Adhesion – The “stick” between two touching objects.
“Give me that.”
“No. I had it first.”
“I don’t care, it’s my truck. Give it to me,” I barked and ripped the last energy drink from Emma’s hands.
“God, you’re such an asshole.”
We were only two days into the road trip and I wanted to kill myself. Emma sent me to epic levels of madness with her constant talking and stealing my shit. Alley was acting like my mother. Spencer, on more than one occasion, made a wrong turn and Sway, well, my dick was the only part of me that was annoyed with her.
We had to make it to Indianapolis by Wednesday so Spencer drove. If they would have allowed me to drive, we would be there already but I’d also probably be in jail for speeding.
I spent a lot of the time with my headphones on so I didn’t have to listen to Spencer and Alley arguing. They got along fine most of the time, but you put them in a car inches from each other for fifteen hours a day and you wouldn’t act normal either.
Sway and I slept a great deal—most of the time on each other. We took my truck, a four-door Ford F250 so there was plenty of room in the back for us to sprawl out, until you accounted for Emma but we usually forced her to ride up front with Spencer and Alley.
Sleeping on Sway was doing nothing for my self-control, nothing at all. On top of that, I couldn’t do a goddamn thing about the constant hard on I had for the simple fact that everyone was around, all the time. When we stopped in hotel rooms, they were there.
I had a feeling Sway sensed this when she curled up in my lap for a nap before we reached Indianapolis and she felt the rock hard bulge under her head.
She giggled as always, “I think I should sit in my own seat.”
I groaned pulling a pillow on my lap and stared out the window. She was wearing just a flimsy black tank top. Her bra was showing and this didn’t help.
“Good idea,” I mumbled refusing to make eye contact with her.
Getting Sway’s body out of my mind was a challenge that night, but once I pulled into the pits, the smells of methanol and dirt calmed me and I was able to focus on the bigger picture and not think with my dick.
I wanted to ask Sway so badly if we could have sex. Maybe that would subdue the need for her but, then again, what in the hell would that solve besides complicate things.
That night I raced in Indianapolis at the Lucas Oil Speedway, which is a 2/3 mile asphalt track. It had been a while since I had raced a Silver crown car so it took a few hot laps to get the hang of it. There was always a learning curve when you switched divisions but the good drivers adapted quickly. You had to or you had no business switching it up.
The biggest difference was the weight and the way that weight changed during the hundred-lap race. When you loaded the cars up with fuel to make it the entire feature, you had seventy-five gallons of fuel that wasn’t there at the end of the race.
Another difference was that a Silver crown car has a two-speed gearbox and an Indy-style had a handheld starter. In order to fire it up, one of your crew members would start the car after you’re buckled in and then you’re on your way. If you stall in the race, you have to be pushed off.
Along with being heavier, they have smaller engines, a larger wheelbase and never run on a track smaller than a half-mile.
They took some getting used to. Not only did you struggle to push around a heavier car, you usually had to do this for a hundred laps. I was used to racing forty-lap features so I had some conditioning to do.
As soon as I pulled onto the track, everything felt right and that was a good feeling to have after the last few weeks. I was prepared both mentally and physically. I was unstoppable.
During hot laps, I was smooth, my lines were perfect and I knew I made fast time without even hearing it. When I slowed to a dawdling pace and made my way in the pits, I overheard the announcer.
“Ladies and gentleman, with a lap of 11.918, your new track record was set by a kid who has never seen this place before, Jameson Riley driving the 9R Bowman Oil car!”
I grinned, as did Sway and Spencer who met me at the trailer.
That was about the only good thing that happened that night. In the heat, I blew a tire. Fixed that, but in the main a driver from California, Alex Reed, kept pushing against me and eventually just drove me straight into the wall with eight laps remaining.
I had nowhere to go and ended up getting tangled with Ryder Christiansen and Cody Bowman (his uncle Walter owned Bowman Oil, my sponsor, but wouldn’t sponsor him), two guys who were also competing in all three USAC divisions for a chance at the Triple Crown, the champion in all three divisions.
