Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (52 page)

I grabbed him by the arm—his face was hard to read. “No you don’t.” I said on the defense. “You know
one
side of the story.”

“Enlighten me then.” He challenged stepping closer.

Tate wasn’t as big as that Vin Diesel motherfucker but he wasn’t pint sized either. I briefly wondered if this was a bad idea but decided to stand my ground anyways. I would not be accused of something I didn’t do.

“The
only
reason I went with her was because she told that you gave her the title transfer for Grays Harbor.” I looked directly at him making eye contact this time. “When I left with her, she had
other
plans in mind. When I denied her advances, she got upset, end of story.”

“Where’d she get the bruises from?” Tate asked with a sour edge to his voice. I had an inclination right about now he did not intend to believe me regardless of what I said to him right then.

“I have no idea. I pushed her off my lap but I never touched her neck and sure as shit never forced her to suck my dick.”

He hesitated for a brief second before speaking. “Stay away from Chelsea.” He growled and walked away.

Well that went well.

Knowing my inclination was now correct, I was about to go after him to give him a piece of my mind.

Fortunately, for me, Kyle appeared and shook his head. “Don’t.” his eyes were caveat. “Just let Phillip handle this. If you get involved any further, it could interfere with the case.”

Leaning against the back wall, Gordon, the Director of Competition, began the drivers meeting. Standing there, I realized Kyle was right. I needed to forget about it for now and let Phillip do his job. Not being the type of person to just sit back and do
nothing
, which was a feat in itself. I had to be in control and right now, I wasn’t.

Darrin walked in with his crew chief, both glancing my direction. Keeping my calm, I looked the other way.

I couldn’t tell you what it was between us but it started back in USAC when he wrecked me for no reason. From there, I guess you could say the rivalry was born. We never did talk back then. Our first conversation came around the time I was testing in the Cup series over the winter and went something like this:

“So you’re the badass USAC driver everyone talks about
...
you don’t look so badass now,” was his
kind
way of greeting me.

“I’ve had my moments.” I responded signing a few autographs as I walked towards the paddock that winter afternoon in Daytona.

“Guys like you have it easy. Your father funds everything for you.”

Guys like me? He had no idea how much time I spent racing as a kid. How ever since I was old enough to walk, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Constantly training myself, focusing on what I thought was important. The long hours, the time spent traveling, how I never had a childhood really, the things I gave up
...
Sway
...
he had no fucking clue what it was like for me.

Luck
...
sure I had that on my side at times but I worked hard for everything I have.

“Yeah, I have luck but I’ve worked for everything I have.” I told him matter-of-factually walking away.

“Yeah
...
right,” He muttered and walked away himself.

As you can see, we never really got along.

During the meeting, they talked about the usual topics, pit lane safety, caution flags, and then a few changes in race format with a competition yellow this week due to rain yesterday.

And then it was on to aggression, something they weren’t happy with. Gordon and NASCAR made it clear they wouldn’t tolerate any retaliation on the track and any driver caught up in retaliation of
any
kind, would be suspended for a minimum of one race from this point forward in the season.

I respected NASCAR’s position as a governing body for the sport. But I had a problem with how they enforced these rules at times. This one, the retaliation, was total bullshit if you asked me.

NASCAR had turned into some kind of marionette with the way they tried to oppress everything. They were sure quick to advertise the fights they didn’t condone though. That one of Darrin and me in the infield after the Winston still plays when they advertise the next race. Funny enough they penalized us both for that but they were making money from it.

Personally, I say if you want to punch a driver in the face because he pissed you off, well then, punch him. They did it in hockey and look at how well that’s received. It’s not like they didn’t want to see the fights, they wanted to, believe me.

Fans wanna see the good ole days when the drivers went at it in the infield of Talladega. They wanted drivers who showed emotion, they wanted real people.

I agreed this needed to be done in moderation. Retaliation as an act was a very fine line. The way I saw it, you need to be held accountable for dirty racing. If you race dirty, you had better be ready to defend those actions; that was my theory at least. Most racers I knew raced that way. And well Darrin, he knew nothing about this apparently. He had no problem racing dirty but when it came to answering the bell, he acted as though he did nothing wrong. That’s where my problem lied with him.

After the drivers meeting, I made my way back to the motor coach to put my racing suit on and get some food. Last night I wasn’t able to get in touch with Sway so I tried once more but it went straight to voicemail. I thought for sure I’d be able to get in touch with her sense it was my birthday and all, but no such luck. Part of me wondered if something was wrong with Charlie but she would have called, I hoped.

Before long, as with any race day excitement, I found myself standing outside my car waiting for the pre-race ceremony to begin. Leaning to one side, my legs crossed over appearing relaxed. Conversation around me shifted to there’s the “Rowdy Way” as though this was an intentional stance for me.

