Open Wheel – Cars that have no fenders with exposed wheels. Examples would be midgets, sprint cars, and Silver crown.
“These questions are damn near offensive,” Spencer said next to me.
“You mean intrusive?” I asked looking over the forms and then signing where it said patient’s signature. Tucking the pen into the clipboard, I handed it back to the nurse and looked at Spencer.
He thought for a minute and then nodded handing his own forms over. “Yeah, intrusive,”
Spencer was starting to sweat. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know, man,” he tossed his phone on the table next to him. “What if they slip?”
“Hell, now you’re freaking me out.”
Getting a vasectomy wasn’t what I had planned for my Monday but when Sway asked me for another baby the other day, I decided it was time. Imagine the trouble a fourth kid could get into?
Spencer, the good supporting brother I always knew him to be when I needed him, decided it was time he was cut, too, when Alley thought she was pregnant last month. Being in their mid-forties, adding more kids wasn’t ideal for them either. That was how we ended up at Dr. Welling’s office in downtown Charlotte.
He stepped from his office ready to take me back when Spencer patted my back. “Good luck, brother.”
Looking back at him I mustered a smile “Yeah, you too.”
I wouldn’t lie. I was petrified.
Dr. Welling looked amused, “Two for one special today boys?”
I wasn’t exactly okay with the doctor making jokes right before he would be taking a scalpel to my manhood. I wanted him to be professional and focused. Was that too much to ask for?
He worked quickly and I appreciated that but I felt like I was about to give birth or something with the way he had me positioned, and, honestly, I think I fainted when I saw the scalpel heading toward my gears because I don’t remember much else.
Afterward, I sat in the waiting room with ice on my gears when Spencer came stumbling out. “Goddamn, these are good drugs!” he pumped a bottle in the air and smiled.
Turned out, that bottle was good. Four hours later and two beers, we were feeling pretty good and pulling one over on Aiden and his lawn.
“Man, must be the soil.” Aiden scratched his head squinting into the sun when I saw him some three hours later. Spencer and I had decided a good ol’ tractor race would be a great idea to help take our minds off our gears. “But I don’t understand. Yours looks good. How do you get it to look like that?”
“Because I’m awesome,” I started the tractor and took off before my smile gave me away.
Spencer met me around the corner, laughing. “He can’t really be that dumb, can he?”
“Apparently he is,” I smiled. “I’m gonna head home now. I think I saw Sway and Alley come back from shopping. I’m hoping they bought food.”
“Cool man,” Spencer started his own tractor. “See ya tomorrow.” He tipped his hat and sped off down the gravel road.
Sway greeted me in the garage. “How’s the gears feelin’, champ?”
“Sore.” Taking the keys out of the tractor, I jumped down and then regretted the move when I felt the pain between my legs. “Wanna give them some love?”
“Isn’t that frowned upon in your condition?”
“Who cares?”
“I’m sure you will when they swell up and you can’t walk.”
I stopped at the door and looked over my shoulder at her as we entered the house. “I’m not allowed to have sex? That’s dumb.”
“I think you probably could ...” Sway hinted setting bags of groceries on the counter and then handing me a bag of frozen corn and gave me a little shake of her hips with a big grin, “… but I’m sure they would swell up with the motions.”
“Did you have your balls taken off today?”
“Why is she here today?” I groaned watching Rosa walk in carrying a few bags.
Rosa pushed a bag into my chest. “Go help with the bags.”
“Go clean the house and maybe I’ll help carry groceries.”
Rosa and I looked at Sway when she laughed. “You two are so cute together.”
“Don’t encourage her,” I moaned heading into the family room with my bottle of pills and frozen corn.
When they finished putting the groceries away, Sway made dinner and Rosa found the need to watch Monday night football with me. It was the first night in a long time I was able to watch football, and since the Seahawks were on I was watching the game. Being a born and raised Washington native, I still cheered for all the local teams back home.
“This is boring.” Rosa then burped and pounded her chest before cracking open another beer. “Let’s watch a movie.”
“Again Rosa, shouldn’t you be cleaning?”
“Oh yeah, probably, I’m just not feeling it today. It’s hot.”
“We have air conditioning.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she gestured to her chest. “This place is like a fucking sauna. I have a pool of sweat between my tits.”
“Stop talking about your tits.”
“Jameson,” her face appeared concerned, her hand held to her chest. “I’m sensing some aggression. Maybe we should get counseling.”
“I do have aggression because I pay you to sit around. But you and I don’t need to get along, therefore, we don’t need counseling. Go clean.”
“Nah,” she kicked her legs up next to mine and stole my beer. “Maybe later, let’s finish this game.”
Rosa and I watched the rest of the game, the Seahawks lost by one touchdown to the Bears. After that ESPN went on to discuss the upcoming NASCAR race. We had just finished out our regular series and moved into the chase format where the top twelve in points battled for the championship. We were coming up on the third race of ten and I was running fourth with only five points separating the top five drivers. The next race on the schedule was the Monster Million and I think all of us were looking forward to it. I know I was.
Rosa, still sitting next to me, had a thing for the new rookie driver Brody Williams. Who didn’t have a thing for him? Thankfully, my wife didn’t but almost anyone under twenty-five drooled over him and his blue eyes. They said the same thing about Rager too.
“He’s so adorable,” Rosa gushed as if he was a puppy. “Look at those eyes!”
“Hey, I’m adorable, too,” I said looking over at Rosa. Sway was sitting across from us curled up reading a book. She laughed when Rosa reached over to pinch my cheek.
“You are more sexy than adorable,” she said to me winking.
Sway looked up over her book. “I think you’re adorable, baby.”
I winked at Sway adjusting my bag of corn. “And I think you’re sexy.”
Rosa laughed at us before turning our attention back to the television.
“So Brody,” Ashley Conner, a FOX news reporter and woman who constantly sought out young talent for her bed, interviewed Brody in their studio. It was evident by their touches Brody knew very well what that bed looked like, too. “How do you feel about your first season in the Cup series, and in the chase? Do you think you can pull off a championship title in your first season?”
“Oh, I think I can,” Brody replied with his usual cocky attitude. “If Riley can, I think that I can.”
What a cocky asshole!
“Are you sure about that?” Ashley gave him a sultry look, Sway huffed at the screen rolling her eyes. “Jameson Riley’s been the only driver to date to win the championship in his rookie year.”
Brody, still cocky, laughed. “I think what this series needs is less guys like Riley and more of us younger boys who make the series look young and fresh. I’m not saying Riley isn’t good but I think the sport has moved in a different direction.”