After ninety-two laps of leading, I was beyond irritated with this guy.
I was pissed by the time I made it back to the pits, my thoughts raging and uncontrollable. I had a wicked temper and this wasn’t helping.
I didn’t even want to look at the car when I got out, knowing damn well there was a lot of shit broken. I had no idea what I was going to tell Bucky or Bowman Oil. First car they provide for us and it was junk now.
Having dreamt about this for years and now that I was starting out, I go and destroy my car on the first night. Well, I didn’t, this Reed fucker did.
Pushing a USAC official out of my way and throwing my helmet at him was not the brightest move of the evening, but neither was shoving Alex when I found him standing next to his car.
Next thing I knew, we were in an all-out pit brawl and I still didn’t feel any better.
Alex wasn’t much bigger than me but I got a couple good hits in before the officials separated us.
Sway and Spencer were in my face immediately.
“Jameson, calm down!” Spencer shouted pushing me back away from Reed and to our hauler.
“You’ll never be the driver Jimi is you little shit!” was Reed’s attempt at defusing the situation.
This only pissed me off because I was tired of hearing that, goddamn it.
“I seem to remember being in front of you asshole before you took me out!” I knew I would have won that fucking race if it wasn’t for him.
More race officials and his crew surrounded us now and I knew my chance at doing any more damage to him was over if I didn’t want to be suspended.
It took Sway a while but she eventually got me to calm down enough to get inside the truck and head back to the hotel.
I was still irate when we walked inside. The others stayed in the parking lot while I stormed inside, Sway following close behind.
“Jameson, don’t sell yourself short. You won’t always be referred to as Jimi Riley’s son.”
“I just—” I tried to interrupt her but she spoke over me.
“Stop acting like a fucking child about this!” she threw the magazine she’d been holding on the bed and stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
I stood there, confused, severely pissed off, and strangely guilty.
Yelling at a closed door made me feel slightly better.
“I don’t need your goddamn guilt trip on top of this shit right now!”
I glanced down at the blinking message on my new phone from Bucky. USAC had suspended me for two races for shoving an official.
I left after that and slept in the back of the truck. Missing two races would put a huge hit in the points for the national title and I’d miss the start of Indianapolis Speed Week.
The entire thirteen hour drive to Dodge City, Kansas, to race in the Boot Hill Showdown with the World of Outlaws, Sway and I didn’t say one word to each other.
She gazed out the window in silence.
I decided it was time to apologize when we stopped to eat outside Dodge City around eleven that morning.
I hated the excruciating silence between us but, more so, I hated that I took my frustrations out on Sway. She didn’t deserve that.
“I’m sorry,” we both said at the same time as we stood outside my truck in front of a restaurant.
She laughed reaching up to nudge my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I know you have a lot going on.”
I shook my head, my eyes focused on my feet. “I shouldn’t have acted like a dick and I need you to keep me in check sometimes. You’re my best friend and I know I take you for granted at times. I just... can’t do this without you.”
“Then don’t be an asshole.”
“I’ll try not to.”
BY FOUR THAT afternoon, the pits in Grand Rapids were filling in and it was time for the drivers’ meeting.
Sitting there listening to the chief steward describe the rules at the track I began to wonder why they had these meetings. I mean, sure, some needed it but really, it annoyed me to attend these. Did the other drivers not understand what happened when the caution came out of where to look for your car number on the pit board?
Perched on the back of his ATV reading notes, the stalking man looked toward my dad and me. “Some guys have been cheating lately and dropping weight throughout the race.”
I don’t know why he was looking at me. I never cheated. Well, that was a lie. All racers have cheated at one time or another but I will say that I don’t blatantly do it. Everyone stretches the rules as far as they can, without breaking them.
“You need to number your weights prior to the main. If you drop them, it’s a thousand dollar fine.”
I shook my head. We already had our weights numbered but the fact that this jerk was implying that I was cheating angered me. I hated being accused of, he wins because he cheats.”