I’m not sure when I began leaning against my car that way. A handful of other drivers did it as well, maybe all with a different meaning. Or maybe it was comfortable for them too.

As far as when it started for me, it may have happened back when I raced sprint cars. At times, you found yourself waiting on pill draws, putting heat in the engine or simply waiting for your feature race to begin. In a sense, it was just a resting position. In time, a trademark “Rowdy Way” was developed and though I never consciously did it, I became known for it.

When drivers walked by; I casually kept stance. You know, maybe it was to deliver a message with a curious indifference that had them looking. Or maybe I was telling them in a quietly defiant way they’d never get to me.

Reporter after reporter made their way over to me along with a few hundred fans that’d been granted pit passes. Keeping stance, I told them in that quiet defiant way, the fines didn’t bother me. Darrin didn’t bother me and NASCAR didn’t bother me. In reality, I could have been lying but that’s the message I delivered.

Sometime during all this, I looked up in the midst of the people hounding me for autographs, my eyes focused on Ashley.

I wanted to run from her but couldn’t, so instead I gave a fake smile as she asked her questions.

Ashley Conner and I had an encounter back when I was racing in the Busch series. And I say encounter because to me, that’s all it was, though Ashley seemed to have other ideas about that.

“Another pole for you Jameson, what do you think your chances are here to pull off another win? You wrecked last weekend, do you think you can pull through this time?” Ashley flashed a trained seductive smile and attempted to be flirty by tossing her black hair around.

Immediately, my eyes dropped avoiding her. The last thing I needed would be to give her the wrong impression here and let her think I was interested again. I wouldn’t even say I was interested before, she was just a means to itch. An itch I no longer had.

“We’ve had some ups and downs the last couple weeks with this number nine Ford Simplex car but I think we pulled some things together.” This was my standard answer most of the day. “I think we’ve got a shot at the win here. Cole is fast as well so we’ll see how it goes. The clouds make a difference here—it can change the track drastically throughout the race.”  

Ashley thanked me, her cameraman walked away but she stayed near the car. “So Jameson
...
I was wondering if you’d like to grab some dinner tonight after the race.” Her voice grew soft and persuasive.

Still not looking at her, I leaned my head towards her but continued to sign autographs. “I don’t think so Ashley.”

“Oh, come on. We’ve haven’t been out in months.”

“Try years, not months, and my answer is still
no
.” I finally looked over; her blue eyes sparkled with desire. “I’m seeing someone.”

Ashley’s eyes narrowed. “Jameson Riley doesn’t date,
remember
?”

I recalled telling her those exact words at one time. “I do now,” I barked back turning towards some fans that had gathered beside my car.

This pervasive curiosity into my personal life and who I was or wasn’t dating annoyed me. All I’ve ever wanted to do was race but with that came everything else, sacrifices.

If there was such a thing as hell on earth, I was in it without Sway. I hated being without her and to make matters worse, I hadn’t been able to reach her on the phone prior to the race. So now there I sat, running in twenty-second position with a car that could easily win the race, all because I didn’t hear her voice and she wasn’t here with me.

What the hell had this girl done to me?

I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I couldn’t escape the sound of her voice, the feel of her touch, the smell of her skin, and I vividly remembered the way she felt under my hands, against my body, the way she tasted. I was a mess without her.

I’m pathetic,
really
fucking pathetic. After the race, I should call her and ask for my balls back.

To make matters worse, I started humming
Purple Rain
, which wasn’t helping, so then I started belting out the lyrics at the top of my lungs. All of this did was remind me of a time when Sway was with me.

“How’s the car handling?” Kyle asked. “Did the wedge help?”

Instead of answering him, I belted out the lyrics as loud as I could while Aiden laughed.

“You’ve lost your mind!” Kyle laughed.

 “I know,” was my only answer because I had in fact lost my mind.

“Get your shit together Riley and win this race for me,” a soft voice ordered over the radio.

My face broke into a wide smile at those words. “Sway?”

She came for me. My girl came for me. If I didn’t already love this woman so much, I just fell in love all over again.

“Nope, it’s Mandy Moore, now stop butchering prince and bring me home some candy.” She giggled.

“That I can do, honey.”

After that I was on a mission to show my girl I could win this one for her and became the same hasty version of myself I could be on the track.

“Come on, bud.
Stay
focused.” Kyle insisted as I was ranting continuously about the slower cars in front of me. “Be patient.”

“Yeah right,” I mumbled. “Give me lap times.”

“Twenty seven last time, even with the leader,”

My heart was pounding vigorously battling with Harris for ninth. My car was awesome but I couldn’t get out of the traffic and Tate wasn’t giving an inch of room beside me. Not that expected him to.