"Are you dense?" Zane Jennings raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. His exceptionally dissolute air was now tinged with a freewheeling restlessness. "Just because you waited for me means I have to drink?"
Nash Quinn said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Of course."
Zane Jennings looked weary, a hint of impatience etched between his brows. "Get away from me."
'How weird. And who was it that used to drink until he couldn't see straight?'
After a few rounds of drinks, Nash Quinn stopped teasing and got down to business. "Zane, we racers don't have many years to waste. Do you really plan on staying in this slump forever?"
Racing is a sport that's all about age. Once you're past your prime, trying to make a comeback always leaves you a step behind the younger, more energetic competition.
