Roundy Round – A slang term used in NASCAR to describe an oval track.
With graduation day here, I had little time to watch the Winston. That being said, guess what kind of mood I was in during the graduation ceremonies?
Yeah, shitty.
I couldn’t understand the purpose of a damn graduation ceremony. It seemed like a silly waste of time to me. On top of that, I had to deal with Jameson’s crush brigade.
Two girls, Amanda Taylor and Erica Ward, were Jameson’s crush brigade. Always have been. And these two hookers decided to go to Western, just like me.
Can you guess, me being Jameson’s best friend, how they felt toward me?
Yeah, so they hated me. To be fair, I thought little of them as well. Especially Amanda. She had these beautiful blue eyes, blonde hair, sort of similar to Chelsea but more beautiful. Funny enough, she and Jameson had kissed a few times when we were younger so ever since then, she liked to throw this in my face.
The immature side of myself, wanted to say, “Yeah, well, I’ve felt his camshaft!”
I didn’t though because, believe it or not, I was somewhat mature, if you think your average nine-year-old is mature.
Anyway, back to the point here, if there is one. Amanda and Erica caught me before the ceremony. “Hey, Sway,” Amanda’s eyes glanced around the audience behind me. “Did Jameson make it?”
Again, the nine-year-old in me wanted to say, “Yes, he’s waiting for me in my bed.” I know what you’re thinking here, hello, Sway, a nine-yea-old wouldn’t be thinking about a boy in her bed but that wasn’t the point either.
“He’s racing tonight in the Winston.”
“Oh, right, he’s in that NASCAR thing?” she acted as though it was no big deal.
“Yeah... that NASCAR thing.”
“Do you talk to him still?” Erica asked running her fingers through her red hair. “I thought you two were friends.”
“Yes, I talk to him often. And, yes, he’s my best friend, we talk daily.”
That seemed to catch them slightly off guard, but they recovered fast, unfortunately. “If he’s your best friend... where is he today?”
“Like I said... he’s racing.”
“Well,” Amanda clipped. “I read he’s single. He doesn’t belong to you.”
Where was all this coming from?
I had no idea how to react to them. They didn’t teach this at the School for the Socially Challenged where, apparently, I was their valedictorian.
Normally, I would have said something both insulting and mean but I had nothing for them.
I had enough.
Making my way toward the throng of graduates gathered by the stage, I couldn’t help but miss him. Knowing he had obligations now, didn’t stop it from hurting that he couldn’t be here.
I sent him a text: Amanda says hi.
He replied immediately with: Who the fuck is Amanda?
S: I think I just fell in love with you.
I sent it before my brain identified what I typed.
Oh fuck! Nice job Sway! Crap.
J: I didn’t know it was that easy. Lucky me! Who’s Amanda?
S: Blonde, blue eyes, you kissed her your sophomore year…I told her I was carrying your love child.
J: That’s my girl! Still not ringing any bells. Back to this loving me thing…does that make up for not being there today? I’m really sorry.
S: You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not within your control.
J: I know…it’s still hard though. I miss you.
S: I know, I miss you, too. Good luck tonight. I’ll be watching.
J: Thanks honey. Tommy has something from me for you. Talk to you after the race?
S: Yep!
“Sway?” I heard Tommy call out. He was easy to spot within the crowd with his orange hair.
“I’m right here.” I raised my hand. Tommy hugged me in congratulation. Usually me and fire crotch were too busy fighting to hug but I missed Jameson so much in that moment that I returned the hug.
“Here,” he said pushing a box at me.
Opening the lid, tears flooded my eyes as I took in the necklace nestled against the black velvet. It was a simple locket, with a delicate silver braided chain. My fingertips brushed across the silver oval keepsake, the oils from my skins left my imprint against the metal. Carefully, I opened the locket to see my favorite picture of us. We were probably thirteen, maybe fourteen.
