“DO YOU REALLY have to go already?” I lower my voice to a seductive whisper, casting a longing gaze up at my husband as my fingers circle the light sprinkling of dark brown and white hair on his chest. With a roguish smile on his handsome face, he sighs then sets his iPhone down on the bedside table and stares pensively down at me.
“Yeah, Tyler qualified for a race so we’re heading back down. We don’t want to drive through the night. I’ve got my guys covering everything until I get back in a couple of days. This race is big deal for me and Tyler.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes at the mention of his best friend’s name.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay home this weekend?” I straddle his hips and crawl down the length of his hard body, peeking up through my long lashes when my lips reach their destination. My tongue slides back and forth against the tip of his erection. Opening my mouth, I welcome the feel of him as he hardens and releases a deep groan.
“As much as I would love for you to continue, I really do need to jump in the shower and get the bikes loaded up.” He shifts his body and pulls out of my mouth, leaving my lips in the shape of an O and a dumbfounded look on my face. “Be ready for that raincheck when I get back.”
I blink rapidly to ward off the tears that threaten to fall while I suppress the sting of rejection once again.
“Besides,” he says, sensing my sullen state, “Ty will be here soon.”
I mentally curse Tyler Strong’s name as I watch my husband stand and reach for his phone then stride across our bedroom into the bathroom. His tight bare ass is the last thing I see before he closes the door.
I hate Tyler Strong.
I hate that he’s one of my husband’s closest friends. I hate that he lives in an apartment above his motorcycle shop on the other side of town. I hate that he asks my husband to go there all the time to help him fix bikes. I hate that he manipulates my husband to go to these races all the time. I hate that he’s an up and coming drag racer whom my husband sponsors financially. I hate that he prefers to sit in his truck and wait for my husband rather than come inside our home and be cordial. I hate the way he looks at me whenever I watch the race from the stands. I hate the way he stares at me with such contempt when I meet my husband at the trailer. I hate that I have to practically shoo away all his “Bike Bitches” who surround and hang around the race team. I hate that he’s a man-whore who screws every female who looks his way. And I hate that my husband feels the need to share the details of Tyler’s sexcapades with me.
I hate Tyler Strong.
I close the lid on the cooler, walk to the living room window and pull the curtain back slightly, looking out after hearing the obnoxious roar of the diesel truck as it pulls in. I huff, pinch my lips together and shake my head when I see him step out wearing a plain black T-shirt. He pulls off his ball cap and looks around quickly before grabbing the shirt and yanking it over his head. I swallow hard as my eyes scan the length of him from his short hair to his boots and immediately I hate myself for it. There’s no denying the fact that Tyler Strong has a gorgeous face and an incredible body to match. His chest is hard, his abs taut. Within seconds, he slips on a black T-shirt with the team’s logo and covers his nakedness. Bending down, his dark jeans hug his ass as he opens a side compartment and pulls out a spray bottle and a rag. The ball cap is returned to his head backwards as he runs the white cloth in circles over the large black and orange decal that boasts their team’s name. He continues the tedious task as he walks around to the other side. He focuses on the constant circling motion, never once looking up. Stretching to reach the hood, his arms extend to their full length and I can’t help but notice how muscular they are. How strong they are.
“What are you doing?”
I startle and let the curtain go when my husband breezes into the room.
“Nothing,” I stutter before asking the question I already know the answer to. “Why doesn’t Tyler ever come in?”
“Who the hell knows? Why do you care?”
“I don’t! I think it’s rude. He’s rude!”
I ignore the niggling feeling in my stomach I get whenever I think about my husband’s best friend and release a quiet, annoyed sigh.
Alex bends down and picks up the cooler I’ve packed for their trip down south. “Is this all set?”
“Of course it is!” I smile as I walk over and smooth down the cotton of his T-shirt that matches Tyler’s.
“We’ll be back late Sunday night. I’ll try to call you once we get there, but you know I don’t have good reception down there.” He kisses my forehead softly as I wrap my arms around his waist.
“I don’t know why you race in the middle of Hicksville. Do they even have running water there? Don’t go falling in love with some toothless trailer park chick!” I tease, knowing that all the country’s best drag racers love the southern tracks and most of the women there could be in magazines.
“Funny.” He slaps my backside playfully. “You could always come with us and see for yourself.”
I scrunch my face in mock disgust, shaking my head adamantly while puckering my lips for a kiss.
“No thanks. You go be big boys and play with your toys. I’ll stay here and save lives one patient at a time.” He knows I won’t go anyway.
Alex steps out of my embrace and heads for the door.
“Hey! Give me a kiss! A good one!”
My husband sighs quietly before lowering his lips to mine and kissing me. I sense a flicker of annoyance when he doesn’t slide his tongue in as he usually does. His agitation has become even more pronounced every time they leave for a race.
He doesn’t like to lose.
My hands snake around and squeeze his ass. To look at my husband, no one would ever guess he’s almost fifteen years older than me. He’s tall and handsome with a hint of grey peppered in his dark hair. Between his mesmerizing eyes, that boyish smile and his charm, all my friends at the hospital call him a “silver fox.”
“I love you,” I sigh.
“What’s not to love?” he quips.
With a final and very quick peck to my lips, Alex slips his Aviators over his eyes and slings his backpack over his shoulder. He walks quickly through the front door to where Tyler leans against the chrome bumper, waiting patiently.
“Have fun! Be safe!” I call out my usual mantra.
I find myself back at the window, peering out like a peeping Tom, watching my husband bump shoulders with his protégé as he raises his cell phone to answer a call. Tyler watches Alex talk animatedly to the person on the other end of the line as he climbs into the driver’s seat— always needing to exert control. Tyler moves slowly toward the passenger’s side, glancing up in my direction.
Our eyes meet.
His bluish- green to my brown. Keeping his eyes on me, he removes his cap, scratches the back of his head and places it back on, pulling the bill low over his eyes. I hate the quick shake of his head and the deep exhale I see. Who the hell does he think he is? He’s arrogant and rude. He opens the passenger door and clicks his seatbelt in place. As my husband maneuvers the truck and trailer onto the street, Tyler looks at me with a hard glare and shakes his head. Even from a distance it’s obvious he hates me. That’s perfectly fine with me because…
I hate Tyler Strong.