Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (48 page)

Miraculously, with some herculean self-control, I managed to pull away from her.

It took me a moment to calm my need and hormones but I did and finally looked down at her. Sway’s cheeks were flushed—her eyes half closed as she scrambled to sit up. “Sorry.” She mumbled running her hand through her long hair once.

I sighed heavily.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m sorry. I always attack you.”

“Well I’m not any better—you didn’t see me stopping you.”

“True.” I smiled.

We were both silent for a few minutes before I chuckled. No matter how hard I tried, I wanted her—it was undeniable.

“Are you tired?” I asked trying to turn the focus from my desire.

“Yeah,” she yawned.

“Come here.” I motioned for her to come closer. “You can sleep here.”

We did sleep. Surprisingly we only slept. I forgot how nice it felt to have her in my arms and the fact that she came to see me, made it so much better.

I barely had any time with all my sponsorship obligations but in the evenings I was able to hang out with Sway. The trip was so unexpected for her that she didn’t have time to get a hotel room so she stayed in the motor coach with me. I wasn’t complaining.

Tommy ended up sleeping on the couch a few nights before getting a hotel room with the rest of the team. I wasn’t the easiest person to stay with. Luckily, Sway found humor in my OCD tendencies, Tommy did not.

We hung out by the motor coach at night, usually Cal, my motor coach driver, cooked dinner for us. He was awesome. Anything you could dream of wanting to eat was stocked in the motor coach for us. Cal could throw down some wicked meals at the drop of a hat too. For a group of guys like ours, it was appreciated.

There wasn’t a lot of privacy between the motor coaches, but it also provided a sense of comradeship between the drivers.

Much like the team haulers, the motor coaches lined up side-by-side each other in the compound (different from the paddock where the haulers are located) which is a secured area for the drivers to stay that you had to show special passes to get in and don’t ever forget your pass.

Even if you are a well-known driver and dressed in a racing suit, they will not let you in without that pass. I did this once racing in the Busch series. I was not happy that I was dressed in my uniform and they still wouldn’t let me in just because I forgot my pass. I ended up having Spencer go get my pass. He took his sweet ass time and then when I showed the pass to the official, he made sure he called to the NASCAR hauler to make sure it was legit.

I wasn’t impressed.

The week seemed to fly by and before I knew if, it was time for the Duel 125’s that Thursday night.

I did good, placed fourth, which gave me a good start for the 500 on Sunday. Now I needed to prepare myself. This was the biggest race of my career. I knew that, as did everyone else, including the media but they had this habit of reminded me all week; everyone but Sway.

She was just there, constantly assuring me I could do this and offering her advice when I asked for it. Bobby and Tate were there too, offering up any pointers they had and helping me with drafting throughout the practice sessions. Like I said before, drafting was an art.

Chicane – Sway

Unlike pit road, where everything was business only, the garage area was slightly more laid back. You would often see a driver chatting with other drivers or goofing around with one another. With the Riley Racing team, there was a lot of goofing around.

“No, Spencer. That’s the wrong size splitter.” Aiden took the splitter from him and handed him another one.

I had never met Aiden until this week and I already loved the country boy and saw why Emma was so attracted to him. Not that I was attracted to him physically because I wasn’t—I just found him completely fascinating. I never knew someone with his analytical thinking and found myself instigating it just as much as Jameson and Spencer did.

The garage was filled with cars, each lined up side-by-side with their respective numbers identified above each bay. Jameson’s team was making some last minute adjustments before the final practice sessions. Harry and Kyle hunched over the hood making notes on their clips boards and checking temperatures. I contemplated leaving. I couldn’t handle Jameson saying the word piston stroking again—once was enough.

Tony checked air pressure readings while Shane and Josh made sure everyone had the tools they needed.

“That’s not the right one.” Jameson handed them the correct splitter and Aiden took it and gave Spencer the other one again. “If you do that again, I’ll punch you in the face.”

“According to the rules, that’s the right one,” Spencer pointed to the splitter on the floor next to the rear tires. “Both of you numb-nuts are wrong.”

Jameson sighed and shook his head.

I kept watching them humorously from the doorway for about three more minutes before Spencer noticed me.

“There you are.” He turned to face me. “Tell this asshole he was wrong.”

“I’m not getting in the middle of this.” I wrapped an arm around Jameson.

 “Okay, get your hands off so that we can finish this.” Aiden pulled us apart. “You still need to test this out.”

“Save me,” Jameson mouthed as Aiden pushed him to the other side of the car.

I just waved and went back to the motor coach to find Emma.

Daytona was such a large venue that it was easy to get lost, as I did. Inside the race loop there was the garage area that I just came from. The restricted garage area is where all the cars are kept and worked on throughout the race weekend.

Once again, you needed a special pass to walk through that area. NASCAR was big on passes that’s for sure. Everywhere you walked someone was asking to see your pass.

I learned quickly there were three types of passes. You needed either a hot pass which took you everywhere; a cold pass that took you to the garage area and pit lane prior to the race; and then there was a one-time walk through pass that allowed you a walk through the garage area prior to the race and then you were kicked out.

