurposed warehouse was doing what it could in terms of safety, but it was all too quickly apparent as to where they were—racing stripes, pictures, even a model of one of the go-karts all cluttered the lobby area.
"This place looks legit," Daniel said, casting an approving glance out over the track. He looked back to Chris, already beaming boyishly. He tipped his head toward the front desk, where a glassy-eyed twenty-something manned the reception area. Her chin was on her fist, elbow on the counter, flipping through Cosmo; she had only just glanced up after seeing customers enter. "So you already bought tickets or what?"
"Do you know me at all?" Chris replied, digging into his pocket for folded and slightly crumpled printouts that he took toward the counter. Pressing a small smile to his face, trying to be cordial, he noted the receptionist's raised brow and decided against anything further when it came to pretending.
"Two for the two to three slot; I bought the full hour," he said, sliding the 8x11" tickets over. The young woman nodded, accepting and scanning the papers in the same motion. She briefly eyed Chris's cane, and his leg, but said nothing—Chris had already confirmed that the place was disabled friendly, as much as he was lax to admit his own shortcomings. She nodded toward a small sitting area with decent but used leather seats that were tailored to look almost like those inside race cars, if wider and cushier in the form of several couches. Magazines about mechanics, racing, and some general topics were strewn across a coffee table, along with some Hot Wheels and other toys for smaller folk.
"Take a seat over there; still waiting on a few people for that hour slot, but someone should be out shortly to take you to the cars."
"Thanks," Chris said, rolling a shoulder before turning away from her and gesturing to Daniel. "After you."
Daniel was sure to brush closely past Chris as he moved to the plush couches. The joy of anticipation was still plain on his face as he plopped down onto one sofa and kicked his canvas-clad heels up atop the coffee table. He patted the cushion beside him. Chris followed in his usual, slower gait, using the time to cast an appreciative glance over the other man.
"So what do I win when I beat you?" Daniel asked as Chris lowered himself onto the cushion beside him. "You've given everything else so much thought, I can only assume you've figured that out too." He flashed a toothy grin. "I know. Fresh-made tamales, on you." He bit the tip of his tongue to stop the joke that wanted to slip free.
Chris arched a brow, barely containing the grin that wanted to eagerly spread across his mouth. He kept both hands carefully affixed to the body of his cane, unsure of where they might wander if they were not otherwise occupied—what was more, he was unsure of what was appropriate at this point.
"Why, you looking for something else?" His head tilted in Daniel's direction, throwing the ball back into the other man's court.
With a languid shrug Daniel answered, "I could probably think of a couple things." He did not mean to let his gaze flick down to where those too-familiar hands circled the cane; but they did all the same. The sight was not missed by Chris, who glanced likewise in the same direction for a moment. Daniel dragged his eyes upward soon enough. Even then there was a lingering pause, a hesitation that, even in its silence, spoke plainly to all the things Daniel truly wanted to say. All the things he knew he could not.
"But let's stick with tamales for now. And some legit margaritas. I'm talkin' top shelf. Sound good?"
Chris paused for a moment, then unhooked one of his hands. The movement was slow and measured, speaking more to his hesitation than any real timing, but his palm brushed Daniel's knee—then further down.
"Good to me," he replied, the touch stopping just before reaching semi-levels of public inappropriateness. He opened his mouth to say something more when he was interrupted.
"Y'all here for the next slot too?" A blonde, spray-tanned woman wearing a pink blazer and accompanied by a bored looking man appeared in the waiting area, the man plopping down without saying a word. The woman smiled brightly—Chris's hand shot back to his cane as though it had never left.
"Uh, yeah," he replied, making far more of a show of being polite than he might have previously. "Two to three? You two have more coming with you?"
"Sure do, got another couple," she said, her smile widening a fraction for a moment, before she sunk down into the seat next to her apparent boyfriend. Her hand immediately went to mimic where Chris' had been a moment before, making his cheeks redden; he stayed seated, forcing himself through the encounter.