That night I made fast time with the help of Tommy who had arrived earlier in the week to help us this weekend. Dodge City was a two-day event and I needed a good setup with the way the track changed constantly, so that was where Tommy came in.
I caught a touch of his conversation with dad and Shey prior to the heats, “If you don’t want to change your weight distribution, but only make a stagger change, you need to turn your adjusters to bring the car back to the original weight that you recorded with the other set of tires. You need to record the number of turns you made to the adjusters so you can recreate the adjustments at the track when you change tire sizes.”
These two always cracked me up when they talked setups. Tommy listened intently and dad, well, he was in heaven.
I understood setups and could manage on my own but I also knew to concentrate on racing. I needed to focus on that alone. I learned from Jimi with that outlook.
He was a one-man team until he got big sponsorship and now he just showed up to race. That was what he was paid to do and it was easier on him in many ways. It still didn’t stop him from helping us but he had a good group of guys working on his cars and, in turn, they helped us.
Dodge City is a 3/8 mile dirt track that was tacky and the way I liked it. Then, right in the middle of the damn feature, it would turn into a tire-shredding monster.
Dad was also racing tonight since it was a regular scheduled point race for the World of Outlaws, which meant mom tagged along to see us. Originally, I wasn’t supposed to be here but since that asshole USAC official, I wouldn’t be able to compete until the division was in Bloomington. This left me in one of dad’s 410 cars for the next two days. It was fine with me for the most part … I love sprints. Although I was a little irritated with what this would mean for my chances at the Triple Crown.
Halfway through the heats, it was as though I was playing ringleader to these assholes, the assholes being my family and friends. I stood there next to my hauler leaning against a set of tires looking over my tire pressures Tommy had jotted down for me earlier and wondering if I could make any changes before the feature.
Kansas was not the place for us, entirely too boring which meant my crew turned to drinking. Once we got to the race that night, I seemed to be the only sober one as I never drank until after the race.
Thankfully, Spencer and Tommy could still function enough to help me with the car. Emma and Sway were another story. I also wasn’t happy about Emma drinking this much. For one, she was sixteen and two, I despised a drunk Emma even more than I did when she was sober. Hard to believe, I know.
I insisted Spencer and Tommy stop drinking when I cut a tire down after the first heat and it took them a good fifteen minutes to change it.
Spencer dropped down in the chair beside me.
“I can’t believe I got sober for this shit.” He didn’t seem amused that Alley was now giving him shit about being drunk most of this week.
Not much later when I was getting ready for the feature event, I caught a glimpse of Sway and was somewhat concerned.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I asked alarmed she was holding a hammer.
“That asshole shot me with a staple gun!” she wailed holding her thigh and pointing to Tommy. Her thigh was, in fact, bleeding.
I turned toward Tommy. “Where the fuck did you find a staple gun?”
He shrugged moving me in front of him as a shield.
“Does it matter?” he asked frantically tugging at my racing suit.
“Apparently, it does” —I gestured to Sway— “She’s about to kill you.” I laughed and moved out of the way.
By the looks of Tommy sprinting through the pits with Sway hot on his ass, I was on my own for the setup during the next race. There was never a dull moment when Tommy and Sway were at it.
Dad caught me when the horn sounded for the drivers to get to their cars.
“Hey,” he greeted with a smile. He’d been in non-stop hospitality events since he arrived. “How’d ya do in your heat?”
“Second,” I told him.
“Did Tommy set back the timing? It’s changing out there.” He looked over his shoulder at the track.
You could see the black shiny spots forming on the front-stretch that meant the track was drying out and resembled asphalt.
When the track turned black like that, the surface had become hard with very little loose material. The moisture evaporated off the first inch of dirt creating less grip. When that happened, you wanted a softer setup while the track was in that phase reversing the split in the front springs. You could move the weight up to the right of your car and that provided you with more bite where you needed it.
“You should soften the right rear sprint, too. It will help.”
I nodded. “I think Tommy and Rick did... but Tommy was also being chased with a hammer so...” I shrugged. “He might have forgotten.”