It was after a race at Elma and we were sitting in a pair of sprint car tires. His arm was draped over mine and I was leaning into his embrace. Both of us had huge grins on our faces. Even at such a young age, unaware to the two of us, a deep emotional bond was being molded between us. One that would remain for the rest of our lives, pure, natural and everything we both needed.
On the other side of the locket was an engraving that read: Siempre mi amigo
Recognizing the statement as “forever my friend,” I didn’t realize I was crying until my tears fell against the metal, washing away my prints made.
Tommy pulled me against his side. “I don’t know when the two of you will wake up ... but he loves you.”
As much as I told myself he didn’t, I think my common sense knew the twist our relationship was slowly taking.
And, as much as I tried, I couldn’t deny what was inside me.
I sent him a text again, knowing he might not see it until after the race.
S: Thank you. It’s beautiful.
Unexpectedly, he answered. Anything for you.
I don’t know why I hated this graduation so much. Maybe the worst part was that no one was here with me, aside from Mallory, who worked at the track with my dad. Charlie wasn’t feeling good so he sent her. Jameson was racing, as was the rest of his family and Tommy had to leave be in Attica, Ohio, later today.
I left graduation as soon as I got my diploma and headed to the bar to watch the race with Mallory. After my run-in with Amanda and Erica, I couldn’t wait to leave.
We ordered appetizers, drank beer and had a good time while the pre-race activities started on television.
It was nice to see Mallory again. Mallory Thompson, Mark Kelly’s daughter, was currently acting as the Office Manager for the track and took care of things like insurance policies, ticket sales, payroll for the employees... pretty much everything we wouldn’t allow Charlie to do. I’d been assisting her with all this since I was six so I knew the logistics of it all.
“How’s Charlie doing with everything?” I asked Mallory chewing my nachos slowly. I spoke to him often but he always talked about school.
She nodded chewing her own food, placing her napkin over her mouth as she spoke.
“He seems good. He and Ryan got into it the other day but all’s good.”
“Ryan?”
“He drives the water truck for us. You’ll meet him. Which reminds me, when do you come home?”
“My lease is up next week so I’m going to move all my stuff during the week and then I’ll be out.”
“Do you need help?”
“No, Tommy said he’d help. He comes back from Attica on Monday.” I reached across the table to dip my shrimp in the cocktail sauce next to Mallory. “The last time Tommy helped me move though, he drank beer while I moved boxes.”
“How’s that firecracker doing?”
I laughed. “It’s fire crotch Mal, not firecracker.”
“Right—forgot,” she giggled.
Mallory was about as green as grass when it came to sex. Mentally, you would swear she was a virgin but her and Bryce had been married for the last three years so I hoped she wasn’t still a virgin. You never know though.
“How’s Jameson these days?”
“He seems okay, but you know Jameson... he gets so diligently focused on racing he never bothers to take care of himself.”
“I don’t know him all that well but I definitely saw that side of him.” Her soft caramel eyes looked over at me. “So are you two...” her voice trailed off insinuatingly.
“Oh, no,” I waved my arms around, knocked my beer on her and then started giggling when beer came out my nose. Coughing, I answered with a choked out, “Friends.”
Mallory laughed as she placed a handful of napkins in her lap to soak up the beer.
“Sweetie, you and him have never been just friends.”
“That obvious?” I sighed in admission.
I was lying to everyone around me for so long that I had no feelings for him, I almost believed myself.
“It took me a while to figure it out but sometime toward the end of your senior year I uh ... well ... saw you two kissing after a race.” I racked my brain trying to think of the specifics she was referring to but I couldn’t, so she went on sensing my confusion. “After the Northern Sprint Tour... he won. Anyhow, I walked into the pits to close up the concession because I wasn’t sure if you had already left when I saw you guys in the booth. He had you against the wall...” Her cheeks tinted pink as her eyebrows rose in question. This was her silently pleading with me to remember so her virgin mentality didn’t have to continue.