"So see, Daniel, it won't be just me you have to beat. Wouldn't be much of a competition, would it?" He canted his head toward Daniel's face, one brow raised.
"Don't count yourself out so quick," Daniel chided. He shifted closer to Chris, close enough to feel the warmth of his erstwhile partner's thigh through the thick barriers of denim. He folded his hands, fingers laced together, atop his stomach. He clearly regretted the loss of that touch, but the idea of further competition had lit a fire in his eyes. He could not hide the grin that played over his lips.
"Let's up the ante, then." He leaned over, his eyes on Chris's, his voice low enough to be heard by him and him alone. Even though the words were between them, Chris's face flushed enough to provide some implication to those paying attention at home. "I beat all y'all, I get another date. In public. And I get to pick the venue."
The blonde's hand had crept further up her boyfriend's thigh. She only occasionally glanced the boys' way, and Daniel felt the weight of her gaze every time. But then their guests arrived, an overeager couple already loudly chattering about their racing strategy and earlier record times. They descended on their friends with a whirlwind of talk, filling the space with vigorous gestures and constant sound. Daniel heard them, and it clearly piqued his interest, but his eyes remained on Chris all the while.
Chris half-bit back a laugh. "This isn't public?" He replied, smirking even as he blushed. Daniel answered with a shrug. Chris managed to keep both his gaze and his voice level, despite the erratic thumping of his heart inside his ribcage. "Besides, you sure you wanna commit yourself that quickly, before we even get to the end of this one? I thought I'd be the one begging for a second date."
He thought quickly, and followed up on that question before Daniel could answer either of the other two. "Wait, what if I win?" One hand pressed to his chest, in lieu of pressing elsewhere. "Private date, my apartment?" Here his voice picked up a little, fraying at the edges as he quietly wondered if that was pushing too much, too early.
"I, uh…" Daniel's palms went flat on his thighs. He pushed his hands over his jeans, the edge of his pinky finger brushing against Chris's leg. It was less encouragement than he wanted to give, but far more than he should have done. He glanced up to the clock above the receptionist's desk and noted they had little time left to kill.
"Why don't we just see how this goes? Yeah?"
Chris did his best to not let his face fall, but his disappointment was clear enough; the brief touch combined with the negative response left him confused, unsure of where he had erred. Still, he nodded, adjusting in his seat enough to regain his comfort without moving away from Daniel.
"All right, looks like everyone's here," another voice broke through the chatter of the other group. It belonged to a dark haired, middle-aged man dressed in racer's gear, a full one-piece suit covered with stripes and outdated logos. He left the door he'd come through ajar, a glimpse of a dark hallway behind him. He clapped his hands, gaining everyone's attention.
"If you'll follow me, we'll get you suited up and ready to ride." The other group, who'd barely paused in their chatter, rose almost as one and began to beeline for the door. Chris rose as well, extending a hand to Daniel. Daniel took it without a moment's hesitation. His fingers threaded with Chris's and held on tight.
They fell into step behind the gaggle of strangers, and still Daniel did not loose Chris's hand; likewise, Chris did not pull away, actually instead tightening his grip. Daniel kept a close eye on his date, glancing openly over to him once they entered the dressing room, though he said nothing until their instructor had begun his spiel on safety and proper protective gear. Then he leaned in, his lips a breath from Chris's ear.
"You're on," he whispered. Chris turned his head, surprise coloring his face.
Daniel pulled away as quickly as he had drawn near, moving to his assigned locker and withdrawing the jumpsuit and helmet hanging inside. He wriggled into the suit with only a few brief misalignments of the worn zipper's teeth. The suit fit too loosely for his tastes, and he made a show of turning around in front of a nearby floor-length mirror.
"Between this saggy ass and the helmet this thing hides all my best features," he announced.
"Supposed to put us all on equal footin', sweet cheeks," the blonde who'd introduced herself before replied, cupping a hand around her mouth. However, her suit was zipped halfway down, her friends and significant other in various states of dress as they made fun of the variously colored jumpsuits. Chris stayed quiet, getting himself as quickly as he could into his own outfit. Using the lockers beside himself, he got himself to his feet, and beckoned Daniel over. "Help me out?" He did his best to look as helpless as he could, eking out as much as he could from this date.