“What the fuck is he talking about?” I grumbled in frustration.
“Do you feel he’s lost his Rowdy Way?”
Again, Brody laughed. “I think as long as you are not Darrin Torres, you’re safe.”
I turned the television off and looked at Sway. “Why is it that people never forget? They remember everything I’ve ever said over the years in the event they can come back at me with it. They’ll do anything to remind me.”
Sensing the shift in my mood, Sway tossed her book aside. “Come on, champ.” Her tiny hands reached out to grasp me. “Let’s go give your gears some lovin’.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” I tossed my frozen corn at Rosa who was still drinking beer. “Go clean, Rosa.”
She put the frozen corn down her shirt. “Nah, I’m gonna watch a movie.”
“Why do we pay her?”
Sway laughed leading me upstairs to our room, “Because she’s funny.”
Though Sway was good at taking my mind off the news, I still couldn’t get over the fact that no one would ever forget the Darrin deal. They used every chance they could to bring it up again and I hated it. I wanted to forget it. Ultimately it was my own doing. I went after him. I took the law into my own hands when they did nothing to protect my family. Though I was never charged with anything, Darrin was never found and the assumption was still there by everyone, media included.
The thing was, as public sports figures, our lives are like open wheel race cars. We’re subjected to everything the outside world wants to throw at us. Like an open wheel car, we had to be careful how close we get to other cars and how closely we race with others. Just a shift of an inch in the wrong direction surrounded by others and you’re in the catch fence.
Heading into the Monster Million, Spencer had to have knee surgery and wasn’t cleared to be pitting for me just yet. I wasn’t excited to have him gone for the simple fact that it was a race that gave the pit crews a rare chance at recognition, something they rarely got. I will say that the way the sport had advanced over the years. They received far more public recognition than they had ever seen in the past. Nowadays they were introduced to the crowd before races, had their names on their uniforms and even interviewed them before and after races much like the drivers, crew chiefs, and owners.
With Spencer recovering from knee surgery, I was confident I wouldn’t be finding any glitter bombs in my helmet that weekend or my shoelaces cut, or worse, shoe polish on my sunglasses. I missed the asshole but I was surprisingly relaxed. It was strange not having him there. Every Cup race I have raced in, Spencer has been there to raise my window net.
I flew out to Dover, Delaware, on Thursday morning with Bobby and Paul. The crew arrived later that afternoon, as did my family. I wasn’t sure why Spencer chose to stay home but if I had to guess, it might have been from the knee surgery and a vasectomy in the same week.
Who did come with us, everyone else! We had most of our family, including the kids, aside from Axel and Lane who were in Las Vegas for the Supercross/Freestyle championships. The majority of the sprint car guys made it out and most of the boys at the shop came, including Grady. Up until now, Grady had never been with us to a NASCAR event. This gave me a chance to see how he was doing and if I could trust him enough to be doing jobs other than just fabrication and cleaning bolt on parts.
Grady kept busy with the crew trying to help in any way he could, but the troublemakers seemed to be Casten and Cole. No surprise there. Since they arrived, I think I had smacked Casten upside the head five times and even got Cole once or twice. Cole stayed clear of me most of the time. He claimed I was unstable. True but it still amused me.
Cole and Casten, looking for girls, were hanging around the hauler right before the meet-and-greet where all the drivers mingled with the fans in the stands and tried to persuade them to vote for us. I wasn’t exactly excited about the meet-and-greet but understood the benefits. Last year I was chosen because I signed a woman’s tits. No one confirmed that but I like to think it sealed the deal for me. Let me rephrase the way I said “signing her tits.” I didn’t sign her bare chest or anything, but I had done that in the past, only it was my wife, and that was beside the point. I was there in the infield last year, rousing the fans when a woman in her mid-thirties asked me to sign her chest. She said if I did, she’d get everyone to vote for me. What kind of driver would I be if I didn’t agree?
She not only got my signature but she got a half-dozen other drivers to do it and we were all chosen, too.
Tate chuckled, his hands reached up to adjust his Donco Oil hat, as we walked to the infield from the paddock. “Do you think that chick that had us sign her tits is here this year?”
Bobby came up behind us throwing his arms around our shoulders. “If she is, gentlemen, I will be finding her!”
Casten and Cole jetted past us heading for the infield. “Dude, where’s the chick with her tits hanging out?”
“Please stop him,” Alley asked annoyed with Cole as her and Sway caught up to us as well. Most of the families tagged along to this particular meet-and-greet. “I don’t want to see my kid on the news again anytime soon.”
Alley was referring to the street fire incident. Alley had been out of town visiting her parents when the street fire happened. Much like us, she found out about it watching the news.
I reached out and smacked the back of Cole’s head. “Stop it. You’re stressing out your mom. That’s my job.”
“Why do you let him do that?” Casten asked him slowing down to keep step with his cousin. “He’s not your dad. It’s not like you gotta listen to him.”
“He scares the shit out of me.” Cole’s eyes were wide, staring at me. “Of course I’m going to listen to him.”
“Pussy,” Casten mumbled.
I smacked the back of his head. “Have some class.”
“Oh, sorry,” he laughed trying to trip me. “What’s the proper term? Oh right… crankcase!”
Shaking my head was about all I could do.
Over the years meet–and-greets weren’t my thing. Being as enthused as my husband, I understood why Jameson hated them so much. When you’re in the spotlight like he is, or even the rest of his family, our kids and myself included, the meet-and-greets had turned into an invasion of privacy and the questions they asked each year got more and more personal. Would you feel comfortable telling them about your personal lives?
Probably not
A girl, all of thirteen, was talking to Jameson about USAC racing, Casten intently listening to her. It surprised the hell out of me. Casten usually never paid any mind to girls his own age.
Jameson’s attention, though he was smiling, seemed to be more on the crowd rather than the polite girl standing before him. It was getting slightly out of hand with the thousands of fans flooding the infield of the Monster Mile in Dover but that was what this race was about.
It was different than the All-Star race held the weekend before the Coca-Cola 600 race, as this one was strictly based on votes.
The guys mingled in the infield with the fans for close to an hour Thursday night and then it was back to the motor coach before we all headed to dinner.
Tommy and Willie approached Jameson when we were walking to the car and said Jimi was waiting for him in the hauler. Most everyone else headed to the restaurant to wait while Jameson asked me to come along with him and the boys to talk to Jimi.
Jimi being retired, it was actually rare that he was even at the track these days. It seemed since retirement him and Nancy had been spending time together and every other week took off to Florida and Hawaii together.