“Oh... that.” I remember all right. That was the night his hands slipped up my shirt and my hands, well they dipped somewhere else. The interesting part about Jameson and me was we always stopped. I don’t know why, but we did. Believe me when I tell you, I did not want to. There are so many times—I wanted to continue. I wanted so badly to feel his body against me in the most intimate ways. Really though, I wanted to fuck the poor boy senseless.
“So what’s with you two then?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I told her honestly. “When we’re together, we can’t keep our hands to ourselves. When we’re apart, he’s the best friend I could ever ask for, always has been.”
Cheering down by the bar halted our conversations. Driver introductions were going on for the Winston Open. One of the announcers in the booth, Neil, talked about Jameson while they showed the fans applauding him during introductions. “Jameson has an amazing feel for grip, always has. He can feel the changes to the track and car that ordinarily go undetermined by other drivers. That’s where his team benefits,” Neil commended. “For only being his second season in stock cars, you better believe this kid has more to offer.”
The broadcasters interviewed Darrin Torres, driver of the No. 14, first about the recent run-in at Richmond. His comments were the same each week. “It’s hard to respect a guy like Jameson on the track. He has no concern for anyone else.”
I wanted to punch this Darrin fucker, having never heard the name until this year; I was not impressed with him.
They interviewed Jameson right after that. I smiled so widely that I thought my cheeks were going to stay that way.
“Wow,” Mallory gasped at the television, then back to me with a dazed expression. “He’s hot!”
“Tell me about it.”
“He’s definitely not the same rusty haired little boy, is he?”
“Nope,” my eyes glued to the screen as he spoke to the reporter.
“This is your first Winston Open ... do you think you can get a good starting spot?” he asked Jameson. A group of girls, Amanda and Erica included, whistled when they focused on his face.
Jameson chuckled and leaned against his car on the grid. Spencer handed him a bottle of water before he answered.
I wish I was that bottle of water.
“I think we can get a good spot. My Simplex Ford has been great all through practice runs so ... I can’t imagine it won’t be now,” he flashed a smile.
“With this being a ‘have at it’ race, how do you think the rival with Darrin will pan out?”
Jameson’s body visibly tensed. “I guess we’ll see.”
“Have you guys talked since Richmond?”
“It’s hard to talk to him,” Jameson said disdainfully. “He doesn’t respect anyone around him.”
It never changed for Jameson, there was always someone trying to push him to the breaking point.
Why?
Because he is talented. They saw him as a threat and just like any animal, which everyone is whether you want to admit it or not, what do we do when threatened? We attack fighting for survival.
That was exactly what Darrin was doing. He was threatened by Jameson, as he should be.
Here Jameson was a twenty-two-year-old kid with only a few years of stock car racing under his belt and dominating the series as a rookie. Of course, he felt threatened.
Jameson dominated the NASCAR Winston Open and the Winston that night, winning the first two segments, and with stellar pit strategy, he came out first for the third and final segment after the invert.
Darrin fought with Bobby and Tate for the first few laps, allowing Jameson to pull away to a 2-second lead but with three laps to go, Darrin and Bobby had caught Jameson. The three of them battled the last lap taking corners three wide at times (unheard of I might add). You don’t take the turns at Charlotte three wide, you just don’t. Bobby lifted and darted inside down on the line behind Jameson but Darrin refused to. They bumped, they banged, and bounced off one another until they crossed the line sideways together with Jameson taking the win, but with a destroyed car. The bar was once again in an uproar of cheering and booing.
They definitely put on one hell of a Winston race. Men throughout the bar were cheering and fist pumping each other; women were clapping, the bartenders were nodding in approval, it was a good race and exactly what the fans wanted.
Their cars came to rest on the front stretch in front of the main grandstands where they both got out of their cars and the heated discussion continued, as did the bedlam from the fans. Those fans paid to see a Saturday night race and they got one, with the addition of a brawl.
