Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (26 page)

I knew I had feelings for Sway but for the life of me, I couldn’t decipher what they meant to me. I wanted her but did it go beyond that?

Her body was amazing. I’ve always found Sway attractive but now, as she matured,
Jesus Christ
. There wasn’t a man alive that wouldn’t wish she was in his bed every night, including me.

The following weekend in Lernerville, Dunn and I still weren’t on speaking terms. It wasn’t uncommon for pit lizards to be hanging around our pit these days and the more races I ran, the more it occurred. It seemed there was at least a few hanging around at all times.

Before our heat races one brave girl made her way through the crowd gathered around while we made some adjustments to my car.

Sway was scrapping tires off to the side of the trailer with a hand held grinder but I could see her out of the corner of my eye from my spot on the ground under the car.

“Are you Jameson Riley?” Beside me, I could see Sway rolled her eyes.

Squinting into the bright sun, I made out her silhouette, tall, curvy, sexy I guess. It’d been a while since I’d had sex so naturally I looked. What man wouldn’t?

Tommy, being Tommy, made his way over before I could say anything.

“Hey there, what brings you over here?”

The girl laughed, twirling her hair on her fingertip. Rolling my eyes at Tommy and his flirting antics, I continued to change out my shocks. You’d think him and his orange hair wouldn’t catch the attention of girls but he could. I think they were all stunned at the bright hair or maybe felt back for him.

“I’m Lindsey.” She chimed, “I was hoping to meet Jameson.” She crouched down beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I examined her long tan legs. Her jean short appeared painted on and her shirt looked like it belonged to a toddler,
still
, I couldn’t avert my eyes away. I imagined how her legs would look wrapped around my waist or thrown over my shoulders.

Shit
.
Stop it you idiot.

Sway snorted and threw the grinder down beside her, walking away.

I sighed running my hand threw my hair. I had no idea what was wrong with Sway these days but lately, she’d become exceptionally annoyed at the pit lizards.

To be fair, they were annoying.

“Did you want an autograph or something?”

I didn’t have time for this.

“Well
...
” Lindsey bit down on her lip. “I was hoping for something a little more
personal
.”

I knew what she wanted, as did Tommy who let out a low whistle. I’d moved from under my car and leaned up against the right rear tire glaring in Tommy’s direction.

Lindsey being the standard pit lizard you’d find in the pits before a race; took no time at all to straddle my lap and whisper in my ear while slipping her number inside the front of my racing suit. “Come find me after the race darling.”

“Lindsey is it?” she nodded as I pulled her to stand up. “I’m sure you’re a nice girl but I have to be in Grand Rapids tomorrow night. I don’t have time.”

I turned away so she didn’t try again. I prided myself that I was starting to get the hang of this rejecting thing. With
time, maybe I could ignore myself, myself being the asshole
who
couldn’t stop thinking about his best friend being naked.

Lindsey left with Tommy after that, not sure where to and could care less. Since he and his girlfriend broke up, he and his orange hair were having a good time on the road.

After finishing up the adjustments on the car Scooter and I walked the track like I usually did, checking the surface. For the most part, he mostly quiet and understood that I was thinking. I liked to check the ruts and the coloring of the track. I knew if it was darkening, I would need to make air pressure and spring adjustments.

Kicking clay around I glanced over at the pit bleachers to see Sway and Dunn talking.

Scooter laughed when I glared in their direction. It was becoming pretty evident that I was protective of Sway and
everyone
, I mean
everyone
, mistook this as me having romantic feelings toward her. It wasn’t that. I just wanted her with someone who deserved her. None of these assholes did.

“Careful there, you don’t want to confuse the pit lizards.” Scooter remarked on our way back to the pits.

“Shut up,” I shot back defensively throwing my helmet at him.

The race couldn’t have gone any worse. My car was horrible and didn’t improve one bit throughout the seventy-five lap main event. I took my frustrations out on Dunn in front of me and with one lap to go I bumped him a little too hard and sent him into the marbles; he lost control and flipped his car a few times on the backstretch. I did not feel this was entirely my fault. He was the one that lost control, right?

After roughing up Dunn on the track, Sway came to find me.

“You’re being an asshole!” she told me while I opened my second beer.

I heard this a lot so it really didn’t mean anything any longer. It was just a fucking word.

Toward the end of October, the schedule for USAC was clear until the Perris Auto Week the first week in November. This left us running sprint cars and late models at local tracks whenever we found one. I was tired having run four nights a week for the past four months but I also knew I needed seat time in anything.

Emma had heard from a group of guys about a sprint car invitational taking place at a track outside of Republic, Washington called Eagle Racetrack. It is a 3/8 mile dirt track out in the middle of nowhere.

After getting lost for a good hour we almost turned around when we spotted a track on the side of the mountain. It was
literally
on the side of the mountain. There were no signs for the track at all. You came around the bend in the road and there it was.

It appeared they just decided while logging trees: “Hey, let’s build a track.”

And so they did.

I’d never seen something like this before. It was crazy.

There were no bleachers, just rusty metal pieced together. The flag stand was about eight pieces of plywood strung together in odd directions and the track; well, it looked as though they just mowed through the brush to create something resembling a track and then added clay.

Did I mention there were no guardrails, just trees?

I wasn’t positive that would end well.