When we walked inside the hauler, Jimi was leaning against the cabinets near the back wall with Grady, Justin and Rager standing across from him. Justin smiled when we came inside but Rager and Grady remained looking at a sheet of paper in front of them. Rager looked up and smiled. His bright blue eyes were noticeable from under his black JAR Racing hat but, then again, you could see Rager’s eyes in the dark, they were just that blue.
Grady didn’t look up but Grady also never spoke to anyone but Jameson.
Something about Grady had rubbed me the wrong way from the time I met him. He was a quiet boy but I didn’t trust him. Couldn’t tell you why, but I didn’t.
That weekend was the first real interaction I had with Grady outside of payroll with JAR Racing and, even then, he never actually spoke to me, only to Jameson.
“There seems to a 410 engine missing,” Jimi said as eyes focused on Jameson.
Jameson shifted his stance from relaxed to tense, his hand in mine gripped me a little tighter. “What do you mean there seems to be? There is or isn’t.”
“There is,” Jimi confirmed.
“Did you ask Noah and Charlie if they noticed anything? They were doing monthly inventory last night.” His eyes flashed with an emotion that was hard to catch.
“They noticed it and brought it to me.” Jimi clarified keeping his voice even, though Jameson was nearly yelling now. He had every right to be concerned over this. A 410 engine ran around hundred thousand these days. “Jameson, you have to deal with this now or before you know it, you won’t have JAR Racing,” Jimi told him quietly. “This is a lot of money gone. You can’t keep shuffling things around to avoid the issue. You have someone stealing from you.”
Jimi had come to me last month and tried to talk about the inventory issues but I told him what Jameson told me when I questioned him about it. “Jameson will take care of it.”
He had, for the most part. He installed surveillance cameras and started doing weekly inventory. The thing was that all of us knew who was stealing without needing the proof.
Jimi was incredibly business savvy but so was Jameson. He’d been successfully running JAR Racing for nearly twenty years without so much as a hiccup. He landed sponsors for his drivers, was able to keep track of how each car was doing in the series, could rattle off every top five, any victory his drivers snagged, and had a one-on-one relationship with all of his employees. He understood when there was a problem and I think deep down he knew where that problem was.
Most of us looked at Grady and I think he sensed himself being singled out.
“I didn’t steal anything!” Grady’s voice echoed through the hauler, Jameson’s eyes drifted to his, focusing on him standing beside Tommy and Willie.
“You’re the only one here who would have any reason to,” Jimi said to Grady.
Jameson shot Jimi a look that told him to back down and none of us, including me, understood why he was defending Grady.
Jameson cleared his throat, pushing past Willie and Tommy, his hand clasping Grady’s shoulder. “Come with me.”
None of us followed them as we understood Jameson had some things to say to Grady alone but we also didn’t have any actual proof that Grady was the one stealing from JAR Racing. For Jameson to believe that Grady was actually stealing, he needed proof.
Jimi leaned into me, his head near my ear to whisper only to me. “I have Clint looking into this kid. If there’s something to be found, he will find it.”
It was true. Aside from being our bodyguard, Clint was a private investigator, too. It helped when you had to keep those around you closely guarded.
The rest of us made small talk in the hauler before Jameson came back inside with Grady and smiled taking my hand. “Let’s get to dinner, honey.”
I didn’t say anything as we walked to the truck; Jameson seemed distracted.
When we got inside, he looked over at me, green eyes glowing in the night. He went to start the engine and then his hand fell away and he sighed, his head hit the back of the seat in frustration. “I couldn’t fire him without knowing for sure he was the one who stole the engine.”
I nodded and gave him a weak smile. I knew it was hard for him. He trusted him when everyone told him not to. He wasn’t going to fire him without actual proof of any wrongdoing. I could understand that to a point.
Friday morning, the energy surrounding the team and Jameson seemed to have returned. We agreed not to discuss the stolen engine until we returned home. For now, the focus was on the race.
Come late September, right after the field was set for the chase, the season was heady and a tight battle was shaping up between Jameson, Tate and Paul. When the Monster Million approached, their focus shifted from the championship battle to the fan favorite race. The boys were amped and raring for some healthy competition of the best of the best. Honestly, I think it was more for the bragging rights. Who am I kidding? It was without a doubt about the bragging rights.
Jameson had won the first Monster Million last year and Tate was on him about how this was his year.
“What if they vote you off the island?” Tate asked him when voting began Friday night. We were all glued to the television along with millions of others like this was some kind of presidential election. In our eyes it might as well be.
“This isn’t Lost,” Jameson replied and then looked over at me in confusion. “Wait,” he looked around in confusion, “who votes you off the island?”
“I don’t think that’s the right show,” Aiden replied.
“It’s all right baby, we understood,” I assured Jameson rubbing his back.
Tate smiled. “By the way, the show was Survivor.”
“Who cares?”
Anybody could vote aside from drivers, team members, and NASCAR officials. The interesting twist was that family could vote.
Since they started the race last year, it had been the most talked about race of the year because it was completely unpredictable. No one knew until the morning of the race if they would be racing or what the format would be.
Because of this, it forced the drivers to become more interactive with the fans. They needed their votes to race.
Jameson had issues with that. He would always give a fan the attention they deserved if he had the time and it was the right atmosphere. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate them because he did. He just wasn’t as friendly as Tate and Paul were. He also never believed the hype surrounding him. He was simply Jameson.
Tate has always been a fan favorite, winning the most popular driver every year since 2012. Jameson, he was too controversial for that. You either loved him or hated him. If you hated him, you didn’t understand him. His relationship with his fans over the years was sketchy but most loved him because if any driver in the series would put on a good show, it was Jameson. He was the type of driver who would put everything he had into every lap. Even if it was the middle of the race, he fought hard for every spot.
Drivers like Paul Leighty and Nathan Wise or even Brody Williams, the rookie this year, was where it got interesting. They were all good drivers but they lacked the heart Jameson had.
Jameson, Paul, Bobby, and Tate were trash tralkin’ all night while the weather had its own competition. Winds, rain, lightning, you name it, and Delaware was experiencing it. It was crazy. It was as if Mother Nature wanted to cast her own vote. Up until the start of the race, we had no idea if they would even be able to get the race in. Over the years, NASCAR had discussed going to rain tires and letting them race in the rain but it was decided that they would keep with the tradition of the sport and that meant no rain tires.
That afternoon, the boys sat around the haulers watching the weather and viewing rain scanners all trying to predict the next twelve hours.
Gathered at a table right outside the hauler, everyone tried to keep under the awning to avoid the rain, or better yet the edge of the awning that would get you right down your shirt at the most inappropriate times.