Darrin shoved Jameson (wrong move by the way), Jameson shoved him and then they were struggling against officials to get at each other. By now, Jameson had tossed his gloves and helmet aside, as did Darrin. His enraged glower at Darrin said it all. They were yelling at one another while the officials fought to keep them apart. With the announcers from the broadcasting station speaking, you couldn’t hear what they were saying but I recognized a few choice words like “Fuck” and “Asshole” or “Motherfucker” which was a standard selection of words when Jameson was upset.
They cut to commercial, so I immediately sent a text to Emma.
S: He’s going to get himself suspended!
It took her a moment but she finally responded.
Emma: I know. NASCAR is calling them both to the hauler.
When the broadcasting station came back on, they panned to Jameson’s car making its way to victory lane as Darrin trudged toward the NASCAR hauler surrounded by officials and crewmembers.
“Darrin,” the reporter swarmed him. “Can you tell us what happened there on the last lap?”
“We both wanted the win. It’s a big payout and a race where you let go. I wanted to win so I took an opening where I could,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders casually.
“What was the interaction there when you two came to rest there at the end?”
Darrin laughed with intent.
“He flaunts his talent out there like a brat with a trust fund,” he told the reporter and began walking again. “There’s a reason why he’s called ‘Rowdy Riley.’ He’s out of control.”
Amazed that asshole suggested that was all Jameson, left me angry as they shot to the view of Jameson now in victory lane pulling himself from the car once again. If you thought this was all by pure luck that they suddenly catch the driver getting out of his car, it’s not. That was all planned by the broadcasting stations. The driver gets the cue to get out of the car. If he doesn’t listen, he has to do it all over again.
Crossing between frustration, outraged and the thrill from the win, he pulled himself from the car. His eyes were hard, but he smiled despite the scrap he had just been in.
Without a moment’s rest, the reporters were there.
“How does it feel to win your first Winston race?”
Jameson chuckled sweeping a towel over his face.
“I don’t think it’s sunk in yet,” he said. “I’m really excited.”
I knew he was excited for the win, but I knew him well enough to know the win wasn’t what he was thinking about.
“A millionaire now, huh?”
“Yeah, I think that’s the payout, right?” he looked around with a grin as the crowd cheered behind him. “Guess so ...”
God did I want to be there to celebrate with them.
“What happened there after the race?”
“I feel bad we tore up the car there but it was racing,” he told him. “It’s a big deal to win this race. We’ve been fortunate for a new team that we have the best cars around. These fans wanted a show, they got that.”
“Was that planned?”
“No, I never plan to destroy my race car like that,” he said. “Tempers flare at these races. We both wanted the win.”
“Darrin said you flaunt your talent like a kid with a trust fund,” the reporter provoked.
Refusing to make eye contact with the camera, his head shook in a slow vexed movement. “He’s just pissed I’m one step ahead of him out there,” Jameson bit. “Every move he makes, I’ve already seen it and predicted what he’ll do.” He turned after that and faced his crew, evidently done with the interview. Couldn’t blame him, they were only setting him up.
The reporter started to sign off when he saw Jameson take the microphone from him. “I forgot to say one thing,” he smiled at the reporter. “I need to say hello to my best friend back home who graduated college tonight. Congratulations, Sway ... this win is about fans and you’ve been my biggest one, thank you, honey!” he winked at the camera and then turned back around to speak with the line-up of reporters waiting for their turn.
Jesus. Way to break my heart.
Mallory turned to me. “That was intense!”
I gasped. “You’re telling me.”
“Do you think he’s in trouble?”
“With NASCAR?”
“Yeah,”
“Oh, yeah, they don’t like that sort of thing. Emma said he’s been summoned to the hauler already.” Before Fox Sports went to another commercial, they caught up with Jimi heading toward the NASCAR hauler himself.
“Looks like Jameson got a little fired up at the end there with Darrin,” they hinted probing.
“You can’t expect him not to get fired up like that. He’s passionate about what he loves.” Jimi told them. “For the most part I think he’s handling it well considering the way he’s provoked.”
