Okay, I’ll admit, the bike incident a week back, total shit move. But I apologized. That’s worth something, right?
I once broke my wrist and ankle doing a 360 spin on a bike in the X Games two years ago. I had a black eye and a concussion on top of that.
Did I compete in the next event?
You bet your ass I did. I took some pain killers, spent some time hooked up to an IV, taped up my wrist and ankle, and still managed to pull off a gold medal with the best trick. Then collapsed on the podium.
Why’d I do that?
Because I was determined to place and nothing was going to stop me.
You know by now I’m indomitable when it comes to something I want. With Scarlet, I have to use some restrain. And after the incident on my bike, you’re probably calling me an asshole now, aren’t you?
Or maybe you agree with me, and you’re thinking, fuck, that chick is messing with you. I tend to think you’re going to agree with her on this one and that’s okay. I won’t hold it against you.
It’s been three weeks since Scarlet showed up and when it comes to her, I’m always craving what she won’t give me, but strangely, what she does. Friendship I said I didn’t want. I love the way she’s not afraid to put me in my place, her words, her touch. . . her eyes on mine. It doesn’t matter how much she ignores me.
So what’s stopping me?
Her. She doesn’t want it, and fuck if that doesn’t make it worse. Here’s the thing, she does want me. Her body tells me so. But still, she denies me.
And fuck if I don’t crave what she won’t give me.
I know what you’re thinking, I’ve had opportunities for a relationship and dating.
Would you believe me if I said no I haven’t?
You should.
The girls at my house, at the events, hanging out in the pits of an event. . . they’re moto hos (chicks who look for a professional motocross racer to fuck). They don’t give a flying fuck if I call them the next day. They care about the status. They fucked Shade Sawyer. They had their one night and they’ll remember it, but they’re onto the next conquest. I do not, nor will I ever, mean anything to them.
Sure, there might have been a few who went a second round with me the next night, or I called back a time or two, but only for a good time, and then that was the end of it. It’s not like I had a whole lot of time for a relationship anyway.
With Scarlet, she isn’t that way. She wants something different. Sadly, not sex, but I’m beginning to understand what having her as a friend means.
For the last few weeks, I’ve seen her every day, and the idea of not seeing her every day makes me insane. I don’t even know what that means.
That’s what drives me to talk to Roan about it.
“I just don’t understand,” I tell Roan as we sit on our bikes looking over a new jump we’re working on.
Roan shrugs, watching Camden in the distance, ripping over jumps and testing out letting go of the handlebars midjump. “I’m the last person you should ask about chick advice, but maybe she’s taking her job seriously.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” My stare moves to his. “What’s with you and O?”
His shoulders sag at the mention of her name. “About as well as you and Northwest. I fucked up.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I can’t even believe she fucked Tiller. I asked her for more and then when I was over in Athens. . . I bagged that hot brunette reporter from ESPN. O found out about it, because of Tiller and his loud fuckin’ mouth.”
I figured it was something like that and her hooking up with Tiller was kind of a payback. Women are like that. Vindictive. Don’t get me wrong. Men can be, too, but she fucked his brother. That’s vindictive.
“So she fucked Tiller to get back at you. . . .” My voice trails off and he nods.
“Yep. I still can’t believe Tiller, but then again, I can. He does shit like this all the time.” He tightens the buckle on his helmet and starts his bike up. “O wants nothing to do with me now, and she leaves for NYU in two weeks.”
There’s part of me that feels bad for Roan. He loves Ophelia. I can say that without a doubt, even though he’s never come out and said it. And he lost his chance with her. There’s also a side that can reason with Ophelia here. She’s been in love with Roan since she was ten years old and for him to go and tell her he loves her when she finally turns eighteen, then fuck another girl behind her back, who does that remind you of?
Don’t say her name. It’ll only piss me off.
Roan revs his bike and nods to the jump. “I bet you can’t hit a 360 on it.”
My competitive side comes out and I show him yes, I can do a 360 spin off it.
JUST AS ROAN and I are finishing up on the jump and he’s bleeding from his mouth where he nose-dived into the face of a jump, I see Scarlet in the distance on the motocross track with Tiller, and she has a helmet on.
I take my helmet off and look over at them trying to figure out what he’s doing with her. She’s on his race bike.
Roan holds a rag to his face. “What the fuck is he doing with her?”
“Not sure.” I take off on my bike over to where Scarlet and Tiller are. “What are you doing?”
Take a look at her face. She’s excited. You’d think since being on the bike with me the other day, she wouldn’t want to be on one again. Apparently that’s not the case.
Scarlet jumps at the sound of my voice. “Oh, hey. Tiller’s showing me how to ride a dirt bike.”
I scowl at Tiller as I take my helmet off and hook it on my handlebars. “What the fuck, man? Your race bike? At least put her on a smaller bike. She’s going to kill herself.”
He waves me off with his broken wrist. It’s like he’s not even thinking. “She’s fine.”
I shove him. “Fuck you, she’s not.” And then I grab Scarlet by the arm. “Get off the bike.”
Determination furrows her brow. “I want to learn how to ride it.”
Of course she does. Goddamn it.