Sitting on the edge of the table, Jameson twisted around and tapped the screen with a Sharpie marker, the cap in his mouth as he signed autographs for a group surrounding us. “That’s not lookin’ good man,” he said mostly to Bobby who was seated next to him.
“Ah, hell man, have some faith,” Bobby said with a smile looking at the screen with a whole lot of green flashing. “There’s one little patch right there with no rain. With any luck, we’ll have that over the track come race time.”
Jameson laughed turning back to the crowd nodding his head. Regarding the fans with a laugh, he joked with them. “He’s always so optimistic.”
The crowd laughed continuing to push posters and photographs at him. It never got easier watching pit lizards horde around my husband. Though I was a confident Mama Wizard and knew that he only had eyes for me, it wasn’t easy watching women touch him in ways only I did. Every so often one got brave and would reach out to touch his arm, or shoulder, or even his leg. Every time, he politely removed their hand. He didn’t like being touched by strangers. I think it had to do with his weird skin phobia.
Aside from touchy feely pit lizards, the other obstacle on weekends like this was the press. They were everywhere you looked.
All the local sports channels covered the voting and driver reactions, even interviewed the fans. Viewer numbers for the race skyrocketed and it turned out that more people watched this particular race than those who watched the Super Bowl.
The voting was open for twelve hours, started at 8 pm Friday night and ended at 8 am Saturday morning. The results were announced at 10 am. After that it was a mad dash for drivers and crews who were selected to practice and test out the cars. They had up until 2 pm to make changes. The driver introductions began and the race format was revealed to the drivers for the first time by the fans. Once selected, that was all the drivers knew. Race format wouldn’t be revealed until later for the purpose of them not having the jump on anyone else. Some teams would set their cars up for the main but wouldn’t know how many laps it was so you couldn’t set it up for a long run when you never knew if you would be running fifty laps versus two hundred.
The fans voted on everything: how many drivers were chosen, if there would be an inversion and when and how many cars would be inverted. One thing was set in stone: it was run like your average Saturday night race at the local tracks.
You had hot laps, qualifying, heat races, trophy dashes, and then the main event.
This year it had been decided that there would be twenty-four drivers chosen. This meant nineteen drivers went home.
Among the selected were Tate, Bobby Cole, Paul Leighty, Travis Sheets, Brody Williams, Steve Frey, Nathan Wise, and of course Nadia, the only woman driver in the Cup series. Jameson and her still didn’t mix well and I couldn’t stand to be within five feet of her.
They set the schedule for four heat races with six drivers for ten laps each. Six, four lap trophy dashes with four drivers and then two fifty lap main events. Between the two fifty lap mains, they would invert the field. The catch here was that you didn’t know where the inversion would take place until the caution came out at the end of the first main event.
Prior to the race while the guys made adjustments to the cars, the girls and I headed to the merchandise trailers to promote. Usually we had people who helped with this, but for the sake of the event, and the morale, the family ran the merchandise trailer. I think it added to the entire event letting the fans get to see the drivers’ families and understand that we were behind them 100% and did everything we could to help them.
Nancy and Emma were the most cheery. They bounced around like this was their home with sweatshirts and hats on. Arie and I were less entertained by this, and more entertained by Alley and Lexi.
Lexi had this way of bringing up a conversation, starting in the middle, and then expecting you to follow along with her. I like to think she got this from Spencer.
“He just sat there in the closet chugging a fifth of Vodka like nobody’s business,” Lexi told Arie as they organized the t-shirts and posters with Alley and I. Alley gawked at her but looked back at the merchandise trailer looking for Cole who we still hadn’t found. We lost him sometime after qualifying. Casten claimed he was with Jacob, Tate’s son, but no one knew for sure.
“Did you sleep with him?” Arie asked Lexi. It was my turn to gawk at my daughter.
“Arie?”
“What mom?” Arie shrugged, squinting into the bright lights, she folded a t-shirt and then set it on the pile with the rest of them. “I’m curious.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lexi gushed with no reservations. “I liked his confidence.”
Alley gave me a look of complete disgust. Our girls had sex lives and it wasn’t comforting. I actually hated thinking about my little girl, or worse, my sons, being sexually active.
“I hate knowing all these details,” Alley said, with no amount of excitement.
“Word to that,” I nodded watching our family. It made me smile to see us all like this, working together for our team, our open wheel team. Always ready for some good side-by-side action.
It wasn’t long before music was blaring from the infield and the stage was being set up like this was some kind of rock concert. In all actuality, it could have been with the way they were followed.
A familiar sound echoed through the stands and across the track they called the Monster Mile, hence the name of the event, Monster Million.
The girls and I closed down the merchandise trailer and walked from the paddock to the infield where we finally found Cole, with Casten and Jacob, planning their activities for the night. Apparently they’d been told they could go on stage when the drivers were introduced.
“This is gonna be cool. I bet all those girls will talk to us now,” Cole said motioning to what looked to be a fucking cheer squad at cheer nationals.
“Why?” Casten snorted. “If they don’t like you now, they ain’t gonna later.”
Jameson approached me dressed in his racing suit now, sexy as ever. The black in the suit always made his eyes look like they weren’t real. No one had grass green eyes like that except two other boys, our two boys.
Let me tell you a little about my husband over the years. When I first met Jameson, we were eleven. Through high school, we were best friends, thoughts of anything sexual weren’t really there. After high school was when my visions of this knobby kneed, compulsive boy who dominated any dirt track within a hundred mile radius of Elma, Washington, changed. His determination, his hunger, his eyes, all completed a package no woman could ever resist. Never bothering to calm his hair, he had that wild mess that they loved with rich brown shades that was slightly rusty in appearance and looped out into curls at the ends. Like now, as he wore a white hat, the loops curled out under the hat.
Tall, with just the right amount of muscle, he had a body honed to perfection. A charming captivating smile that could capture anyone’s attention and the burning fire that marked his eyes sealed the deal. Well, for most women. I saw what was behind that fire. I saw Jameson Anthony Riley. A boy who went from your hometown dirt track racer to a man who had his name engraved into fifteen NASCAR championship trophies and countless record books.
Because of his presence in the sport and the women who followed it, insecurities will build at a rapid pace at times like this if you let it. I didn’t let it.
The clouds had rolled apart, the first glimpse of sun all day peeked through as we stood in the infield. I knew Jameson was near when I heard the crowd come to life.
