Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (16 page)

“And those are?”

Jameson chuckled. “Well USAC runs three national divisions of midgets, sprints and silver crown cars, all open-wheel. If you win the championship in all three divisions, you get the Triple Crown. To date Bobby Cole, my teammate, and me, are the only drivers who’ve ever won it.”

“Wow,” she seemed shocked. “That’s impressive.”

Jameson just nodded taking the compliment about as well as he took her flirting.

“So the Triple Crown paved the way?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He gave a contemplative nod. “From there, I was able to land some sponsors that smoothed the way to bigger races with better payouts. In January of 2001, I met Tate Harris at the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals in Tulsa through my dad and Bucky. He introduced me to a representative with Simplex Shocks and Springs just about the time my dad was thinking of starting a NASCAR team and from there the rest is history.”

“Is your family still a big part of the operation?”

“Yeah, my dad is the team owner. My mom and sister run my fan club. My brother is on my pit crew.” Jameson’s eyes shifted back over to mine. “It means a lot to me to have my family nearby. It reminds me of what’s real.”

“I hear you just started your own sprint car team this year too? How’s that going?”

“I did. Right now, I have two cars racing in the World of Outlaws. I have my buddies Tyler Sprague and Justin West in the cars. They used to race USAC with me growing up. They’re doing an amazing job.” Jameson leaned forward and took another drink of water.

“Do you still race sprint cars when you can?”

He laughed. “I
try
but Simplex doesn’t like it all that much. It’s a liability issue on my part if I was to get injured while doing it but
...
dirt track racing is where I came from. It’s a part of me and I refuse to let that go.”

“Once you go dirt you never go back sort of thing?” she teased.

Jameson laughed softly staring at his feet as he pulled his hat down further shadowing his eyes. “Yeah, I guess that’s the saying.”

“So let’s talk about this season. You won your second start in Rockingham; you won the Winston and
another
on Saturday night at the Coca-Cola 600! Do you think you have a chance at the cup title this year?” Kim asked.

“I think we do. The win last night put us only sixty-three points behind Darrin Torres. I wasn’t sure how competitive we’d be in our first full season with it being a new team but I think we have a shot at it.” Jameson said nodding his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Now we heard NASCAR dropped that hefty fine they handed out on Saturday night. Can you tell us about that?”

“There’s not much to tell.” He shrugged. “As far as I know, the fine was dropped because the test turned out to be inconclusive.”

I think she knew he wasn’t going to give her the inside scoop so she finally let up.

“Well Jameson, thank you for coming and good luck with the rest of the season.”

Jameson stood, shook her hand politely, and then headed for the door without another word.

Once we were back in the car, I realized his mood was still the same.

He didn’t look at me, just drove towards Mooresville. The drive wasn’t long but
eventually
we started talking again.

Half way there, Jameson plugged his iPod into the stereo and put it on shuffle. He had a vast music collection of Van Morrison, Eagles, Linkin Park and
every
song by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

One particular song,
Simple Man
, came on and Jameson began to sing along.

He had an amazing smooth but raspy voice that could leave any woman a puddle of oil in his drain pan. And let me tell you, he could do one hell of an Eddie Vedder baritone.

This particular song was one of Jameson’s all-time favorite songs. It was a relaxing and held a special meaning for him. He always said he listened to it when he needed to remember where he came from and as I sat there and listened to him singing along, the truth behind the lyrics was easy to see.

A few verses caught my attention, similar to the
Purple Rain
song and I knew there was nothing behind him singing that particular verse louder that the rest of the song but again
...
a pit lizard could dream.

My hand was resting lightly on my knee when Jameson shifted in his seat reaching for my hand, pulling it to his lips to place a tender kiss on it. “Does it hurt?”

“Huh?”

Does what hurt? My crankcase? Yes.

“Your hand,” He clarified.

“Oh that
...
uh
...
no, not really,” I smiled briefly. “You owe me a million dollars though.”

“Pft,” Jameson shook his head. “I said a
spring
, not your hand.” He kissed my knuckles once more. “Though I am proud you punched her. I would have but it’s frowned upon to hit a woman.”

“Frowned upon? Really?”

This seemed to have broken the ice between us again and the rest of the drive was filled with laughter and witty remarks, our usual selves.

We arrived back in Mooresville around ten that night and Jameson’s mercurial mood had returned.