After getting registered, Tommy and I walked the track with Ryder, Justin, and Cody. The dirt was dry, nearly sand, combined with rocks, maybe even boulders and there was a fucking ditch about two feet wide on the backstretch.

I was not impressed.

Dallas, an official I assumed by his black shirt that read, “Official” across the chest, walked up to us. He was an old worn out man with teeth just as worn.

We made small talk for a moment before he commented on my previous wins.

I’d never met anyone quite like Dallas and that was apparent when he said. “I hear
yous
good
,” in my direction, his toothless smile caused Spencer to take a step back and Sway to lean into my shoulder.

I didn’t answer right away and then he was off the other direction.

“Where’d he go to school? Sway whispered when he strolled away. “West Virginia?”

“Nah, I don’t think they have schools where he came from.” I replied.

Somewhere between the hillbilly announcer singing the national anthem and the eighty-year old trophy girl making ogle eyes at me I was began to understand why it was invitational only.

Emma refused to get out of the truck and spent the remainder of the night in there with the window up and doors locked.

They had no setup for the night and it just seemed like they were flying by the seat of their pants when Alley stepped in and asked if she could help them.

This got the night moving along because I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of here.

“Nice trailer,” Tommy snorted the direction of a homemade trailer pulling into what they called the pits. This was just another field of ditches and boulders.

Walking up to me with a basket of fries, Tommy laughed. I glanced over my shoulder after stealing a few. It looked like something out of Sanford and Son’s out here.

Not knowing what else to do, we made our way over to the pit bleachers.

Sway dropped down beside us to watch the modified heat races.

After glaring in Tommy’s direction, she kicked her feet up on the wooden step in front of her. Sighing, she took a long look behind us at the pits.

“This is just insane,” she finally said turning back around to look over at me. “Did you see that ditch on the back stretch? You could bury a body out there.” She glared at Tommy again.

They still weren’t seeing eye-to-eye after the staple incident.

I followed her gaze across the pits. Between the homemade haulers, roughed up drivers, and junky cars, it was apparent we were smack dab in the middle of
Deliverance
.

“No shit,” I muttered scrapping my hand across the make shift bleachers. A rusty nail snagged my index finger, tearing the skin open. “You had a tetanus shot lately?”

Sway nodded and looked down at my finger pricked with blood. “Have you?”

We sat up there for another twenty minutes as Dallas attempted to water the track with buckets.

“Where are you going?” I asked when Sway stood.

“To get beer.
I’ll be fine.” She sighed when I stood beside her. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Oh yes you do,” I challenged. “There are some
...
questionable people around here.”

“All right fine,” she motioned for me to turn around. “You’re carrying me then.”

After getting a beer for Sway, I was tempted to take one for myself but I never drank prior to a race so tonight wouldn’t be any different regardless of my sanity to get out there on the track.

Ryder and I decided to take some hot laps prior to qualifying. Once on the track, I was convinced this was a horrible idea and ready to pack up and leave.

Not only was there a ditch on the backstretch but some dumb fucker decided to put a knoll out there in front of it like it was some Supercross race.

That jump launched you a good two feet off the ground before you hit turn three. Being air-born in a sprint car was not something I enjoyed because it usually means I’m wrecking.

I was okay with the pebbles smacking my visor but when Ryder kicked up a few bowling ball sized rocks that his right rear unearthed, I began to wonder if I would die here tonight.

After ten laps, I had enough of the whoops and decided to park my car.

Since we arrived, Justin, Ryder, and I had attracted most everyone in the pits to come check out our cars. Judging by the appearance of their cars, I was sure they’d never seen any as nice as ours.

Two older men, Holden and Kenny, had migrated over to us and asked if they could pit for us.

Sway thought this would be entertaining so we agreed.

“Aren’t you supposed to swarm over here and change my tire?” I teased Holden when I pulled up to my hauler after the hot laps.

“Boy,
yous
been
watchin
’ too much NASCAR,” Holden laughed. “We old boys
ain’t
move that fast. Christ, Kenny could break a hip!”

Holden walked away laughing. Kenny stood beside me smiling as he had the entire afternoon. Kenny was just that happy. Why wouldn’t he be? He had all his teeth in a town most didn’t. It’s like he was royalty or something.

Sway walked past toward the concession, my eyes followed her until Kenny chuckled beside me.

“Oh, I get it.” He said spitting into his beer. “That your girl?”

“No, it’s not like that.” I said and then looked down to see spit on my shoe where he’d missed his cup. I almost gagged. I hated anything on my skin and spit on my shoe seemed to be something else that made me want to burn them.

“Yeah, but you wish.”

I just smiled despite my urge to remove my shoes.

Out of nowhere, he slapped the side of my head.

“Watch your speed out there, when there’s a cloud of smoke, stick to your line.” It was as though he was giving me the
Days of Thunder
speech.

I laughed gesturing to my car. “You wanna drive?”

“Fuck no,” he said. “
those
guys look crazy.”

They were crazy, that was noticeable when the heat races came around and they combined classes. Putting a group of sprint cars on a track with hobby stocks was something similar to running a bicycle next to a formula one car.

During the feature, I passed a road grader on the backstretch—an actual road grader. The worst part, they never threw the caution. Even after a flock of chicken came onto turn two and just sat there, still no caution flag.

It soon became a game between Justin and me to see how many chickens we could hit when we slid into the corners.