Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (10 page)

Alley sighed. “I don’t know,” her tone was dismissive as it always was when speaking of Jameson’s encounters with women. “My contract doesn’t include monitoring Jameson’s sex life. They don’t pay me enough for
that
.”

I was on the verge of tears when she turned in her seat and forced me to look at her. “I’m warning you.” Alley pointed at me. “Don’t do what you’re thinking.”

“I didn’t
—
” I began and quickly silenced by her murderous glare.

“I know you and I know what you’re thinking. You think if you sleep with him you can convince him he loves you.”

Am I really that transparent?

Trying to hold onto any remaining dignity her glare didn’t destroy, I didn’t say anything.

“Don’t do it.” She warned once more and then called the waiter over. “Pick something,” she tossed me a menu. “We’re getting drunk.”

Spencer, sporting a new spider man bandage above his eyebrow, sat down next to me and swung his arm around my chair.

“I suggest you remove your arm.” I warned grimly, my mood turning for the worst.

Screaming or crying, either one was a good option as I watched woman after woman throw themselves into Jameson’s arms. Trying to analyze his every move, I knew Jameson, and I knew exactly what he did when his interest was piqued. So far, he showed none of those signs; he actually appeared uncomfortable with it all.

“Spencer,” Alley voice brought me back around to reality.

Spencer, who’d been staring at the menu, flinched looking over at her but quickly looked the direction of the door when Alley mouthed something to him.

“What are you guys whispering about?” I asked scanning the room to see if I missed something. My eyes focused on the bar to see Jameson and a guy standing inches from his face.

He was around the same height as Jameson, dirty blonde hair, but I couldn’t see anything beside that with his back to me.

I did notice the tall blonde attached to his hip though that resembled Chelsea.

We watched for a moment but when Spencer rose knocking his chair to the ground, I realized that the conversation between Jameson and this guy was getting heated.

With a familiar cavalierly, Jameson set his beer down and stepped toward the guy. His eyes took on that dark glower I also knew well.

The woman, seeming uninterested, disappeared into the bathroom while the guy continued to talk to Jameson, waving his arms around as if he was explaining something.

Alley and I got up following Spencer over to the bar when we picked up what was being said. By now, the entire bar was listening.

“Just because your dad provided the ride doesn’t mean you’re hot shit, Jameson.” The guy said.

Once closer, I recognized him as Darrin Torres, driver of the number fourteen car that Jameson beat for the win tonight.

Darrin and Jameson had history dating back to their days racing USAC and had frequent run-ins so far this year—including a very public brawl after the Winston just a week ago.

Let’s just say these two were
not
friends, and never would be.

Jameson leaned back against the bar again creating distance, trying to appear as if he didn’t give a shit. He probably didn’t.

“Darrin,” Jameson spoke slowly shaking his head, his voice surprisingly calm—it sounded all the more threateningly that way. “Just because my dad owns the team I race for, doesn’t mean I can’t drive. Who won tonight?”

“By three tenths of an inch,” Darrin snorted with glib smile. “hardly a win.”

Jameson laughed darkly, the impassiveness remaining imperturbable. “Any way you want to look at it Darrin, I won.” he looked away from Darrin. With a nod, he motioned for the bar tender to get him another beer. “How’s second place feel?”

“How’s that fine of $50,000 feel?”

Jameson laughed. “Oh I don’t know
...
didn’t you hear?” his hand casually drug along the stubble of his jaw.  “They dropped the fine.” His eyes then scanned Darrin. “Said the test came back inconclusive and nothing was found in the post race inspection. Try harder next time.”

I didn’t know Darrin had anything to do with the fuel additive in his car but I wouldn’t put it past him.

Darrin stepped closer and grabbed Jameson by the collar of his shirt causing Jameson’s beer to spill. “Listen you little shit,” Spencer appeared threateningly beside Jameson. “Stay out of my way on the track or you
will
regret it.” Darrin warned.

Jameson came on like a charging bull shoving Darrin backwards. Before Spencer could react, Jameson delivered a hard left hook to Darrin’s jaw, jerked him forward by the shirt and had a broken beer bottle pressing to his neck.

Spencer, who stood close to me in a protective stance, shook his muttering something along the lines of “South paw” but I couldn’t make out much else.

I’d seen enough of Jameson’s frequent pit brawls over the years to know his left handed pop could get you unexpected like most south paws could. Spencer used to say Jameson had this advantage over most, even him, because lefties came out you backwards. I’d say by the blood pouring for Darrin’s lip he could attest to this theory.

“Don’t you
ever
threaten me again!” Jameson growled in his ear making no attempt to back away. His voice was sharp enough to cut glass sending warning chills down my spine.

Before Darrin could counter to the anger pulsating from Jameson, Spencer and Kyle were breaking things up and the owner was escorting Darrin from the bar.

