Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

“GGo,” he said.
As he instructed, I gently turned the wheel a few inches,
feeling the tires run over the reflectors, but instead of swerving
in the other direction to correct myself, I found them with the
very edge of my left tires and stayed on them. It would
probably freak out oncoming traffic with my hugging the
middle of the road like this, but I was able to manage the
curves of the road all by myself.
“Okay, it’s gonna curve right in—”
“Shh,” I snapped, shutting him up.
I needed to listen.
And then, as he warned, the reflectors twisted right, and I
needed to correct the wheel to follow it, surprisingly not going
off the road like I half-expected.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, sounding impressed. “Okay,
I’ll just take a nap. You have fun.”
“Don’t you dare!” I scolded.
We’d eventually come to an intersection, a street light, or a
pedestrian. Plus, he worked the gas.
“Can we go faster?” I asked.
I’d been tensing and concentrating so hard, I wanted to be
thrilled.
He shifted and accelerated, and if my count was right, we
were in fourth or fifth gear.
“It’s pretty straight for the next couple of minutes,” he told
me. “You want some music?”
I thought about it, realizing I could feel us running over the
reflectors, and I didn’t necessarily need to hear them.
“Okay.”
He turned on his stereo, “GGo to Hell” playing, and I
relaxed back into him, my heart beating hard with the speed
but still studying every little bump underneath us to keep us on
the road.