Read Online Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) by Eden Connor - Free Book Online Page A

college came into view. Ernie dove into the left lane with hardly a look.
    Does he just expect people will give way to a truck this size? Ever heard of teenagers, dude? Or mothers looking over the seat to check on their babies in the back? Kamikaze squirrels? They have family that’ll miss them, even if they do have furry tails, for fuck’s sake!
    To my dismay, he shot past the rear entrance. I suppressed a sigh—or a scream. No matter how often Francine told him they’d built a back gate, Ernie headed for Main Street entrance.
    “Take the one sixty-five. Buy another ‘Cuda. There’s two that look damn good in the trade papers right now. Best one’s in Atlanta. Spend a hundred grand on that car, and put sixty-five grand in a three-month certificate of deposit. In May, when they come due, cash ‘em in, rake off the interest. Go on a cruise with money you didn’t lift a finger to earn, pay off your student loans with the rest, and take that job with Brock Ingram. The new ‘Cuda’s gonna continue to go up in value, even though it’s a hardtop. Five years from now, I figure you could sell the hardtop for one-eighty and buy back your same Audi for sixty-five grand.”
    That was the price of asking Ernie for a ride. He talked about ways to make money, and made me feel dumb, no extra charge. A new flash of heat flew through me, this one at the thought of pulling off such an audacious deal.
    In the next breath, Dale’s words rang in my head.
    She’s got a legend now. And the stories are what sell these old buckets of rust. But you already knew that.
    “Except, Dale bet his ‘Cuda to win the Audi. So, the Audi’s his car. I’ll tell him about this, because I think it’s motherfucking genius. But, what’s worth more to Dale, the cash, or the legend of how that Audi was won?” I’d made up my mind not to care about the Audi. As soon as I graduated, I’d work and save to buy my own car.
    Ernie hung a right under the light and chugged down the southeast side of campus. “The legend.” He sighed, darting me a dark look, due, no doubt, to the profanity that slipped my lips more often since the wreck. “Man’s hell bent on leavin’ his kids a legacy. Dad-gum, I was thinkin’ that’d be your car, straight up.”
    His kids.
    Veering from my idiotic hurt over the way my job title had changed—on a website nobody ever looked at—I turned Ernie’s idea over in my mind.
    “I’d sell it so damn fast your head would spin, if it was mine. Just for fun, I got an online estimate for the insurance. You don’t wanna know, but one month’s premium has been known to feed this starving college student for a year.”
    “Reality.” Ernie’s laughter ricocheted in the cab. “It’s a kick to the gut, ain’t it?”
    My kick to the gut eased when he pulled through the front gates, staying right to sweep around the curving drive. I stared at the soaring turrets of Wilson Hall, thanking my guardian angel for letting me live to see the elegant building one more time.
    My bruised brain took another wacky leap. The soles of my feet vibrated, not from the big diesel engine shaking the floorboard, but from the memory of climbing the gray-painted steps to beg for my place here.
    If every car in your yard’s worth more than your house, you might be a redneck. I gave a mental high five to Jeff Foxworthy, who’d based a comedy career on that ‘you might be a redneck’ tagline. How many times had I had the same thought about Dale, his sons, and their cars?
    Except, since Christmas, I could see both sides. Ernie’s drag race was taking fifty bucks and turning it into three hundred, then turning that three hundred into three thousand, all before dinner. Same adrenaline rush Dale got from wringing ten thousand rpms out of an engine and watching that car cruise under the checkered flag ahead of all the rest.
    “Ernie, what’s the problem between Dale and Kolby? Why won’t Richard let him go?”
    He eased to a stop at the far end