"Slow down! Holy hells, you realize you'll get us pulled over speeding like this, right?!" Not to mention we left my stomach about ten miles back.
"And you realize that all I have to do is flash my ID and any officer would end up escorting us, rather than ticketing us? Plus, this is a sports car. It's meant to be driven like this."
To prove his point, Joey floors the black Mustang's accelerator, pushing us up another ten miles per hour. A shriek comes from my throat involuntarily, and I turn to Eric for some help. But the i***t's just smiling, enjoying the scenery flying by his window.
I lean back in my seat and clutch the seatbelt frantically. At least we'll be there sooner, rather than later. Turns out that log cabin is only fifteen minutes away from the Santiagos'. Which makes sense;
