Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (63 page)

“I know
...
I just think there’s something more to it this time.”

His arm slung around my shoulder. “It’s adorable when you’re protective.” He bit down on his lower lip and I knew where it was heading again.

“No,” I held up my hand walking away. “I’m not doing it in the woods again.”

“There you go with the
rules
again.” He kicked at the rocks again. “So many rules,”

“I still have splinters in my ass!” I reminded him. “So yes, I have a fucking rule now. No trees. And did you forget what happened with the cougar?”

That shut him right up.

“Is that why you and Chelsea broke up?” I asked after a few moments of silence when my curiosity got the better of me.

He was quiet for a minute as though he was deciding
what
he wanted to say or maybe how to say it. “That
...
among
...
other things.” His eyes focused in the distant. “We just weren’t right for
each other
.” I knew by the way he insinuated each other, he meant me.

“I for one
...
am glad you guys broke up.”

“Me too,” He agreed kissing my head.

It took a long time but eventually the tow truck came, towed away the skunk Subaru and took us back home.

Jameson and I sat on the tailgate of the red dragon, letting the car ventilate and avoiding the Lucifer twins.

“We are
definitely
not buying that one.” He pointed towards the car. There were scratches all over it, the hood was dented and it smelled. “That car is awful if not for the smell but the luck last night.”

“No doubt,” I agreed. I loved the way he said we, it made me feel like we were a
real
couple. Not that we weren’t a
real
couple now but sometimes, I just liked that little bit of reassurance that he was referring to us as we.

After all, we were going steady and I was his Joanie.

16.
            
Restrictor Plate
–
Sway

Restrictor Plate – This is a thin metal plate with four holes that restrict airflow from the carburetor into the engine. It’s used to reduce horsepower and keep speeds down at larger tracks. The restrictor plates are currently used at Daytona International Speedway and Talladega Superspeedway.

Jameson and I were heading into a busy month of Racing. Sitting there on the tailgate of the smooshed red dragon, we discussed the next few weeks and how often we’d get to see each other.

He was scheduled to leave tomorrow afternoon for Juliet. Then after the race Saturday night, he had to fly to New Richmond for the World of Outlaw race, then to Lima Ohio for an appearance, and then he had to be back here next Thursday for the start of the Northern Sprint Tour.

It would be a busy two weeks, that’s for sure.

“Let’s go to dinner.” Jameson said abruptly, jumping down from the tailgate. “I’m hungry.”

That sounded like a good time. Aiden and Emma were already heading home to Mooresville, which meant we would be alone, even better.

“Where do you want to go?” We didn’t have much to choose from here in Elma Washington. We had the Rusty Tractor and that was about it.

“Ranch House,” Jameson answered nodding his head. There was one thing Jameson loved almost as much as racing, barbeque. “I haven’t been there in years.”

“Nice choice.”

It didn’t take long to get there, maybe fifteen minutes and with Jameson in tow, we got a seat right away. It paid to have a superstar for a boyfriend—you never had to wait in line for anything. Even though I held a certain amount of reserve for this ability of being served right away because of your social status, I’ll admit, it had its perks.

“What are you going to order?” I asked sitting across from him at a table in the corner.

The Ranch House was a small barbeque restaurant on the side of Highway 8 in Olympia. They had the best barbeque around, no lie. And I would
kill
over their potato salad any day.

“I think I’m getting the beef ribs.” Jameson replied with a big smile, rubbing his belly in anticipation. “Definitely the beef ribs.”

“You’re showing an awful lot of excitement for food.”

“I just spent the night in the woods with no food.” He gave me a folly glare. “I’m hungry. And did I mention that bear ate my damn Twinkies?”

“Yes, you may have mentioned that a
few
times already.”

Jameson giving almost every person in the restaurant his autograph and talking racing with all the men occupied most of the time waiting for our food.

In my mind, it was hardly a date. I’ve grown to realize that this would be our life though. It would always be this way for us and I understood that as I grew up around this type of public adoration with other racers and saw it first had with Jimi.

I felt bad for Jameson at times though, it can’t be easy. He knew when he chose this as his profession, this came with the job. At least he could still go out in public—most celebrities couldn’t even do that these days.

One particular man had been standing there talking to him for fifteen minutes while Jameson’s food was getting cold.