“A hammer? Like an actual hammer?”
“Yes. A hammer.”
“By who?”
“Sway.”
He smiled and reached inside my car to check the ignition timing. Sure enough, Tommy had.
“Well, good luck kid. Hope you get a good finish.” He patted my shoulder; his chin came up arrogantly as he smiled.
“You mean, I hope you finish but behind me?” I laughed sliding into my car.
“Something like that.”
Just when you think that you have a handle on the ways of racing and you begin to think to yourself, “Hey, I can do this!” you race with Jimi Riley, the King of the World of Outlaws and he quickly shows you that you know nothing.
He had been racing in this series for twenty years and some seventeen-year-old kid wasn’t going to pull one over on him more than once. I was able to in Bloomington when I was fourteen but I knew I’d need to up my game if I thought I could win tonight.
I know I’ve said this before but sprint cars are violent cars. It takes extreme technique and throttle control to get these beasts to maneuver the way you want, and one slip and it is over. But in the same sense, you push the car to the edge of control where they hover on out of control and that was where they will handle the best.
Ten laps into the A-Feature and the track turned into that tire-shredding monster I talked about.
There were more cautions thrown that night than in any other race I’d been in and you couldn’t see shit, just a dirt cloud.
Shey Evans flipped on the backstretch and took out five other cars. A rookie in the series blew a tire and ended up in the guardrail after collecting Justin West, and me, in the same corner. The feature event was taken by the only driver who finished... Jimi Riley.
“What’s the matter... couldn’t stay out of the guardrail?” Dad teased when I tossed my broken top wing inside the hauler.
He kissed his trophy just to rub it in some more.
I smiled and hung my head.
So far, this was turning out to be the summer from hell.
I couldn’t catch a break for anything.
I sulked by myself in the trailer for a good thirty minutes before I heard Spencer stick his head inside, “Hey, dipshit, let’s go. Mom and dad want to take us to dinner.”
Jumping up, I followed. There were two things that would improve my mood right now, food and, well, sex. Since I wasn’t getting any sex, I decided food would do.
Sway sat beside me. I jammed my foot pretty good when I smashed into the guardrail so she felt the need to constantly ask me if it was okay. It was annoying but I tolerated it only because it was her.
We also usually shared food so it was easier to sit next to each other anyway.
I groaned when she wasn’t quick enough to take the foods I didn’t like.
“Take the carrots before they mix with the others.”
I hated carrots so Sway usually took the liberty of eating them for me. She detested tomatoes so I retrieved those while she took the last remaining carrots from my plate.
Dad watched in humor from across the table. “You two are something else.” He mused taking a drink of his whiskey.
Never failed, dad always had whiskey around. I wouldn’t say he was an alcoholic but he was surely borderline by some standards.
“What are you talking about?” I asked pushing the cucumbers toward Sway’s plate.
“You two...” he motioned with a head nod at Sway and I. “Do you ever eat a meal without eating from each other’s plates?”
Now that I thought about it, no, we didn’t. That was us.
Sway giggled picking at my plate.
I ordered a steak with steamed vegetables and wild rice to start, then, I had a milkshake, most of Sway’s fries, four glasses of water and, well, half of Sway’s hamburger and half of her milkshake. She had a huge eye for food but could never eat everything she ordered. I wasn’t even sure she was a hundred pounds; she was a tiny girl, not as tiny as Emma but small for her height. Emma was a human version of an Umpa Lumpa and still couldn’t ride on the rides at Disney World.
“Do you guys have enough money for hotels?” Mom asked shuffling money at us. Spencer grabbed the money while I pushed it back toward her.
“Yes, mom, we have plenty.”
We didn’t but I was tired of my parents funding everything. I didn’t feel the need to tell her that half the time we were sleeping in the truck, she’d probably have a heart attack if she knew that. I glared in Spencer’s direction when he told them we stayed in the truck a few nights to save money to buy a new set of tires.