He stopped in front of me, his body in line with mine. Ignoring the crowd, something that was hard to do these days, Jameson ran his left hand up my arm until it reached my face. He cupped my cheek with one hand and then raised the other. Two fingers motioned for me to come closer.
Naturally Mama Wizard leaned in and he grinned, a perfect lopsided grin I’d grown to love.
Thousands of people were standing near us but we saw none of them.
“Honey,” he whispered in a low rasp drawing my attention only to him.
Jameson’s voice had always been slightly raspy but over the years it’d gotten more so, to the point where it could send shivers down my spine just by saying hello. Lightning ran through my veins, electrifying, his gaze caused sparks that lit the way to a place I knew well. It was like running at a Saturday night race at your home track.
He leaned forward slowly until his lips touched mine. With a quick intake of breath, it was like a cool breeze on a hot day and exactly what I needed.
He pulled back a little, staring at my lips and a whoosh of air left his beautiful lips.
To anyone else around us, we were just two people. I was just a wife and he a husband. Two people in love. To anyone else, it was just a moment.
To us, the two people wrapped up in the moment, it was everything. A hold only a man and woman knew. A hold that we knew.
His face dropped, his parted mouth met the curve of my neck.
“I love you,” he murmured, his lips pausing at my ear.
My hands ran over his shoulder, my fingers tracing the logos of sponsors who trusted this man as much as I did. “And I love you,”
Over the years, his demeanor and reactions to the fame have changed but he still wasn’t comfortable with it. This, kissing me in public, wasn’t something he was comfortable with either but he did it because moments like this were sometimes all that was left for us.
“Listen, if you fuck this up, I will fucking stab you.” It was that statement that burst us from our bubble.
“Casten!” I screeched slapping my son’s shoulder.
“What?” Casten shot me a glare and then quickly reversed it when he realized who he was dealing with. It might have had to do with Jameson giving him a look, too. “He needs to be on his game. I’m not lying.” He turned to Cole again. “I will stab you, family or not.”
Jameson laughed rubbing his shoulder as he remembered his own stabbing. “Ask Emma, she could help you out with technique if needed.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Emma bumped her knee into Jameson’s ass as she came up behind him. Aiden followed her.
“You ready for this bud?” Kyle said coming to stand beside us. Jameson’s hands crept around my waist to keep me near him. I didn’t argue and, instinctively, like my own favorite track, a place I felt at home, I felt contained here in a crowd full of people as long as he was touching me.
Jameson nodded and the pre-race activities got under way soon after that.
We stood in front of the stage ready to cheer on the drivers and their teams.
I had never laughed so much in my life when the doors opened, smoke, fire, you name it and Casten, Cole and Jacob emerged wearing tall pimp hats with handfuls of one dollar bills strutting to the likes of The O’Jays For the Love of Money with twenty-four NASCAR drivers, their dads’ included, walking behind them laughing.
The volume exploded when they appeared from the smoke, music pulsed as the team received recognition they deserved for being selected.
Casten was all grins, with a flashy walk. I couldn’t have been a prouder Mama Wizard as I was in that moment of my little delinquent spaz. Thankfully, it appeared Cole hadn’t fucked anything up yet and wouldn’t be stabbed later. Casten apparently had a lot riding on this.
“Oh, geez, he really has that walk down,” Jimi noted watching Casten bend down and shake the money in the faces of the fans and then threw it in the air, laughing, like a crazy kid.
I watched Jameson, his eyes examining the crowd but seemed amused by his son. His eyes soon found mine in the crowd. He winked and darted his eyes to Casten quickly and returned to mine with an eye roll. Shrugging was the only answer I could provide for him.
After my son pimped his way off stage, they introduced each driver to the fans and their crew members. Spencer was missing though and it felt strange for us all to be here without him.
“Why isn’t Spencer here?” I asked Alley. “I mean, I know he just had knee surgery but I thought he’d at least be here with a bottle of pills to annoy Jameson.”
Alley laughed. “He just sent me a message. He’s on his way. He originally thought he’d be in too much pain but you know him,” she motioned to Jameson making his way off stage and shaking hands with each member of his crew and patting their backs. “Spencer would never miss a race of Jameson’s.”
It was true. He never missed a Cup race, ever. In the six hundred and seventy two races he started in the number nine Ford, Spencer was there to raise the window net for him.
A part of me wasn’t sure how Jameson would handle it. He said he didn’t like his family often but when they weren’t around, Jameson wasn’t the same.
Alley nudged me again about the time they were finished introducing the twenty-four teams. “He’s here. Keep an eye on Cole and Lex for me... if you can.”
“Don’t put that type of responsibility on me Alley,” I groaned trying to run away. “You know I’ll fail at that.”
Nothing stopped her. She still left my ass to babysit. I found Nancy and Emma in the crowd so we all decided to head to the grid where the teams and drivers were now heading. Thankfully, the hoodlum kids followed, too. Casten and Cole were all smiles at their ability to get the crowd going. Turns out the cheer nationals enjoyed it, too, and Cole’s dream came true. They followed our boys around like they were their mascots.
Jameson was fiddling with his visor when I approached him on the grid, the rest of the family made their way behind the wall. We all decided tonight would be like any other Saturday night racing. We would stay in the pit.
“You ready for this?”
He laughed leaning against the car in a familiar lean. His arms crossed over his chest and he smiled at me. “It’s weird. I feel strange tonight.”
“Spencer?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. Commotion beside him caught his attention and I knew I needed to get on the pit box as they were getting ready to start the heat races. Jameson was in the first heat and needed to get ready.
Perched on my tippy toes, I kissed him. “Good luck tonight, champ.”
“Thanks, honey.”
On the grid, the fans gave the invocation for the drivers. Now was the time my eyes shot up and saw what I knew Jameson needed.
Jimi, who sat beside me, and Nancy laughed, a sincere emotional laugh, when he saw Spencer hobbling onto the grid.
Spencer stood at the car and waited for Jameson to notice him. When he did, he smiled and gave Spencer the sign he had every other race: a familiar shake of his wrist extending his pinky and thumb out and keeping his middle fingers curled in, the hang loose sign. It was a ritual they had and could never be broken.
Spencer smiled, wide and goofy, on his way to the pits where he took a seat below the pit box with a headset to watch for the night.
The heat race was entertaining. Any time you have hungry drivers all battling for a chance to win a million dollars, they were all hungry and aggressive. In Jameson’s heat, he took second to Brody Williams only because Jameson got loose and pegged the wall in two. Brody took full advantage and took the lead. The heats dictated how they would run in the main event but this meant, after the other six were ran, Jameson would start the first main event in ninth. It wasn’t great but it wasn’t horrible either.