This weekend I was sporting a hot pass so I was able to go everywhere. This is how I got lost.

I saw the sign for the garage area sign-in. So basically—I just went in a loop. Then I saw the NASCAR hauler. NASCAR hauled around a big red hauler that served as the official’s command post as well as sign in for the drivers. This was also the principal’s office as I referred to it. If a driver was ever summoned to the NASCAR hauler to discuss his actions, this is where he went.

I spotted Tommy’s orange hair when I walked past the hauler and sighed in relief. Before I could get to him a tall raven haired woman approached me.

“Excuse me Miss?” she said with a smile that I was sure I would only ever see on a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

“Yes,” I replied and kept walking toward Tommy.

“Are you Jameson Riley’s girlfriend or something?” she glanced down at the pass around my neck. “Oh, you have a paper pass.”

“Paper what?” I looked down at the pass blowing with the slight breeze in the air. “And no, I’m just a friend.” My eyes focused on the pass around her neck, it appeared to be a hard plastic pass with the words press across it and her picture.

“Oh, okay.” She said with another smile and then walked away as if nothing just happened.

Tommy spotted me and ran up to me. “Hey, I thought I lost you.”

“You did.”

“Who was that?” I glanced behind me and saw her walk inside the media center. “She said I was paper.”

“Paper?”

“Yes, paper.”

Tommy looked more confused than me at what just occurred until Emma found us.

“Hey,” Emma smiled. “Jameson is looking for you.”

“What’s paper?” we both asked Emma noticing the pass around her neck was a hard plastic like a credit card.

“Oh, some passes are temporary so they’re paper. They only get you in this weekend. If you have a hard pass, like this one,” she held the pass up. “It gets you into every race. You don’t have to stand at the credential sign in. You just walk right in after you show them the pass.”

That made sense but why did that woman make a big deal out of it. I was only here for the weekend. Naturally, I wouldn’t need a hard pass.

“Is that some sort of status thing among women?” I asked Emma as we walked back to the compound area.

“I’ve heard it is. Most of the drivers bring girls to the races and give them paper passes for the weekend. Some of the wives and girlfriends around here believe you’re just a pit lizard with a pass until you get the hard card. They’re expensive so obviously a driver doesn’t just shell them out to just anyone and the owners are the only people authorized to purchase them.”

“So she thinks I’m a pit lizard?”

“Pretty much,” Emma replied like this was no big deal. I was less than pleased but when you think about
it,
I guess I was kind of a pit lizard these days. Sure, I wasn’t trashy like most of them but I didn’t follow Jameson around like he was the mythical idolized creature he was to me.

Pathetic.

Tommy laughed when we entered the motor coach mumbling something about me being a pit lizard. He didn’t get to finish his sentence though. My fist in his stomach ensured that.

I did a little more observing into those so called, “Plastic Passes” the women seem preoccupied with and found out there were two different passes as Emma indicated that either the wives or the girlfriends wore. If the woman was a permanent fixture in the driver or team’s life, they got a hard plastic pass that had their name, picture and what team they were with.

I wasn’t sure what that chick wanted when she asked me if I was his girlfriend and then observed my pass but these last few days I was constantly being asked if I was his girlfriend by the other driver’s girlfriends and wives. I gave them all the same answer, “Just friends” when I wanted to say “Touch him and die.”

The whole pass thing was enough but really, did everyone have to constantly ask and then stare at the paper pass around my neck? Talk about a bunch of superficial bitches.

The night before the race, Cal fixed dinner for everyone. Grandpa Casten had showed up, which made life interesting to say the least.

Jameson had been a little fidgety with everyone around, but he did well as long as I held his hand. This didn’t go unnoticed by old Casten either when he elbowed Jameson in the side as we sat outside the motor coach.

“Taken the old dermal tool to the crankcase huh?” he smiled nudging his shoulder with his elbow.

I choked on my beer, as did Jameson.
“Grandpa!”

“Hey, back in my day
...
” he paused for a moment and then smiled. “Hell, I don’t remember what I was going to say.”

“I think that’s enough whiskey for one night there dad.” Jimi suggested removing the flask from his hand. Casten grumbled for a moment but I think he knew he’d had
enough,
he was starting to fall asleep.

“What a de
...
mal?” Lane asked looking up at Jameson who was holding him.

Jameson snickered, Alley slapped the back of Grandpa’s head and Spencer choked on his beer. Little Lane was almost three now and asked
lots
of questions. Last night, he asked Jameson why he was an asshole. Jameson had no response I might add.

“You know back in my day
...
” he paused. He did that a lot and most of the time he forgot what he was even saying when he spoke again, as you can see.

“When was that grandpa? Back when they still had wagons?” Spencer said with a smile knowing damn well this would piss him off. “Now tell me, when was it that they went to a rubber tire as opposed to wood?”

“Oh fuck you Spencer.” He grumbled and then spilt his coffee Jimi gave him down the front of him.