Feeling full and having Sway next to me, I felt comfortable and sated. In the booth we were in, she was right against my side, our bodies touching… feeling every intake of breath she took. My arm was thrown around her pulling her even closer. Every so often I would lean down and whisper something in her ear, usually making fun of Spencer or Emma. She would giggle.
This went on for probably an hour, chatting with my parents and keeping Sway close to me before a few girls who didn’t look much older than me approached our table holding a picture of Jimi.
“Hey, Jimi,” a tall blonde said to my dad as she placed her hand softly on his shoulder.
His head whipped around to find the girl leaning against his chair. My mom, always the optimist, smiled at the girls. I’d seen those looks before. They wanted more than talking.
“Hey, girls, what can I do for you?” he asked shaking their hands when they held them out for him and introduced themselves.
“Well, I’m Cassie and this is my friend Alyssa.” Cassie smiled again at dad. I admit that she was pretty but not something I would ever look at twice. “We were wondering if we could get an autograph from you... and your son, Jameson. Maybe a picture, too?”
This surprised me for two reasons: they had yet to look my direction and they knew who I was.
Clearing my throat, I nodded when Cassie arched an eyebrow at me.
I felt Sway’s body tense when I untangled myself from her to stand.
Dad and I took a few pictures with the girls and, in the end, they stuffed their numbers in our back pockets before disappearing toward the bar.
Dad reached into his pocket and threw the number on the table.
“They were bold,” he said tucking mom into his side and kissing her forehead.
I knew this wasn’t the first time this happened to him. Jimi Riley was the king of sprint car racing. Not only was he a king of sprint car racing but with piercing blue eyes and black messy hair, he had looks going for him, so I’ve been told. My mom never paid a mind to it though. She always smiled and looked the other way as if it wasn’t happening. Don’t get me wrong, he had never once acted on the advances that I knew about and I doubted he ever would. Mom was it for him. I watched for years the way his eyes lit up each time he saw her and the way she grinned like a schoolgirl every time he whispered in her ear. After twenty-two years of marriage, they were still madly in love. Seeing that type of devoted love made me hope one day I’d find that but I also knew my love for racing overstepped that.
I wasn’t looking for love. I was looking to make a name for myself that didn’t include being Jimi Riley’s kid.
WHEN I STARTED the summer my dad provided us with five sprint cars and deposited money in our accounts but we still had to work within a budget. Racing is not cheap.
Cars were upward of forty grand each and when shit breaks, it’s expensive.
Knock off a wing like I did in Williams Grove and that was $600. Front shock in Terre Haute was $900. An engine after the race at River Cities Speedway was $10,000. A broken left front axle at Columbus was $200. And a driveline after Eldora was $1500. I kept waiting for the priceless part like the commercials but it never came.
As you can see, racing couldn’t be done without sponsorship. For me, sponsorship didn’t even cover all that shit.
By the time August rolled around that summer, it was apparent a change needed to occur. Either that, or I was done racing sprint cars and needed to find a job to support my racing hobby. I couldn’t rely on my dad’s financial support forever and I didn’t want to. I hated that he was even paying for as much as he did.
I was still racing in the USAC divisions for Bowman Oil and Bucky but that wasn’t enough. To get to where I wanted to be, I needed as much experience as I could get.
Funny thing was I didn’t know where I was heading. I knew I wanted to compete for the Triple Crown this year, but next year I hadn’t given much thought to it.
Again, I just wanted to race.
Open wheel guys usually go one of three ways: Indy, IRL, or NASCAR.
Being an open wheel guy, Indy appealed to me but I was curious about those stock cars. I liked racing the outlaw late models so I thought for sure I’d like those stock cars as well, although I’d never raced them on asphalt yet.
After Knoxville Nationals in early August, I was heading to Grain Valley, Missouri, to race in a USAC Silver Crown race there on Saturday afternoon.
So far, I was fourth in the USAC Sprint points, second in the Silver Crown, and first in the midget series... this meant that overall, in the National Triple Crown points, I was third behind Justin West and Tyler Sprague.