“So you feel he’s being provoked by Darrin?”
“Without a doubt,” Jimi said, matter-of-factly. “Each week it’s a different track but the same thing with Darrin ... but you have to understand Jameson has been in this game since he was four. There have been times he’s pushed to his limit and times he doesn’t handle it in the best way. He’s a racer. At times, we don’t think before we react.”
I had won the Winston. I was supposed to be happy. But no, fuck no, there I was sitting in the NASCAR hauler defending my actions.
“This is your warning Jameson,” Gordon said, his voice hard but controlled. “I don’t want to ever see something like that again.”
“You should be having this conversation with Torres. He started that shit coming out of turn four!” I shot back slowly rising to my feet.
Once back at my hauler, I forgot all about the fact I won the race, against all the All-Stars in the series.
Instead, I focused on the fact that I was, once again, dealing with a pugnacious asshole on the track. It never ended, every year it was another driver. And though it came with racing, I fucking hated it. When all you want to do is race, this petty bullshit was enough to make you second-guess the choice.
“Goddamn it!” I roared slamming my fist into the side of the hauler. The sheet metal flexed but didn’t give the way I’d hoped. “What the fuck is that asshole trying to prove!” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement and, as I expected, no one answered. Alley and Kyle stood there staring at me as though I’d lost it again.
Dad walked inside the hauler, slamming the door behind him. He glared at a few team members who had just straggled in to which they scurried right back out.
“What the fuck was that?” he demanded, his voice sharp as he looked directly at me. “Did you hear me, Jameson?”
“Yeah, I heard you.” Holding on to the only self-control I had left, my hands grasped the stainless steel counters.
“Do you have any idea what that’s going to cost us?”
Refusing to look at him, I nodded.
“I don’t want to be the dad who constantly reminds you of what’s at stake ... but I think I need to remind you at times.”
“I already know.” Though my voice was unsure, I knew. Believe me I fucking knew what was at stake. I was harked to every word spoken by the media, fans, sponsors, drivers, and friends at what was peril here. I knew. How could I forget when everyone was so unrelentingly reminding me?
“Do you? Do you really understand?”
“I understand!” I yelled and turned to face him. “I understand completely. Do you honestly think anyone is going to let me forget how much is at risk? You won’t, Simplex won’t, NASCAR won’t, and Torres sure as shit won’t!” By now, I was yelling just as loud as he had been when Alley came back inside.
Her eyes gauged our tempers flaring.
“There fining you five thousand,” she told us leaning against the counter beside me.
“Five grand ... are you fucking serious?” This was unbelievable.
“Yep.”
“For what?”
“Conduct detrimental to stock car racing.”
I wondered if NASCAR found the increased ticket sales from our little brawl detrimental to them? Doubt it.
So, I won the Winston and got fined $5000 for brawling on the finish line in front of a frenzied crowd that NASCAR sales benefited from.
Nice, huh?
I understood NASCAR’s position on this. I did. But you’d think a little more slack would be given in this area. These temperaments and aggressive driving did wonders for ratings, that was what I didn’t understand. There had to be a line drawn somewhere with them and their penalties.
Was Darrin fined? No.
That right there should have told me something. As a sanctioning body, you’d think there would be a little more fairness.
I was fuming the rest of the night, until Sway sent me a text. Congrats on the win.
Not wanting to say something negative, I stared at the screen for a good ten minutes before replying with: Thanks.
I thought briefly about turning my phone off after that, but didn’t.
S: Don’t pay any mind to Darrin or the media. You raced fair and clean, that’s all that matters. He’s a jackass.
J: I know.
S: I hope you do know. And don’t just say you know Jameson. You need to actually know because that’s the difference here. Knowing and doing.
She had a point. Even clouded judgment could see that—the imperviously manic side of me didn’t want reassurance—he wanted to be pissed.