Jameson was yelling at Aiden and Spencer as they pinned him forcefully against the wall struggling to control him.

I tried to get over to him, I knew I could calm him down but Emma and Alley were tugging me towards the bathrooms in the other direction.

“I don’t have to pee, let me go.” I groaned as they pushed me through the door.

As if the night couldn’t get any worse, I ran into the person I thought I would never have to see again.

Chelsea Adams.

“Well,” Chelsea said looking directly at me. “It’s been a long time, Sway.”

“I wish I could say it’s nice to see you but it’s
not
.” I replied glaring at the perfect bitch.

She rolled her stupid pretty blue eyes. “Is that Jameson you’re salivating over out there? He’s looking good these days.”

I pounced on her like a jungle cat, slamming us both to the ground in the middle of the bathroom. I’m not really sure what got into me but I was livid. I hated her in high school and now she thought she could walk into his life again and just pick up where they left off
...
not if I had anything to say about it. Drawing my fist back, I punched her square in the mouth.

Moments passed, I stayed perched on top of her throwing punches, pulling hair, scratching.

“Get off me you whore!” Chelsea screamed from underneath.

“Who you calling a whore?” Emma lunged for Chelsea as well.

Word got out quickly to the rest of the bar about the gladiator style fight going down in the women’s bathroom. Doors were broken, mirrors were smashed, hair was ripped out, blood, and tears were shed.

It looked like they filmed part of the movie
Fight Club
in there.

Alley, Emma, and I were unscathed though.

“What the fuck happened in here?” Spencer asked stepping over the broken door. His eyes focused on Chelsea wiping her mouth. “Holy hell
...
”

Jameson and Aiden stood in the doorway, their questioning eyes scanning.

“Hey boys,” I said as casually as possible. “Just freshening up,”

Jameson was looking at me with an amused expression patiently waiting for an explanation. Tommy stepped inside the bathroom and burst into laughter tossing me a glorified smile.

I grabbed Jameson by the arm and fluffed my hair with the other hand. “Let’s get drunk now.”

Chelsea, while I never saw her again that night but I also think intoxication might have been a key factor in that.

A Hurricane Bucket, a Purple Rain, a Lucille’s Sweet Tea, and one Loose Goose—I was done for.

I couldn’t even form a coherent word even when I tried.

Jameson wasn’t any doing any better with Tommy holding him up as he explained how he thought today’s youth, present company excluded, had no work ethic.

Alley and Spencer had left to go get Lane since Spencer had to drive the motor coach to Pocono tomorrow.

Emma complained she was tired so Aiden
conveniently
became tired at the same time and they left together, thankfully, Jameson was too drunk to notice.

This left Jameson, Kyle, and Tommy with me at the bar when Jameson decided to duel some guy on the piano. No one knew he had the piano chops too and left the entire bar, still bursting with people, in complete frenzy, me included.

Eventually I was alone with Jameson and he was pulling me towards the dance floor to dance to
Purple Rain
since we were in fact drinking a Purple Rain drink.

This was his reasoning at least.

Drawing me against his chest tightly, he whispered the lyrics of
Purple Rain
to me with a low gravelly voice that left me trembling in his arms. What sent me over the edge was when he threw his head back and belted out an utterly raw verse.

It seemed the more I drank, the more my plan was set in stone.

My biggest problem when drinking is that I had all the bad ideas floating around in my head. When alcohol got involved, they turned into bad decisions. Over the years I’d become accustomed to this but don’t think I didn’t want to sue the makers of Tequila a time or two for their persuasive influence.

These bad ideas turned into me thinking I would make him see me for me, perfect for him. The drunker I got, the easier it got to forget that he was a superstar now and just my best friend. He was the boy I grew to love. After a while, I just went with it.

All night it seemed he was giving peculiar looks, his eyes cutting and smiling. It warmed me, he looked as though he was seeing me, the girl that was always there for him, not some pit lizard, and he looked at me as though I was the only woman in the room that mattered to him.

I must have been staring at him because when he snuck a glance at me, he smirked. “What?”

I bit down on my bottom lip then slowly pulled my straw in my mouth and took a drink before saying, “Nothing.” then winked at him.

Slowly and I do mean slowly, he sucked his bottom lip in, bit down and then gradually let it drag against his teeth.

“You are the most
beautiful
woman I’ve ever met.” He crooned pressing a tender kiss right below my ear.

I was drunk, plain and simple.

Tanked, toasted, spent, hammered, smashed, intoxicated, plastered, sloshed
...
whatever you wanna call it. Jameson and I could barely put one foot in front of the other when the limo driver dropped us at the hotel around four in the morning.

Somewhere between the dancing and serenading, I decided I was going to do whatever my engine and crankcase wanted—as noted, alcohol played a strong role in this. Since
they
, my crankcase and engine, were in charge,
they
decided I’d stood by just watching for far too long now.