We were supposed to go to the Cheesecake Factory.
I had my heart set on an Oreo Dream Extreme Cheesecake.
I should have known better when going out with my delinquent cousin.
Instead of the Cheesecake Factory, she takes me to an abandoned factory.
There's an illegal street race going on outside and she drags me into the middle of it.
It's not my scene. At all.
So, I'm as shocked as my cousin when they choose me to drop the flag.
I'm terrified standing in the headlights while several rumbling engines wait for me to start the race.
I yank the flag down and all the cars whizz by.
Except for one.
Dillon Sanders—street racer, alpha badass, extreme hottie—is still sitting there, staring at me in awe.
The connection is immediate.
The sudden longing is intense.
We were made for each other and I know it in that instant.
The other drivers are racing around the curves, trying to win the prize.
But Dillon looks ready for curves of another variety.
And he looks ready to claim a different prize.
Me.