When we informed him, he was having a discussion with Brody about who knows what and it didn’t seem to be going well for either of them. Brody was a kid and I think Jameson forgot that sometimes. The legal age to race in the Cup series was eighteen. Nowadays is seemed they scouted drivers right out of high school and there were probably seven full-time drivers on the circuit now under twenty-one, Brody included. Drivers who are eighteen have a much different driving style than veteran drivers like Jameson, Tate, and Bobby. Just like the veteran drivers used to do to Jameson, they let those young drivers know about the gentleman’s agreement and what you do and don’t do on the track. I had a sneaking suspicion that Brody was being informed of the gentleman’s agreement.
“Hey, pay attention!” Kyle said when Jameson returned all stormy-eyed and swearing under his breath. He took a seat on the edge of the pit wall as the NASCAR officials explained the running order for the trophy dashes.
“Sorry, fuck, he’s a fucking jerk.”
“Yeah, well,” Kyle pointed to the laptop that told him what race Jameson was in. “You’re in the second trophy dash with Brody, Nadia, and Bobby. Keep it clean.”
Jameson scrunched his nose and glared. “Keep it clean,” he repeated in a mocking tone that caused the group surrounding him to laugh.
Looking up to the pit box, we made eye contact and I winked taking his gesture away. Giving me a goofy grin, he gave me a head nod and bit the corner of his lip seductively. Little shit.
What did I do?
I reverted back to pit lizard days and grabbed my funbags with both hands.
I won. He threw his head back in laughter.
Teasing was our thing. We were good at it.
Jameson won his trophy dash, which helped his mood for the main events. With the start of the first main, I put the headset back on and took my place next to Jimi and Nancy again. Jameson started in right away with the trash talking. “This little shit is going down. I want the million dollars,” he said with amusement when Brody bumped him from behind.
Jimi chuckled. “Why’s that Jameson? Because you gotta pay for all that shit your kids broke?”
“Something like that old man.” My favorite part about listening to his in-car audio came through, the radio cracked.
“One to go at the line,” Aiden announced, “Watch your shift there.”
“Pay backs for all that shit you broke when you were younger,” Jimi added.
“Whatever,” Jameson laughed lightly. “Let’s get some focus here. I got a million to win.”
Jimi let Kyle take over and they talked race format for a moment before the green flag waved. Cars shuffled quickly, all searching for a quick opening to gain a spot or two and darting to the preferred line the rain had washed away from their practice session to now. It seemed the only grip was up top which was beneficial for Jameson, he always loved running the high side.
Starting ninth, Jameson had seventh secured by lap ten and was gaining on Brody and Paul in front of him. “Outside clear, there you go. P6 right there, keep coming bud,” Aiden said. “That’s P5 right there in front of you for position. Two back on you.”
“Where’s Bobby running?”
“He’s tenth.”
Paul and Brody battled for fifth in front of Jameson when Paul got loose, Brody cleared the position but smacked his right rear quarter panel on the outside wall. One thing about the Monster Mile was that the track wasn’t forgiving.
The move allowed Jameson to clear Brody too but then the caution flag came out and we knew why. Brody was in front of Jameson now and I wasn’t sure how that would go.
“Why did they call the caution?”
“Rain,”
“Oh, damn it,” he huffed. “I’m gonna kick this kid’s ass after the race. He’s pissing me off.”
Brody and Jameson were nudging each other during the pace laps as they waited for the rain to clear, the lightning rumbled across the dark sky.
“It’s talking out there,” Nancy said snuggling into Jimi. He wrapped his burly arms around her.
The media scrambled for cover as the sky opened up and poured for a few minutes. They left the cars on the track waiting for the rain to stop.
“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate rain delays?” Jameson asked.
Kyle kicked his legs out in front of him on the other side of me and then wrapped his arm around me as I shivered from the wind. “You may have mentioned it a time or two.”
“Feelings are still the same.”
The rain eventually let up, the blowers got out there and dried the track and then the boys were pitting. Jameson gained two spots on pit lane and Brody lost one. This put Jameson in fourth when they waved the green flag again. Two things were uncertain at that point, the inversion point and if the rain would come back and what that would do to the grip. Right now, as the field was setting up, Jameson needed to be back in the field a little more to gain himself a good opportunity. He knew that.
“What should we do?” Jameson asked when they got to lap forty-five.
“Uh, well,” Kyle thought for a minute just about the time Brody caught Jameson coming out of three and cut down on him. Jameson checked up but Bobby was right there and Jameson got sideways into and smacked the wall.
“What a douchebag!” Jameson yelled. “Someone needs to kick his ass. Aiden?” his voice remained heated.
“Yeah, bud?”
“Go kick his spotter’s ass for me.”
“Nah, man,” Aiden sounded terrified. “Bob is not very friendly.”
“Nice, asshole, way to stick up for me,” Jameson argued.
“All right, Jameson,” Kyle interrupted. “Let’s think about the inversion here. It looks like you have a tire going.”
“Super.” I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t impressed with the rookie. In all actuality, most drivers back when Jameson was a rookie didn’t like him either.
They had the drivers come down pit lane again to announce the inversion, each driver parking beside their pit boxes. Jameson flipped the driver’s net down and then sat there for a moment. It was set to be a twenty-minute delay as they wanted to bring out the jet dryers again and interview the fans and drivers.
Brody got out of his car and immediately went to Jameson’s car, who I might add had dropped from fourth to twentieth when Brody came down on him like that.
Jameson wasn’t pleased.
That was Brody’s first mistake, coming down on Jameson. His second, approaching Jameson before he had a moment to calm down.
You could literally see the fire igniting in Jameson at the sight of Brody standing at his door.
Jameson tossed his gloves aside, the motion forced and violent. When Brody spoke, Jameson muttered something back shaking his head, eyes focused intently on the rookie before him, contemplating his motivation.
Brody leaned in, his hands found the edge of his window blocking Jameson from getting out.
Jimi leaned forward, his eyes finding mine. “What the hell is that kid thinking?”
I gave him my best, “Are you shitting me?” look.
“Please, don’t let my son kill that boy,” Nancy said pushing Jimi with her hands. “Go down there.”
Jimi didn’t have a chance before Kyle and Mason walked over.
Jameson, in a quick movement was tossing gear aside trying to free himself from the car. Hoisting his body to the edge of the window, anger fueled, he swung his legs around and stood tall before Brody.
Hovering over him, he grabbed him by his racing suit and brought him closer. He was calm but angry. He was forceful but graceful, always poised with concentrated ire. The foolish pride of this kid was quickly diminishing as Jameson now controlled the argument and, yes, it was turning into an argument. Pushing, shoving and heated words between two passionate drivers, and now crew members.