The next morning after I went for a quick run around the track, to calm my impetuosity, I hit the weight room that the track had.
We didn’t talk much as we were in there for a reason.
Eventually, Bobby did say something to me.
“That was one helluva show last night.”
I simply grunted in return continuing with my bicep curls until I reached my limit. Setting the weights on the floor, I nodded. “Not exactly the way I wanted to end the night though.”
“Yeah, so you got fined. I got fined for loose lug nuts during the second segment. It happens.”
“He’s an asshole. Always has been,” Tate added as Andy walked through the doors. We all looked up at him as Darrin shuffled in behind him.
I left immediately. There was no way I could keep from throwing a punch or two at that asshole if he said anything toward me. I didn’t plan on starting out my Cup career like this, called into the NASCAR hauler every time I turned around, but no, Darrin ensured I did.
I made my way back to my motor coach in the driver’s compound after showing my credentials.
I shrugged out of my jacket not bothering to pick it up from the floor when it missed the coat rack as that would require a little more energy than I was willing to put forth at the moment. Tossing my keys on the counter, I walked past Spencer on the couch watching cartoons with Lane eating a bowl of cereal. Usually, I was the only one who stayed at the track in the motor coach aside from Cal—he stayed there, too. The rest of the team got hotels nearby. Spencer and Lane stayed with me last night though since Alley and Emma drove back to Mooresville.
With the Coca-Cola 600 on Sunday and practice starting on Thursday, I didn’t need to go back home. It was only a thirty-minute drive so if I needed too, I could go home.
Pouring myself a bowl of cereal, I sat down next to Spencer on the couch, my phone vibrated next to me. Thinking it was Sway, I picked it up to see a text from Spencer.
Spencer: Wanna go to Williams Grove tonight for the Morgan Cup Challenge?
I don’t know why I texted him back, he was sitting right next to me but it was sometimes easier to play along with Spencer antics then to question them.
J: Can’t. Have to be in Concord this afternoon for an appearance.
Spencer: We’ll come with you. We could eat at Longhorn.
That got my attention. Anytime we were in Concord, we ate at the Longhorn Steak House. If there was ever a time where I had to choose my last meal, it would be at the Longhorn.
J: Ok.
Spencer: Let’s go now.
“I’m sitting right here asshole. Stop texting me.”
“It’s more dramatic this way.”
“How so?”
“I’m not really sure ... but it is,” he smiled.
I took his cell phone from his hand and tossed it behind me. “You’re an idiot.”
Lane glanced up from his cartoons and grinned, milk dripped down his chin. “Who’s an in ... it?”
“I said idiot, Lane,” I corrected him. “And I was referring to your Dad.”
“Oh,” he said meekly and returned to his cartoons.
Spencer glared. “Why do you think I text everyone when he’s here? He’s like a goddamn sponge.”
Lane turned around again and opened his mouth before Spencer stopped him. “Don’t even think about it little man,” he warned in his fatherly tone he had on rare occasions.
Lane, Spencer and Aiden ended up coming with me to Concord that day where we ended with Longhorn. Lane destroyed a plate of cheese fries, we had no idea his tiny three-year-old body could hold that much food. Remaining relatively quiet most of the dinner, I had a lot to muse over.
Penalties, sprint car teams, sponsors, Sway ... and it was just like me to over analyze it all.
The more I contemplated the twist our relationship was taking, the more I wanted it to take that twist. It was more than evident she was physically attracted to me. Her body responded to me.
I caught her watching me on more than one occasion, the long lingering glances, and the quick peeks out of the corner of her eye when my shirt was off. And then there were the more discernable responses when we were together intimately. The way her touch set my body on fire, the silent way her eyes pleaded for me to continue ... even with all this evidence I had, my mind was telling me not to take things further with her.
Then I had NASCAR on my mind. Rookies were supposed to stay out of trouble, respect veteran drivers, and simply gain experience. Though I was gaining the experience and respect of the veteran drivers like Doug Dunham and Steve Vander, I wasn’t staying out of trouble. I had Darrin to thank for that.