"I'd rather—" Daniel bit his own tongue to keep from finishing the sentence the way he wanted, the way he would have months before. Chris grinned, pleased alone to have elicited that particular response. "Mmhm." He stopped too close in front of Chris, his hands steady as they moved directly to the zipper and nowhere else. He did, however, take too long ensuring the zipper stayed fixed in place at the top of the suit, and that the buttons near his throat were firmly snapped together. As he drew away he allowed himself one small pass of his palm over Chris's chest. Chris found himself rising away from the lockers, wanting to follow that touch.
"You wear it well," Daniel whispered, then quickly returned his attention to their instructor, now wrapping up his entirely unheard speech.
"Now that's that, and let's get all'a y'all into your cars!" The other party cheered, pulling Chris back into the present. He started, and then turned to grab his helmet, hooking it under one arm while the other used his cane to help him toward the doorway to the racetrack that everyone else was herded to. Daniel darted quickly back to his locker to retrieve his own helmet, and fetched up alongside Chris in short order.
The other group filled in the available seats quickly; the front few rows were taken, leaving Daniel with few choices. Chris gravitated toward a yellow and black vehicle, an attendant quietly waiting in the wings to assist him into the car and take his cane for the moment. Before donning his helmet, Chris glanced sidelong at Daniel.
"A bet's a bet, right?"
"Damn right."
Daniel slipped into the remaining car: a tacky thing, painted in a garish green with too few decals to tone its color down. But he did not seem to mind as he fastened the safety harness, his eyes leaving Chris only to ensure everything was in place. Their instructor came by to each car in turn, yanking on the harnesses and eyeing critically each helmet strap. Once each driver was inspected he stepped off the track, shutting and locking the little gate behind him.
"Now go on green and not before. Now remember, this is not! Bumper! Cars!" he shouted over the rumbling engines, one hand cupped around his mouth. "I want a clean race. Nobody end up on the banned-for-life wall." He gestured behind him, where hung a rogue's gallery of framed Polaroids, names scrawled beneath in black Sharpie. Daniel laughed, his eyes crinkling in the narrow open visor of his helmet.
Then the traffic signal began to flash, and the drivers began to rev their small engines. Daniel gave Chris a quick thumbs-up, but the moment the light switched from yellow to green, his eyes were on the road ahead.
Chris was the same, shifting only momentarily to ensure he was comfortable in his seat and that he was in a good position to hit the pedals without issue. The other cars were already screeching ahead, taking off down the track; he hit the gas and followed, without even a sidelong glance to see if Daniel was in front or behind him. A few tight shifts, and he passed three cars, but five more were crowding the front lines, keeping tight to the inner circle of the track, making it difficult for him to pass. Thankfully, the track curved, opening up opportunities for him to dodge and weave.
His yellow and black racer started competing for fourth place with a purple and blue car; the blonde's boyfriend from before. The man glanced at him, leering.
"What's up, fag?" he jeered, his car passing viciously close to Chris's. "Thought you guys liked it better from behind." He pumped the gas, his car speeding up. Chris gritted his teeth, ignoring the insult to instead focus on the next turn; neatly passing the man, leaving him to choke on his dust.
He did, however, allow himself one small smirk at his success, before he started to focus in on the remaining three he needed to beat to reach his prize. One of those was an eye-wateringly green and black thing, with Daniel's black helmet in clear view. Only one car remained ahead of him, and that proved his downfall.
Curious as to the location of his date, Daniel turned in his seat as far as the tight harness would allow. He spied Chris's car and grinned, raising one hand to wave. But the cart's steering was not nearly so stable as his own familiar vehicle's; the front wheels immediately loosed their tight grip on the curve, and Daniel found himself careening toward the blonde herself.
