Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (52 page)

“How can it be more obvious?” Aiden laughed. “Spencer is standing on the wall.”

I glanced toward the wall to see Spencer waving his arms over his large egg shaped head. “Pace car is at pit road speed.”

I checked my RPM’s. “Four thousand second gear.”

“Let’s have
a good race boys
,” Jimi said. “It’s a long day, stay
focused
.”

“Lights are out,
comin
’ to the green.” Aiden announced and my mouth was suddenly dry and that panic attack feeling had returned.

My entire body seemed to be jittery and uncontrollable, I couldn’t understand the feelings I was having so I took a few deep breaths, pulled on my belts once more and griped the steering wheel. I was lined up fourth in the second row behind Tate on the outside. Guess who was beside me?

Yep, Darrin, in the number
fourteen
.

“Watch you’re shift.” Kyle said. “Harris lags back on the
restarts,
you saw that in the Duels.”

The problem with lagging back on tracks like Daytona was that you have forty-two other drivers setting pace by your car when you’re the leader. When you lag back so do they. Sure, those first few cars see what you’re doing back the back half can’t. It’s an easy way to get smashed into from behind on the restarts and the last thing you want to do is get bumped when you’re trying to get up to speed and miss a shift or something
similar,
or worse, hit the car in front of you and smash in the nose. Aerodynamics were everything at Daytona, mess that up and you can pretty much forget your changes at the front. Not only will you not be able to cut a hole in the air needed to draft but you won’t be able to draft with anyone else. You need to be able to get right on them, the nose of your car pushed against their bumper so if you’re car is torn up, the contact will be harder to reach and maintain.

So there I was trying to anticipate Tate’s jump on the line. I shifted into third when we came out of three.

Aiden came on the radio.

“Keep coming, flag’s in his hand. Keep coming
...
keep coming
...
” Tate did what I expected, lagging back but I had it timed and came off the line just as strong, if not stronger.
“Green flag!”

“Inside on the line, even with you,” Aiden guided me into the first turn.

This went on for a few laps; Darrin remained on my inside while I worked with Tate on the outside. His car was stronger than Bobby’s though so we were able to keep in front of them. Once the green flag had dropped, the nerves left and I felt like the same fixated single-minded guy I always was on the track. I led a little and did exactly what Kyle had told me to do; I stayed focused and smooth. As with any temper sensitive track, conditions began to change after about a hundred laps and the adjustments we made just didn’t help.

“Can you see the air?” Kyle joked at one point.

“I can barely see the goddamn gauges, let alone air.” I mumbled.

That got a chuckle out of both Aiden and Kyle.

I was trying desperately to hang on to my vibrating race car. I was fine in the draft but once I would get in front my car slid all over the place. It was apparent I wasn’t going to be leading this race. No matter what we changed, the car wouldn’t tighten up and if there is no scarier feeling on a track than when you reach speeds near two hundred and it’s loose.

It never got better but I managed to hang onto it and pull through with a third place finish. Again, I wanted to win but it goes back to so did forty-two other guys.

 During the cool-down lap, Kyle picked then to provoke me. “What’s the matter, couldn’t hang onto it?”

“Obviously I did hang onto it.” I snapped. “I finished didn’t I?”

“Well yeah, but third
...
I thought for sure you could win.”

“If you keep talking, I’m pretty sure I’m going to kick your ass when the race is over.”

“You’re all talk.”

“Really?
You’re gonna test me, huh?”

“Let’s see what you got Riley.” Kyle teased laughing.

I wasted no time at all in climbing out of that car to kick his ass. I failed to realize that Kyle was about the size of a black bear so my chances were slim.

The media got a kick out of the wrestling match, as did the rest of our team. It’s not like two guys pushing and shoving each other in the pits wouldn’t go unnoticed in a sport that thrived on temper tantrums from drivers but this was all in good fun.

In the end, we laughed and he responded with, “I knew you had your hands full out there.” He slapped the back of my head and then bounced on the balls of his feet like a boxer then ruffled my hair. “You’re an awesome wheel man.”

After our childish wrestling, the rest of the team congratulated me as did
Sway
.

Reporters were standing by but I didn’t care at that point. I wrapped my sweaty exhausted arms around her, pulling her against my chest tightly.

“You stink.” She giggled but made no attempt to pull away.

“I just raced hours in a car that was well over a hundred degrees inside.”

“You still stink
...
but I never said it bothered me.”

“In that case
...
” I grinned wickedly and wiped my face against hers. I could feel the wetness on my face when I got out of the car so I knew damn well that was now all over her.

“Jerk face.” She snapped pulling away from me. I let go this time.

“Jerk face?” I chuckled brushing a towel over my neck.

“Yes, I said jerk face.”

It was hard to respond after that as the media
was wanting
their interviews from the rookie driver who just placed third in his first cup race.

I gave them what they wanted, interviews, one cookie-cutter interview after the next. Finishing in the top three meant another round of press known as the Contenders Conference. This was a press conference held for the media to ask questions of the driver, crew chief and car owner, as though the interviews after the race weren’t enough. If you haven’t noticed by now, I did not like interviews.

After the race, most of the team had flown back to the shop to get ready for California next week.

