In the parking garage, Stan passed the Audi without slowing down and continued toward the Huracán.
The matte-black supercar sat low beneath the overhead lights, its sharp angles and aggressive silhouette casting hard shadows across the concrete floor. Even parked and silent, it possessed a presence that demanded attention.
He pressed the key fob. A soft chirp answered him. The lights flashed and the doors unlocked.
Stan slid into the driver's seat and settled comfortably behind the wheel. For a brief moment, his hand rested on the leather-wrapped steering wheel as the quiet of the garage surrounded him.
The Audi had been the right choice for practice and the game. Practical, comfortable, forgettable.
The kind of car that let the day be about basketball rather than about what he drove.
The Huracán was none of those things. It was not practical. It was not forgettable.
And on the right kind of evening, that was precisely the point.
