Pardon My French (boyxboy)

Chapter 2 - The King

CHAPTER 2 ● The King

Blake's POV

Sated, I rolled off the blond bombshell I'd just fucked. She'd been alright, but not the best I'd had.

My mobile phone started blasting Eminem's song I'm Not Afraid making me realize my best friend was calling.

"Yeah?" I said into my phone once I had retrieved it from my jeans which had been tossed at the other end of the room.

"Kingston! Where the hell are you, bro? The race is starting in twenty minutes and I don't fucking see you anywhere!" The familiar voice barked down the line.

I checked the clock on the bedside table only to see it was already close to two in the afternoon, making me curse loudly. "I'm coming, don't worry," I answered him before hanging up.

"What's wrong? Why are you leaving?" The chick asked in a panicked tone at seeing me get dressed.

I waved her off. "Sorry babe, but I'm needed elsewhere."

"What? So you're just going to leave? After we just had sex?" She exclaimed outrageously.

How the hell had she not seen this coming? She knew my rep; hell everyone knew it. I fucked and dumped, that's just how I rolled.

"Look, you were a good fuck, but I've really got to go. Bye Stacy," I told her before walking towards her door.

"My name's Lindsay you asshole!" She screeched from her position on the bed as I hightailed it out of there.

"Close enough, at least I got the last letter right," I grumbled to myself as I hopped on my motorcycle.

I quickly drove home in order to switch my bike for my racing car. I made it to the place where the event took place with five minutes to spare.

"It's about fucking time!" My best friend growled at me as soon as he saw me before slapping me on the back and wishing me good luck.

"Ready boys?" The hot brunette that was wearing next to nothing asked in the speakerphone as she stood at the front.

My car rumbled in synchronization with the other cars on the track. Oh I was more than ready.

"Three... two... one... go!" She shrieked as she waved the flag down to signal the start of the race.

As soon I saw her hand holding the flag move, I pressed the gas pedal making my car take off immediately.

The adrenaline rush I felt as I expertly maneuvered my blue Skyline around the track was greatly welcomed. Racing was always so satisfying and liberating; I absolutely loved it.

"You're in the lead, Kingston!" My best friend Jackson informed me through my ear piece.

I grunted in acknowledgement. When was I not? Okay, maybe a couple of times, but the result was always the same. With me winning, of course. I had been declared the king in the street racing world for four years running, hence why they had nicknamed me The King. Only one loss tainted my otherwise clean record of victories. My first and last loss had been my first ever race at the tender age of fourteen, so who could blame me?

"Blackjack seems to be picking up speed and catching up to you," Jackson warned me making me look back in my rear view mirror. Indeed, the fucker seemed to be getting closer.

I instantly increased the speed, putting more distance between us. Almost done. Just a little bit more and I would reach the end of the track.

My body tensed in anticipation as I crossed the finish line in no time, victory in hand one again.