All this trouble with NASCAR wasn’t helping my focus on my sprint car team as well. Our team remained fairly small at the moment so Justin, and now Tyler, needed me as the owner to be there for them. In sprint car racing, it’s a smaller operation than these Cup teams. Where Riley Simplex Racing has grown to around a hundred employees now, I had five with JAR Racing. They needed me.
It may not have been the best time to start a sprint car team in the World of Outlaws—a series that had the most grueling schedule in auto racing—but it’s where I came from. How could I possibly let that go? I couldn’t give that up any more than I could give Sway up.
So there I sat leading up to the Coca-Cola 600, wondering what the fuck went wrong. I was peddled by NASCAR as the next champion in the series, but at the same time found myself in “Big Red” each week. A sprint car team with two of the best drivers on dirt but lacking the guidance of their owner and madly in love with my best friend who had power she didn’t even know she had. She could take me down harder and faster than anyone I’d ever known. She had that power over me, a power I’d never let anyone have before in fear they’d use it against me. But just like sprint car racing, I couldn’t let her go.
It wasn’t an option.
THE NEXT FEW days before practice started for the Coca-Cola 600 were spent relaxing and fulfilling several sponsorship obligations.
I devoted some time with my crewmembers and other drivers in the compound. My motor coach was parked right next to Bobby’s as it was every week and another rookie in the series, Paul.
Paul was a good guy; he seemed levelheaded enough and also disliked Darrin. I guess he and Paul ran USAC together back in ‘98.
Paul, Bobby, Spencer and me were hanging around outside Tate’s motor coach with him Wednesday night when Spencer decided to embarrass me. His poison for this... Sway.
I don’t know why this happened so often but everyone was curious about us. To me, it was none of their business and I didn’t take lightly to discussing it.
Paul, not knowing me well, asked, “What’s with you and that small town beauty who comes to see you on occasion?”
I took a big chug of coffee, trying to give myself a minute to think.
But the coffee was fucking hot. It scalded my throat going down, making me take in a gulp of air, which, of course, made me inhale the coffee. I’ve learned over the years that inhaling is the distinctly suboptimal method of ingestion when hot.
As I tried to reign in my choking gagging and other nasty sounds I seemed to be making, Spencer leaned back in his chair, laughing at me.
Another half a minute of me spluttering like an engine out of gas, he laughed out. “I’m embarrassed for you.”
I figured out gasping for life-sustaining oxygen, that I was fucked. Finally I answered with, “She’s my friend.”
“You are such a fucking liar,” Spencer grunted sitting down beside me again and then felt the need to continue. “Those two have been messing around with each other since they were what,” he turned to me looking for an answer. I simply glared. This did nothing to addle him. “I think since they were ... fourteen,” he laughed. “Caught them dry humping in the movie room one night. She’s been on his dick ever since.” I was displeased to discover that the quality of his voice increased exponentially in relation to its volume. Now he was practically shouting.
“Shut the fuck up, Spencer!” I snapped punching his shoulder as hard as I could in a sedentary position.
“Friends with benefits... huh?” Paul said. “I’ve got one of those. Works out nicely when I can’t commit to anything.”
“I’ve been telling him that for years,” Spencer added before I punched him again. “Would have saved him years of pain.”
“Do you understand what shut the fuck up means?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “I’m choosing to ignore you.”
“Fuck you.” I grumbled making my way around the guys as they sat there laughing.
I went back to my motor coach and locked the door. My mind raced over what Paul said, he had one.
People did the whole friends with benefits thing all the time. It also ruined friendships just as quickly. But if anyone could do friends with benefits with a girl that wasn’t complicated, it was us. We could have more, just a less complicated version. It’s not that I ever wanted to have her and then the ability to sleep around with others. That was definitely not it. Sway owned me; I only wanted her. This was more about us having what we could have—given the situation we were both in.