Tell me something, and don’t hold back. Am I a scumbag for not wanting her to know me?
I’ll give you a minute to decide, but I’m pretty sure your answer might be somewhere along the lines of, “Fuck yeah you are.”
Maybe I should stop asking questions I know the answers to.
Do you see that guy at the table? Not the one selectively picking anything red out of his Bloody Mary I’m not sure why he ordered. The fucking thing is made from tomato juice. It’s red in color. That’s Shade. He’s fucking strange and it quite possibly pickier than a toddler with his food.
I’m talking about the one with the green Mohawk and the fuck-you-for-looking-at-me glare. Do you think I’m pleased to be out to dinner with these fools?
Not. One. Bit.
“I’ll have a cranberry juice,” Scarlet says to the waitress standing in front of our table. We’re in LA, having dinner before After Dark round two and they basically handcuffed me to the table and haven’t let me out of their sight.
“Why in the hell would you order cranberry juice?” I stare at Scarlet, lifting one eyebrow and smirk. “Do you have a bladder infection?”
Her eyes lift to mine, then my hair, and finally descend to my wicked smile. I’m smiling because I know she’s about to lie. “No, jerk. I like cranberry juice.”
“Bullshit.” I slap the menu on the table, slouching to one side. “No one does. It tastes like a tart nut sac.”
Scarlet laughs out loud and then slaps her hand over her mouth. “When was the last time you tasted a nut sac?”
I shrug.
“I have a theory on Tiller,” Shade pipes up. He shoves the bacon slice from his Bloody Mary in his mouth. He chews it, then waits a moment. Everyone stares at him like they’re trying to find excuses as to why I am this way. It’s useless. I don’t know why they try, but they almost always do.
My interest piques. “Yeah, what’s that?”
Shade looks at Scarlet, then Ricky, grinning. “He is the only one who wasn’t breastfed of the three of us.”
“If anything, that makes me the normal one since I didn’t suck on the titties of a crack whore.”
“Yeah, like you haven’t since then though,” Shade adds quietly.
Beside me, Camden elbows me. “Are you actually competing tonight?”
I wink at him. “Guess you’re gonna have to wait and see, Cam-man.”
“Fifty says he bails,” Roan goads, thinking he’s funny.
I kick him under the table.
He shoots me a scowl. “That was my shin, motherfucka.”
“Yeah, well, I meant to hit your nut sac.”
Camden tosses a fry on his plate. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”
I don’t know why I agreed to let him come tonight. Oh, right. . . it wasn’t me who invited him. It was Scarlet, because she thought if he was with us, I wouldn’t make a scene. Little does she know I don’t give a fuck who’s in attendance.
“Nah.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders, squeezing him to my side. “We’re golden.”
Scarlet reaches across the table for the ketchup, giving me that look. The warning. “You better not bail on us.”
I watch her as she dumps half the bottle of ketchup on her plate, wondering if she’s having ketchup with a side of fries. “Have I ever let you down?”
Roan coughs, and Scarlet laughs and rolls her eyes, blurting out, “Like hundreds of examples come to mind.”
“Not the point.”
“What is?” she wonders.
I shrug and take the plate of nachos the waitress brings over to us. “I don’t remember.”
With a table full of ignorant fucks, Ricky nudges me next. “You’re going. I’m serious. After the land dispute we just got out from under, we do not need another lawsuit.”
He’s referring to the property lawsuit Camden’s dad filed against us about a year ago for the use of our track at the house. Having a track on private land in the state of California requires a conditional use permit and a limited hours of operation. We didn’t give a shit about any of that and rode when we felt like it. Sure, we filed one after that, but we didn’t exactly abide by the rules of limited hours of operation. Jerad dropped the lawsuit, but it cost an assload of money to fight with them as long as we did.
“You keep this up and Honda. . . all our sponsors are going to cut you off,” he adds.
“Good. Do it. I don’t want to deal with them anyway.”
The only thing I enjoy more than pissing off sponsors is pissing off officials. The uptight motherfuckers of mainstream motocross hate me. Can’t say I blame them.
I also still didn’t give a fuck after the day I’ve had.