I was confident going into Grain Valley and that was exactly the mentality I needed to win there, and I did.
The following week I raced in Sun Prairie. I won both the midget and sprint race. It seemed that even though I was destroying a lot of cars, I was beginning to win. This was a good thing because I needed the money to pay for all that shit I broke.
Sleeping in my truck was getting old fast. I was at my wits end with my sister and Alley constantly bitching at me and I frequently found myself offering Sway my sweatshirt so she’d cover up. It was going on six months since I had sex and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go.
After the race in Sun Prairie, all of us, including Tommy who had been traveling more often with us, headed out for a night on the town. It had been a while since we had let loose since I raced sixteen days in July and already thirteen in August and we still had another week to go.
“What is that smell? Roll up the damn windows!” I barked plugging my nose as we rolled through the farm town.
It smelled like shit at the track and it smelled like shit at the hotel, so naturally, it smelled like shit at the bars.
“It’s shit, I think,” Sway said rolling up her window as we pulled up to a bar.
“I’m not going in there,” Emma announced.
“Good,” I replied sarcastically. Emma kicked at me from her place on Sway’s lap. “Kick me again and I will throw you out of this fucking truck.” I warned not looking at her but checking my voicemails on my phone. I had three revisions to my schedule that Nicole from Bowman Oil sent me. They had me racing in LaSalle and Terre Haute on the same day... I was sure that wasn’t going to work unless I could be in Ohio and Illinois at the same time.
“Can we even get in there?” Sway asked pointing toward the Canary Grill we sat in front of.
“It’s Sun Prairie, Wisconsin, and I doubt they check IDs,” Spencer added from the front seat. He sighed looking at the bar. He looked defeated. “Let’s pray they don’t.”
After four speeding tickets in two weeks, I was no longer allowed to drive. My license was suspended. Bullshit if you asked me but I wasn’t about to argue with the cop who pulled me over for doing 110 in a 45.
I think I got off good considering he could have thrown me in jail for that one.
No one was making any attempt at getting out so I did. I, for one, was tired of being cooped up in a car with these assholes and needed to get away. I didn’t think this bar would sell us any alcohol, but when I walked in, there was a large USAC calendar on the wall. I had never used my connections for anything so far, but right then I did. I don’t believe in using your popularity or who you know to get anything in life but there are times when this will work to your benefit. When you’re eighteen, in a bar, and surrounded by your annoying family, you’d use your connections to get alcohol any way you could.
“Can I help you, honey?” an older woman behind the bar asked. Her skin looked like leather, and judging by the numerous tattoos covering her body, I doubt she cared what her skin looked like. Her voice was rough, marred by the years of smoking, I’m sure.
Spencer and Tommy walked up behind me.
“Hey, Jameson,” Spencer pushed against my shoulder with his. “Sway said to tell you that she’d find you later. She and Alley went across the street.”
“For what?” I turned to ask him. I did not like the sounds of that.
What in the hell could she need across the street?
“Hell, I don’t know, they said they’d be back.” Spencer replied holding his hands defensively near his face. “Emma went with them.”
“Calm down, Riley,” Tommy said throwing his lanky arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get drunk.”
“Riley?” a younger version of the leathered woman asked. She too was just as rugged but probably twenty years younger. “As in the USAC driver?”
Spencer pushed me toward the bar and I hit the edge with a huff and tripped over a few stools in the process. Graceful, right?
“Thanks, asshole.” I muttered at Spencer before flashing the girls a smile and finding my footing. “Yes, I’m Jameson Riley.” I held my hand out to them.
They shook it and the alcohol flowed from there.
The younger leathered girl was flirty, and I had a few drinks by then so I flirted back. Sway walked in about the time, Tessa, the leathered tattooed girl was showing me a tattoo of a dragon on the inside of her upper thigh. By now, she was sitting on my lap while I downed my fourth Jack and Coke.
Sway smiled when she approached and then walked past us to sit at the bar with Tommy and Spencer. This left me alone with leather Tessa. “Hey, I live close,” she began leaning closer to me.