Brody held steady, not giving in but he was nothing like Jameson.
Making my way from the pit box, I knew I was the one to get Jameson under control. His knuckles were white, fisted in Brody’s suit still, eyes flashed with a storm more threatening and destructive than the weather here.
Fans and officials gathered quickly, shouting, cheering and with harsh, callous words had filled the space around Jameson’s black car.
This was what the fans wanted on a night like tonight and those boys gave it to them. They wanted real people with real tempers. It was like watching open wheel racing to me. Tempers, passion, and a love for winning.
When I got within earshot of their conversation, I heard Jameson talking in a low hard tone. “For starters, you should stay in your own pit.”
“I just came to see what your problem was!” Brody yelled back.
“My problem,” Jameson’s brow raised in warning, “I don’t have a problem with you. I have a problem with your racing.”
Brody shoved Jameson, another mistake.
“Be careful what you start, kid,” Jameson warned steadying himself against the car.
“Why?” Brody snorted in disgust. “Because I’ll go missing like Darrin did?”
He went there.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Jameson took another step forward keeping his eyes focused on Brody. The cameras around them hovered in the air trying to catch the reactions.
“You scared that everyone will know the truth?” Brody taunted.
I grabbed Jameson’s arm only to have him shake me off without regard as Kyle wrapped his arms around me to help with the crowd. Brody’s team surrounded us all pushing and shoving to get to their driver.
Brody knew what to say to send him over the edge. He wanted him angry and he knew what to do. “I heard he fucked your wife?”
My stomach turned at his words, memories swept over me but I didn’t lead on.
That did it.
Brody was the stupid eighteen-year-old I knew he would be and Jameson was still the aggressive passionate driver he’d always been.
Sometimes, on a Saturday night, with the adrenaline fueled aggressive tempers, words have a way of getting the best of you.
As if his patience had run out, Jameson acted quickly and had Brody by the throat and pressed against his car. “Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you’re talking about and if want to start a war, you’ve got nothing on me. But you will start a war, so stop now.”
For once tonight, Brody considered his words and pushed back.
“Let go of me, Riley!” Brody seethed, blazing blue eyes finally seeing the wrath he was creating.
Kyle pushed me to Mason who then basically carried me behind the wall. “Come on, Jameson,” Kyle pulled them apart. “Let him go. You got your point across.”
Jameson said nothing to anyone, his shoulders tense and his eyes cold.
Without saying anything to anyone, he sat on the pit wall drinking a Gatorade and then looked around for me. Kyle whispered something in his ear only to have Jameson glare shaking his head at his question.
When his eyes found mine in the crowd around him, I smiled trying to comfort him. For a moment he stared as if he was remembering. How could he not?
Making my way to him, his arms ran up my legs tucking around my waist drawing me to his lap. “Fuck, honey, distract me before I kick that little shit’s ass.” His knee bounced, an indication he was struggling to keep calm. “Goddamn, he really pissed me off.” His head shook resting against my shoulder. “Keep me calm honey. Say anything.”
Mama Wizard knew what to do.
Lowering my voice to a seductive whisper I put my lips to his ear and then his throat. “I’m going to fuck you senseless later.”
His neck vibrated as a moan escaped, low and throaty. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Kyle shoved his shoulder. “Stop it, lover boy. Get your game face on.”
“What?” Jameson looked up at him but kept his arms around me.
“They inverted bottom five.” Kyle announced with a blinding smile.
“Fuck, yeah!” Jameson’s mood returned. “Goddamn, I love this race!”
He was back in it.
Returning his focus to me, he offered me a suggestive smile. “I’ll be holding you to that promise.” His hand smacked my ass when I got up. I yelped and whipped around to smack him.
“I can’t take my parent’s anywhere,” Casten groaned, coming to stand next to me with Cole.
“You two stay out of trouble down here,” Jameson said to them.
Arie and Lexi came around the corner with Noah and Charlie. It seemed the entire family was down here for the final main event.
Jameson smiled watching us ready to cheer him on, knowing his open wheel family would throw down just as easily as he would.
Back in the car, Jameson got over his deal with Brody but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last words they had tonight. They weren’t out there all but ten laps and the caution came out for debris and rain again.
They allowed for a pit stop, Jameson and Bobby both took four tires whereas Paul and Tate gambled for the track position and went with two. This left Jameson in second.
“We’re P2 now bud,” Kyle said.
“I think we made the right call there,” Aiden told them. “Most did fuel only right there.”
On the restart, behind Jameson, Nadia went low, a pass she knew she wasn’t going to make and you could see her jerky movements as she contemplated and then knew she was about to over shoot the corner.
“She’s at your rear, still out there... hang on to it... there you go.”
“Fuck,” Jameson said in surprise, “did you just see that kamikaze move she pulled? Jesus.”
“I did. Stay away from her, she’s ballsy tonight.”
Shadows draped the track and the rain clouds positioned once again with twenty to go. The temperature dropped and the wind picked up. When the cars came down the front stretch, the wind that kicked up was bitter.
It was me, Alley, Emma, Nancy and Kyle on the pit box, all huddled together keeping warm. The boys scattered around the pit watching the race from the wall. They weren’t cold but I tend to think they had more energy than we did.
Jameson and Brody were at it again, this time Brody had gotten a move on the outside of Jameson and took over second with Bobby leading.
“Caution’s out,” Aiden told him and I let out the breath I was holding. Casten stood, pacing back and forth in the pit box. “They’re slowin’ in two. Watch up high.”
Knowing the rain was gonna dump any minute, they quickly got the field of twenty-four back to green. Brody blocked Jameson on the restart and protected the inside. I’ll give him that much, he was a good racer. But he wasn’t the legend Jameson was becoming.
Jameson saw his opening with three to go, and just like the hungry driver I always knew him to be, threw caution to the wind and went all out coming out of four and by turn one he was slipping up the track but pulling away.
“Fuck, it’s raining. Please tell me this is the last lap?”
“Last lap, bud.”
“Whew!” He was racing like an open wheel racer, scrapping for everything he was worth. Casten, Cole and Noah jumped up on the wall with the rest of the crew waiting for them to come into view in turn three.
All of us on the pit box got down, swarming the pit wall, as Brody and Jameson were now side-by-side again fighting hard for the lead going into the last corner. The bumped and banged, Jameson wasn’t giving up and fought just as hard.