He shouted a curse that went almost unheard, thanks to the noise of the track. His front bumper tapped the lead car on its rear quarter panel, sending them both spinning off toward the wall. Still swearing, Daniel righted his cart just before they struck the barrier. The blonde was not so lucky. Daniel sailed past her as she crashed into the barrier, ahead of her, but behind all but two of those cars that remained.
Chris watched Daniel's crash as best he could as he zipped around the incident; part of him wanted to stop and see what he could do to help, but he was already moving away too quickly to make a difference. It was down between him and another car at least for the first lap; they had attendants to get racers back on their feet. Chris focused on the road, coming up behind the next opponent—one of the boyfriend's friends, who seemed less intent on insults and more on skill. Chris came up behind the man, but the next stretch of road was straight, allowing his opponent to keep him at bay.
They passed over the finish line—round one complete, their cars screeching onto round two.
Daniel fervently tried to make up for his lost time. He passed the straggler at the back, the driver obviously struggling more with each successive turn. The next car proved more difficult. Its driver was tenacious, deftly weaving to keep Daniel pinned toward the rear of the pack. Daniel feinted once, twice, and on the third such maneuver, whipped quickly around the car and moved to the inside track.
Now his eyes were fixed on Chris's car, as though no other stood between him and victory. He could not abide the thought of losing, least of all now, given the stakes they had set. He frowned behind the hard line of his helmet. His foot pressed the accelerator to the floor, and his little car screamed into the final turn of their second lap with only a single car between himself and his quarry. Chris's bee-colored car had not been able to overcome the one vehicle before him; his grip on the wheel tightened, tension filling his body as the car remained steadfastly before him. All others were falling behind, having lost too much time and distance to close the remainder of the space. They hurtled around another curve, crossing the finish line to head into the final lap.
Chris leaned forward in his seat, angling his car inside the track; better to stay close, and not invite any new contenders. Just within his peripheral vision, he noted Daniel's car inching up; as much as he would rather one of them win instead of any of the others, he strained to come out ahead of even his date.
Edging just in front of Daniel's car, Chris hugged the inside of as curve as they turned, watching and waiting for any opening to present itself. And, perhaps by the grace of God, it did; perhaps feeling settled in his win, the driver in first place allowed himself to drift away from the curve, giving Chris an inch to squeeze his car through. The two came level with each other, though neither glanced at their opponent, as though to do so would mean their undoing.
Daniel took advantage of their distraction, slipping in behind them both as they reached the straightaway. In spite of the earlier warning Daniel inched ever closer to the rival's car. In a moment his front bumper touched the rear of the other driver's. High above them a yellow caution light flashed in answer. Daniel paid it no mind. Instead he struck again, widening the gap, and wedging his vehicle into the scrap of space that remained. Chris's opponent glanced back, gritting his teeth at Daniel's unsubtle way of pushing himself into the fray. Grudgingly, he pulled back, saving himself from a potential crash.
The three entered the next curve packed so tightly together their cars seemed nearly joined. The rest of the pack was long left behind, and the three of them jockeyed for position until the very final turn, trading first, second, and third place among them as they went. Surprised slightly, though only because he'd tuned everything else out, at Daniel's appearance, Chris allowed himself a grin, maintaining a careful observation on the track and the objects orbiting around him.
"You ready to lose, gallo?" He shouted, allowing himself some taunting. He pressed the gas harder, willing the car forward as though he could do so only with sheer force of thought.
"Hell no," Daniel shouted back. Then he gunned the little engine and zipped solidly into second place. It was too little, too late; Chris had gained ground that proved difficult to make up. Daniel crossed the finish line a cart length behind his date and a bumper's length ahead of the driver they'd passed. But in spite of his loss—at least insofar as the bet was concerned—he was laughing as he came to a stop. He tugged his helmet free and rose, his arms wide as he approached Chris's car.
"That's was awesome," Daniel shouted. "Best outta three?"
Chris grinned, successful in more ways than one. As his car slid to a stop, an attendant ran out to make sure he was OK. He waved them off, leaning forward to look at Daniel.
"Only if you're ready to lose again, gallo," he replied, settling back into his seat as they were directed to set up for the next race.