“Not this one. You can learn on my 150.”
She agrees, immediately and Tiller walks away mumbling, “Whatever. You teach her.”
What a tool.
Drawing in a deep breath, I glance back over at Scarlet in cut-off shorts, a tank top, and fucking flip flops.
“What the fuck was Tiller thinking letting you on this wearing flip flops?”
Scarlet holds up her left hand, shielding the sun from her eyes. “I think he might be drunk.”
“It’s ten o’clock,” I point out.
She shrugs.
I run my hands over my face and attempt to prepare myself for what I’m about to do. Scarlet’s practically giddy about being on a bike but me, I don’t like the idea of her riding one.
It’s not that I object to girls on dirt bikes. Rhya used to ride and it never mattered to me because she used to race with us when she was younger, before drugs took over her life.
Scarlet’s different. She’s fragile, and the last thing I want is to see her hurt on one of these bikes all because of me.
I get my CRF 150R out of the race shop, get her suited up in some of my gear that’s too big on her, though the race pants are surprisingly cute on her. “Ready?”
Do you hear the nervousness in my voice?
She doesn’t or doesn’t care and nods, the helmet pushing her freckled cheeks together. “Can’t be much different than riding a bike, right?”
I want to laugh, but I’m too nervous. “No, very different. You do realize these things can kill you, right?”
I pat her on the top of the helmet when her eyes widen. “I’m. . . fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t be on this.”
“Did you get health insurance yet?” I’m teasing, kind of.
“Yes. I had to. That goddamn cactus from hell gave me an infection.”
I pat her head. “You’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But let’s at least show you what to do.” I hop on the back with her and put my hand over hers on the right side of the handlebar. I pull out the kick start and it starts on the first kick. “You want to have your elbows up for stability and sit forward on the bike on takeoff and then slide back a couple inches. This is your throttle.” I roll the bike forward with me, making sure it’s in neutral and then twist backward, revving the bike. “Twist to give it gas. Just a little at a time. You crank it too much and you’ll die.”
“Comforting. Where’s the brake?”
With my index finger, I squeeze the left side of the handlebars over hers. “This is your clutch.” I squeeze the right lever. “This is your front brake. Don’t squeeze this too hard. You’ll fly over the handle bars. When stopping, use a smooth transition of both.”
Scarlet’s body tenses when I scoot forward on the bike, not even realizing what I’ve done by bringing our bodies together. It’s been days since we nearly had sex on my Ducati. Miserably sexually frustrated days where I haven’t touched her.
Until now.
I go through everything from taking off and easing the clutch out to stopping. It takes us an hour.
I throw my leg over the bike and stand beside her. “Ready?”
She nods, but look at her face; she’s scared. I am too. When she takes off, she stalls the bike, twice, and then finally figures out the transition from neutral to first and easing out of the clutch and she’s riding.
“I’m doing it!” she yells.
And she is. For like fifty feet until she comes to a corner and just keeps going straight for a five-foot drop. “Turn left! Stop! Use your brakes!”
She listens to none of it and then disappears from my sight off the side of the hill.
My heart races, my stomach knotting, wondering if I just killed her. Running over to her, I hear my heart beating in my ears, pounding like a drum, so loud it almost blocks out her laughter. Yep. She’s laughing.
She’s there, in the dirt, the bike on top of her, laughing.
I get the bike off her and then sit next to her. “I shouldn’t have let you do that.”
“Nope, probably not.” In between laughter and tears of shock or the adrenaline wearing off, she smacks lightly at my shoulder. “But I wanted you to.”
I’m smiling now because she looks so un-fucking-believably cute when she yanks the helmet off and her curls fly around her face. I’ll probably always prefer wild curls over straight hair now.
Reaching over, I brush dirt from her nose and her hair from her eyes and mumble, “I wish you would want me to do other things, too.”
I don’t think she means to do it, but she moves her hand from her lap to my knee. It immediately sends a jolt to the one place that hasn’t had any action lately.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to. It’s that I want this job and I want to take it seriously.”
I nod. “With the risk of sounding pathetic, how long exactly is the job for? Willa had the baby. . . maybe you could quit.”
That was quite possibly the worst thing to say. Don’t believe me. Check out her face. The cold “fuck you” eyes. . . and you know, I can’t blame her at this point. Even I want to hit myself for that remark.
“Why?” she snaps. “So we can have sex and you can forget about your obsession and move onto your next trick?”
I deserve that, don’t I? Maybe.
I’ve never given her the impression I only wanted sex, have I?
Don’t answer that.
“Scarlet. . . .” I reach for her hand when she stands, but she flips her arm out of my reach. “I don’t just want sex from you. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“What do you want then?”
“I. . . don’t know.” I’m not lying. At this point, my mind is so fucked I have no idea what I want.
She swallows, sighs then shrugs. “I’m hot in this gear. I’m going to go change.” And then she reaches for my hand. “Want to go swimming?”
“Sure.” I flop back against the dirt, throwing my hands over my face. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
When she’s gone, I just sit there thinking about smashing my head into the dirt. What the fuck? I can’t understand how I can feel completely weak around her.