My family decided to go to dinner together since it was rare that we were all in the same city at the same time. We ended up going to an Italian restaurant in Daytona Beach by the name of The Cellar restaurant.

A few of the other drivers told us it was good and usually wasn’t crawling with pit lizards as were most of the bars in the area.

When my Grandpa decided to tell stories about me learning to be potty trained, I wasn’t impressed. This is exactly why I did not enjoy my family.

I was not laughing, not even a little when the subject turned toward an obsessed fan who asked if I’d sign her inner thigh. Ordinarily, I would have said “Sure, why not” but something about my mother and Nana sitting at the table struck me as not the time or place for that sort of thing.

And don’t think Spencer didn’t notice because he did, laughing like the goddamn idiot I always knew him to be.

Diffuser – Sway

There are a few things I’ve learned about Jameson over the years.

He never sits still, and I mean that. Even while sleeping he’s constantly moving. Sleeping next to him is similar to sleeping with an overactive toddler.

He is always thinking of racing. He can be having an in-depth conversation with someone about politics (not likely but you never know) and that boy is thinking of racing in some way or form I guarantee it.

And lastly, if there is a lastly, his phone was always ringing.

His phone rang twenty-six times during the two-hour dinner we had with his family. Not once did he answer it but still the fact that he couldn’t actually have a meal without someone wanting something was evidence that this lifestyle was trying.

I could tell it bothered him when his Nana was speaking and she could hear the vibrating of his phone. He finally got to the point he simply turned it off.

It was nice being around his family again and they did nothing but make me feel like one of them. I will say that his Nana made me feel a little strange when she caught me in the bathroom and said, “Oh sugar, when are you going to marry that handsome grandson of mine?”

“Spencer is married already Nana.” I told her squeezing her.

I had a problem with squeezing elderly people. They were just so damn adorable to me that I squeezed them.

Nana pulled back, her pretty-blue eyes glazed over. “My dear, I’m speaking of Jameson.”

I knew that, I was just buying my time, thinking of a lie I could tell her.

“Uh
...
I
...
shit,” was about all I could articulate at that moment as Emma barged into the bathroom.

She started fussing with Nana’s curls so I made my getaway.

When I got back to the table, Jameson was ready to go. I think he was exhausted for one and Casten was on his fifth whiskey. To save
himself
the brunt of embarrassment, we left.

Cal drove the motor coach to Rockingham and Jameson was tired so all of us just ended up getting a hotel room for the night in Daytona Beach. I had to fly out in the morning so this was my last night with him. Thoughts of raping the poor boy came back when we ended up in bed together.

With Emma, Alley, Spencer and Aiden in the room, I wasn’t able to. Not that I would have. I’m pretty chicken-shit when it comes to this but the idea was still there.

I think he had some of the same ideas because when the lights went out, his rough calloused hands explored, as did mine and we ended up kissing again and doing some more touching. The thought wasn’t lost on me that we were both extremely horny and needing relief.

But with each other, that was dangerous.

Our friendship was intense and to cross a line like that whether there were feelings involved or not, it was dangerous. Jameson never showed anything but sexual attraction toward me though and it didn’t appear emotional.

His hands moved quietly, his kisses were soft and tender and before I knew it, I was crying and he knew it.

In a gesture attempting to comfort me, he dragged me against his chest. I could still smell the lasting hints of the race on his skin, mixing with the salt from tears. My body shook in silent sobs as he held me tightly. We never spoke but we also never let go all night. Regardless of my crying for no apparent reason, I never felt more tranquil as I did with him.

Being with him this week made me realize how much I missed him.

I missed the warmth of his body against mine at night. I missed the smell of him, sandalwood and honey mixed with methanol and dirt. I missed watching him race in person and the exciting thrill I got seeing him take the checkered flag or doing a burnout. I missed the smell of the car after a race. The way
he
smelled when he finished a race and would pull me into a hug before he showered, albeit covered in sweat, I didn’t mind.

I missed being in the pits, wondering where he was and then he appeared out of nowhere to put his arm around me, the warm feeling I got
—feeling like I belonged to him
.

Nothing was the same without him.

I missed my life.

But mostly, I missed
him.
I missed my life with him. It had been nearly a year since we last saw each other
—
a year since I’d felt the impossible strength of his arms wrapping around me and the way his warm touch felt against my skin and that’s why I was crying.

Now that I was finally here, surrounded by him—I didn’t want to let him go again.

I knew why Jameson wanted me around. I was like a security blanket for him as he was for me. We knew each other and that was comforting.

The next morning, it was hard to say goodbye.

“You sure you want to leave?” he asked in a voice mixed with annoyance and uncertainty.

The only reaction I had
was
to nod and look at the pavement because I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t look at him
either because if I did and I saw the sadness, I wouldn’t leave and
I needed to.

He took the first step forward so I followed and wrapped my arms around him, fisting his shirt in my fist. “Promise me something Jameson?” I whispered against his shoulder and he nodded his head. I slowly pulled away from him, and without trying to hide the tears falling from my face, I finally looked up at him. “Promise me you won’t change.”

“I will always be who I am right now, Sway.” He whispered leaning in again.

He pulled me into another hug and I let myself get lost in him. His scent, the way his concrete arms felt around me, and the way his heart sounded with my head pressed to his chest.