Brody got loose when Jameson slammed into him, sending him up into the wall, he came right back and did the same to Jameson only to have him hold position through the flag.
Jameson won.
“Fuck, yeah!” Jameson screamed, knowing he’d won.
And then it started pouring. Not just pouring, lightning and wind picked up too but Jameson still had his burnout to get done.
Once the cars were on pit lane, our family and his team, congregated around the inside wall across pit lane cheering for him. Jameson spun his car around, water spraying in the wake, and with his arm hung out the window he held the checkered flag doing his signature burnout down the front stretch sideways. It wasn’t quite as smoky as it had been in the past given the rain, but it was just as impressive that he could keep the car sideways that long. The view I had was one I would remember for years to come. It was of Casten jumping up and down, screaming out in excitement for his father, and Jameson, holding the checkered flag, and smoke surrounding him.
The fans were in an uproar. Not just at the burnout but the hard fighting racing they’d just seen.
With smoke rolling from all four tires, Jameson pulled the car right in front of us and then got out and stood on the roof. The boys climbed up the hood as did some fans all celebrating with him. We weren’t making it to victory lane this time. The party had already begun on the track.
Wanting to keep some composure, I stayed back and let the boys celebrate, all screaming and throwing beer around.
Jameson held a microphone in his hand bowed to the crowd and shook with laughter. “Thank you, guys! THANK YOU!” he screamed throwing his head back and tipping the microphone up as if he was belting out the lyrics to a rock song. Fans grabbed at his legs all trying to get a piece of him, much like a rock star.
Jameson jumped down, or I should say he slipped down, when the rain got so slick on his car that he couldn’t hold his balance in his racing shoes.
The rain, which had turned into a tropical storm, wasn’t stopping the party that night. The fans, our families, the teams, we all had a little something to celebrate. No one ever did get a direct interview out of Jameson. No, he was too excited for that. You couldn’t get him to focus on anything.
When I finally got to him, I was sure he was drunk. Actually, I was positive he was.
Raindrops fell from the tip of his nose, his hair swept in his eyes. “I asked you to marry me on a night like tonight,” he said smiling down at me.
“That you did.” I smiled pushing his hair from his face. “It wasn’t exactly like this.”
“I want to ask you something tonight, too. Honestly, it was kind of similar. It was dark out and I was celebrating a victory.”
Shivers from the rain and his body heat attacked me building up through my spine to my shoulders, “Oh, yeah,” twisting in his arms, I looked at his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. His hands found the curve of my spine holding me against him, soaked in sweat and rain. “What do you want to ask me?”
Fans and the teams were still screaming around us, he leaned in to whisper. “Are you really going to fuck me senseless tonight?” He drew back taking in my expression, “Cause I gotta say, that would be ...” he dipped back to my neck, his teeth nipped at me. “... Jesus, that would be fucking amazing.” Another throaty moan escaped his lips and I was done.
“Well then,” I said clearing my throat, “I say it’s about time we check my bearing alignment.”
“And, honey?” his nose brushed along my jaw, I could hear the smirk on his face in his tone.
“Yes?”
“I hope you stretched.” He giggled slightly. “I’ve got some aggression to get rid of.”
Fuck me. Well, he was about to.
His words held just as much promise as the ring on my left hand did. Unfortunately, he still had press to do.
Tonight was different though, it was about the fans so they asked the questions, they got in the pictures and they celebrated the Monster Million with him.
“What’s with all the confetti?” Jameson asked when they started the concert in the infield.
“It’s victory lane. Be happy you’re in it!” Kyle said through a smile and a good amount of confetti in his hair.
“I know but let’s do that without all the confetti,” Jameson shrugged. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
To the side of the stage, I saw the kids starting their own party with the younger crowd, Brody included. He was attached to Lexi and I was sure Spencer had a thing or two to say about that. Thankfully, him and Alley were drunk enough not to care.
“What are you thinking about dirty girl?” Jameson whispered over my shoulder, his lips at my ear again.
I spun around on my heel trying to draw his focus elsewhere and not to the spot where the kids were now.
A slow smirk crept across his face before he spoke. “I think I need to hear this.”
“Nope,” I pushed him forward. “I assure you that you don’t.”
Just then, we both looked to see our daughter dancing with the group when screams from their crowd erupted. In the middle, Arie and Easton were pressed together as a heavy beat thumped out a seductive rhythm and bodies swayed. One of his legs was between hers moving their hips to the beat in an intimate way.
“Oh man, is that Easton with her?” he groaned hiding his face in my shoulder. “And they had to play that song, didn’t they?”
“Yep,”
“Damn it. Now I gotta hate him, too. He was a good kid.”
“How about we go back to the motor coach and work on being senseless?”
His head popped up from my shoulder. “Sounds great,” he reached for my hand, “I can’t wait any longer!”
Hot damn.
Our hands were busy as we rode back to the drivers compound in the golf cart. I was practically undressed when we reached the door. His hands everywhere all at once, grunts and groans as he worked quickly getting my clothes off. We did one important thing … locked the goddamn door.
Open mouths, tongues, hands, hips meeting with a desire that couldn’t be broken, twisting to get closer, it was a blur but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My husband, the legend in the making, commanded the respect of thousands of fans tonight and dominated once again. That always made me a little… well… in overdrive.
Jameson let out a groan as his mouth found my breasts. He ripped my shirt up and over my head quickly, his mouth finding the same spot again.
My clothes and his racing suit were soaked, the sheets of the bed now soaked but it made it that much more exciting. It felt like we were horny teenagers again and rushing before the parents came home. Now we were rushing before the kids got home.
I could feel him, sweat, rain, the thunder cracking outside, our chests rising and falling, heavy breathing … this was us. A dance between two people, just like the hold before the race, this was something special, something between a husband and wife, something between the Dirty Heathen and Mama Wizard.
Somewhere along the way, Jameson’s movements became forceful searching for his rev limit when I giggled after meeting mine. “Are you going to come?”
“Fuck, honey,” he moaned the tendons in his neck evident as they were when he thanked the fans earlier. “I don’t wanna. I wanna stay right here until tomorrow. I want you to fuck me senseless.” He rolled, I rolled and then I was in control, his hands on my hips, tight but comforting.
It wasn’t long when his hips rose, jerking and off rhythm, when he grunted in my neck. “Shit, you were right,” he said breathlessly as he rolled to the side. The motor coach burst with light as another flash of lightning shot across the sky, the wind rocking it slightly.
“About what?”
“You did fuck me senseless.”
“Damn straight, I did,” I said throwing my hands behind my head. “The Mama Wizard doesn’t joke about fucking.”