Now, he was now planning his attack on Alley for the mini-van and walking in on us.

If there’s one thing I could say about Jameson and his practical jokes on people, it was that he never did them half-assed.

We eventually agreed upon a plan of action and called Kyle to have him order it, insisting on the part being overnighted.

On the way to his parent’s house, we stopped by
Burger King
because we were both starving. I was so exhausted by the time we got there and thankfully, Jameson’s parents weren’t home so we didn’t have to explain why I’m there, well for tonight anyways. I was sure there would be questions when I arrived in Pocono with him.

His parent’s house was huge. It literally reminded me of something you’d seen on MTV cribs, only built for a racing family.

The house was situated on fifteen acres, complete with a quarter-mile oval track in the backyard, a pool that could house the Olympics and enough bedrooms to accommodate a small village.

Once we got upstairs, I headed towards the quest bedroom at the end of the hall when Jameson grabbed me by the arm and slammed me against the wall. Not rough, just enough that he took my breath away for a second.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jameson asked with his lips at my ear. His tongue darted out and then he nipped my lobe with his teeth.

“I
...
to
...
uh
...
the guest room?” I mumbled breathlessly watching his intense eyes find mine.

“Wrong.” He picked me up bridal style caring me into his room on the third floor.

Once in his room I couldn’t tell you what happened when the door closed. I couldn’t tell you what happened when we broke his bedroom door. I couldn’t tell you what happened when we fell through the closet door onto the floor. I couldn’t tell you
any
of this because I was in such a state of overdrive by this man that I was actually delirious and incoherent.

When I woke up the next morning, I wondered why I was on the floor in Jameson’s closet
surrounded by broken furniture and clothes that had been ripped off hangers.

It was a disaster.

At least I had my bra on, well half on with one funbag free falling.

Somehow, I feel like less of a slut with a bra on
...
stupid. So stupid.

Tucking the free falling funbag in, I surveyed the rest of myself. I was wearing one of Jameson’s ties around my neck, which was not all that concerning. I could just about imagine what that was used for, and I was also sporting a pair of his boxer briefs.

How and why I was wearing these random items was a mystery to me.

I glanced around the large walk-in closet and was rewarded with an absolutely magnificent sight.

Jameson Riley, naked, laying on his back.

Nothing and I mean
nothing
was more beautiful than the sight before me. I started at his face; his messy hair looked like he had just done some press forging in
...
a closet the entire night.

His beautiful face looked content; his lips pushed out into an adorable pout. His defined chest and amazing ripped stomach, the sculpted cut lines of his hips that lead down to the biggest mother-loving camshaft ever engineered.

Christ almighty he was a sight.

I’ve seen a few
...
okay only three but this one topped them all, including the few I’d seen in porno’s Alley and Emma forced me to watch in high school.

How did that fit in me?
Was a very concerning thought I had.

I brought my knees up to my chest and curled into myself, comforting my crankcase and wondering how she hadn’t exploded yet.

I realized once I did that particular curling move that I was paying the consequences of our press forging (a process where you forge hot metal between dies in a press to make the metal stronger). I commonly referred to press forging as aggressive sex. If you have ever seen metal press forged, it’s
very
aggressive.

My legs burned, they felt like I had just tried out to be a Navy Seal or something similar and my crankcase was feeling a little like it just housed the biggest mother loving camshaft ever engineered.

And judging by the shaft my eyes were currently fixated on, I’d say that happened, more than once last night. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

Until
Jameson’s light laughter startled me.

My eyes quickly darted to his to meet his amused expression in embarrassment.

He stretched slowly and put his arms behind his head. “Like what you see?” He asked with a smug smile.

“Eh
...
I’ve seen bigger.” I quipped and quickly ran into his bathroom in hopes to get away from him.

That was one race I was not wining.

Our debate about him being small officially ended when he has me pinned against his shower wall.

We spent a good part of the day inside Jameson’s room
...
and
the closet.

Kyle called around three that afternoon to let Jameson know the part he ordered was in and that he needed to drop off Justin’s helmet at the race shop. Jameson had a friend of his paint some new graphics on the side for Justin.

On the way over to Spencer and Alley’s house Jameson turned to me, his eyes focused. “You down for this?”

“Sure.”

He gave me a skeptical glance as though he thought I was lying. “It could mean jail time.”