I knew what she meant by this but I also knew that I was getting hammered and this girl had been ridden hard in her short years. Who knew the diseases she had and was willing to share. I was not about to leave with her.
Soon my brain caught up with my all too willing dick and we pried Tessa off my lap. “I need to be getting back to my friends,” I told her when she tried to push me back down in the chair.
“I’ll show you a good time,” was her attempt at convincing me to stay.
“I’m sure you would, but I really need to be getting back.”
“You don’t want any?” she tried again.
“Have you met my friend Tommy?” Tommy was recently single and needed some so I thought this would be good.
Turns out, Tommy was interested in Tessa. They left together not more than ten minutes after meeting each other.
This left me, drunk and horny, molesting poor Sway on the dance floor as we danced to some country song. Her head rested against my chest, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. I breathed in, inhaling her rich intoxicating scent.
Sway sighed contently and pulled me closer. I wasn’t complaining so I wrapped my arms around her tightly. “Sing to me,” she whispered.
My lips brushed against her forehead before moving toward her ear. “I don’t know the words but I’ll try...” I felt her smile against my chest as I began singing in a low voice.
I realized right then this wasn’t the song for us but Sway had other ideas and asked if I wanted to get some fresh air with her.
“Let’s go outside.” I glanced around the bar. Tommy was gone, Emma was talking tattoos with the older bartender and Alley and Spencer were making out in a booth off in the corner.
Once outside Sway pushed me against the brick wall and her mouth was on mine in the next second. Her kisses were slow, patient and testing. Mine was frantic, desperate and uncontrolled. I wanted her so bad right then.
I picked her up, her legs wrapped around my waist and I spun her around so her back was against the wall. I let go of everything I’d been feeling those last few weeks and kissed her. Everything rose to the surface, displayed in ways I couldn’t and didn’t want to control. She met me as an equal, touching, kissing, and moving. The feel of her against me consumed me with pleasure. My hands greedily searched and settled on her ass.
I was operating on pure instinct and want.
I moaned against her lips, parting them ever so slightly as I settled into the juncture of her thighs. Sway gasped and, at that sound, I was brought back to reality and jerked back away from her.
“Shit... I’m sorry. I... shouldn’t have... sorry.”
Sway shook her head, her breathing ragged. “No... it’s okay... I think it’s the beer talking. I didn’t mean to attack you,” she said straightening her shirt.
“It happens,” I shrugged running my hands through my hair and then adjusting myself. Sway giggled, of course, and pushed against my shoulder.
“We should get back to the hotel. I’m tired.”
After that kiss, I was not tired and in definite need of a pressure valve release.
I laid awake most of the night trying to decide what it was that I wanted from Sway.
Did I cross the line?
Sure, I wanted something physical, look at her! She’s beautiful but I wasn’t willing to give up anything. There’s a reason why I kept her at bay. It wasn’t that I thought I was happy alone; it was because what if it all fell apart, then what?
I shook my head infinitesimally at the thought.
I rolled over and watched her sleeping, only she wasn’t sleeping, she was staring at me. I knew something was wrong with her by the sighs that broke through over the humming of the air conditioner. I was on the verge of asking her what was wrong when she sighed again, our eyes meeting. Even in the dark, it was easy to see the glowing of her eyes.
I smiled hoping it would ease whatever was frustrating her, but it didn’t and she turned away facing the wall.
It annoyed me that she didn’t return my smile to the point where I didn’t sleep at all that night and was left with my own annoying thoughts.
I was not taking any chances with her. I needed her and, for now, I would get what I could. Even if it was drunk kisses and groping here and there, was that enough?
I had no solutions to this; no easy answers, and nothing was simple because nothing is ever simple. Just when you think something, life throws you a curve ball and you’re stuck looking for that next perfect pitch to hit your home run.
So, was it enough?
Not really, but it had to be. Anything more wasn’t an option.
I wanted one thing and one thing only: that USAC Triple Crown title.