He gave him his time to talk and then very politely said, “It was nice meeting you sir, but I’m actually on a date here with this beautiful woman.” Jameson stood to shake his hand. “I should show her the attention she deserves.” He said with a wink towards me.

“Oh—sorry,” The man apologized with sincerity. “It was nice meeting you, Jameson. Good luck this weekend at Chicagoland.” He turned towards me. “I’m sorry for disrupting your evening ma’am.”

I waived my hand around. “It’s no problem.” I told him with a mouth full of potato salad, hardly attractive.

Jameson laughed. “You’re adorable.” He said softly and began eating his ribs.

Once he began, I couldn’t focus on anything other than him eating. The way he licked his fingers, the incredibly sexy way he chewed.

Hot damn.

It was like some sort of food pornography.

I wanted to jump across the table, hump his leg and then lick all that sticky barbeque sauce from him.

And I’ll be damned if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing with the smirk on his face. He knew all right.

“How’s your brisket?” Jameson asked licking barbeque sauce from his thumb.

“Stop doing that.” I glowered at him taking a bite of my brisket.

He smirked licking the other thumb. “Doing what?”

“You’re distracting me. All I can focus on is you licking your fingers.”

Jameson leaned forward, his breath blow across me when he spoke. “Are you imagining what all my tongue can do for you?”

“No, not at all,” I lied calmly. “I’m enjoying my meal.”

“Bullshit.” He called my bluff. “I know you find this hot.” He ran his sticky barbeque finger over my lower lip. “You bite down on your bottom lip when you’re horny.”

“Do not.” I stated releasing my bottom lip.

He chuckled softly leaning back in his seat and placed his napkin on the table. Jameson glanced around the room, then turned his head to the side and smiled again. “I got something to distract you.”

The pervy pigizzle in me wanted to drop to my knees under the table and see exactly what he had to distract me. I refrained only because this was his favorite restaurant and I’d like to be allowed to return.

Taking a slow drink of water, trying to distract him and myself, I asked. “And what would that be?”

“When are you going to marry me?” His green eyes smoldered.

Say what?

I instantly started choking on the water I had ingested; choking to the point of my face was the devils ass again, gasping for much needed air.

Jameson moved next to me rubbing my back. “Breath honey
...
just breath,”

“I
...
”
cough
. “Am
...
”
cough
. “Trying
...
”
cough
.

The entire restaurant all gawked at me. And though they all seemed genuinely concerned, it was still incredibly embarrassing. I wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

Jameson wrapped his arm around me, leaning into my ear, effectively blocking everyone’s view of me.

It was a simple gesture that I appreciated very much at that point.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered. “and that
wasn’t
my proposal. I may be a jerk but I
can be
romantic. I just want you to know that I am going to marry you, someday. I have every intention of spending the rest of my life, with you.”

“Did you get that from a
Hallmark
card?” My voice was hoarse from all the coughing.

“No, it’s my feelings.” He responded with so much sincerity that I started crying. In the middle of the damn restaurant, with Jameson’s arms wrapped around me, I was bawling.

“Come on, honey.” Jameson lugged me closer. “Let’s get out of here. I want to take you somewhere special.”

“Not the woods.” I responded instantly. “Please not the woods.”

“No
...
not the woods
...
I’m not sure I will
ever
go camping again.”

“Me either,”

“Where are we going?” I asked when he pulled off Cloquallum onto a private dirt road.

“We are going to the first place I kissed you.”

I was quiet for a moment trying to recall the first time we kissed. There were a number of occasions growing up that Jameson had locked lips, back then it never led to anything, just kids being kids and experimenting.

“Where was that?”

Jameson’s hand rose to his heart. “I’m hurt you don’t remember.”

I watched curiously as we drove through Elma, wondering which time it was.

There was a few kisses that I distinctively remembered but I remembered my first French kiss most of all, because it was with him. We were thirteen; we had just spent the day swimming out at Summit Lake. Now I don’t even remember how it happened but we saw Spencer kissing his girlfriend at the time, so we decided to try it. I thought it was strange, wet, and sloppy.

When Jameson turned down his parent’s old driveway, I remembered instantly where our first kiss took place.

I hadn’t been there in a while, not for a couple years at least. They kept the house in Elma but his aunt Mary was living there now. The grass that was usually kept cut short during the summer, was now overgrown shadowing the long paved driveway. The tree we used to climb near the gates was still there, hanging across the creek as it always had.