There is sights and sounds all around me, drawing my attention, and others, never holding it. The PA systems blares the names of riders and tricks thrown fifty feet above the air. There’s whistles and the low rumble of engines. The high pitch of a bike revving midair, the crowd chanting and spilling beer. . . the smells of popcorn, hot dogs, cinnamon and sugar from the elephant ears baking. . . it’s all around me, but still, everything inside me is drawn to the one possessing my body and heart.
From the moment Tiller makes his presence known, I’m drawn, my attention anchored to his every move. And after that kiss, I can’t focus on anything but him. The show is sold out, the streets of Santa Monica pier teeming with crowds, but we might as well be the only two people here when his eyes find mine again.
He’s in the rider’s paddock now, near his bike, and my lips still burn from his assault on them. I’m at the Jett Industries merchandise trailer pretending like I’m not staring at him. He’s surrounded by women, all with their tits out, hoping at least one of the riders glance in their direction.
Hang around the freestyle motocross scene long and you know exactly who the Sawyer brothers are. Having been brought up around it, I’ve known them longer than I haven’t.
Over the years, Roan, Tiller, Shade. . . they’ve made quite the names for themselves, and their reputations for bad boys on and off the ramps precedes them. They’ve stolen the hearts of many. I know this because I’m one of them. Though all three of them are ridiculously hot, I only want one.
He glances my way, and before I can dart my eyes from his, pretend I wasn’t staring as he signs the tits of one of the moto-ho’s, he winks at me.
A familiar ache twists inside of me. It’s the sight of him that sends my heart craving what it doesn’t need.
I’m dumb. Why did I let him kiss me?
Because he’s Tiller. It’s what he does. And I so desperately wanted to kiss him. He once said I use him for my daddy issues—I still haven’t forgotten that remark—but what is he doing to me in exchange?
“Is him the guy with green hair?” River stares curiously at Tiller.
It pains me, like the biggest knot in my chest that she might never know who Tiller really is.
Perched on a toolbox behind me, she’s swinging her legs carelessly. I nod to her, tying her hair up in a ponytail, out of the way of her cotton candy she has stuck to every finger, licking each one to savor the sugar sweetness. “Yes, that’s the guy with green hair.”
Watching her sit on the toolbox and enjoy the simplest of things, I envy River. This child. Not in the ways that her life has been turned upside down in the last month, but that she’s gone with the flow, never missing a beat I can’t seem to catch.
I’m beginning to think my life is not a fairy tale, despite my dreams of it being so.
There is no princess, only a girl lost in life. There is no tower where a dragon saves me. Only a devil throwing lightning bolts in my raging storm. Ironically raising a child of that devil without actually having him. There is a girl faced with living a life she didn’t plan. One who needs to believe in herself.
Instinctively, I hate. And I don’t want to, but since losing Ava, I hate. Sometimes even the simplest of things, like savoring sugar sweetness.
I think of Ava every day. And hate the day I don’t. I worry that sometime soon, I won’t think of her for days, until I’m reminded of something she did.
And I hate that I want Tiller, and I want River to know him, not this guy he portrays at a track or in front of others. I want the one who slept in the bathroom shower because he didn’t want to leave me when I was sixteen and decided beer was better after chugging vodka.
Where is that guy? Does he even exist anymore in the shell of a man begging for my virginity? I know, maybe it’s hard to believe, but yes, I am a virgin and rarely even kiss, unless it’s by the lips of a sinner.
Before the final rounds, Cody steps in front of the table, his black and red Honda shirt stained with oil and his hands cut up and dirty from wrenching on a bike all night. “Are you okay?”
He’s always concerned about me, and I can’t even tell you when it started, this thing he has with checking in on me all the time.
I nod, pulling out boxes from under the black curtain covering the table. I set the extra steering stabilizers and a recluse clutch to the side. “I’m fine. Just keeping busy.”
Usually, during the downtime of a freestyle event, I’m swamped with riders and patrons checking the products out and sometimes purchasing.
Cody’s stalling, smiling at River, but he wants to ask me something. Then he does. “I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner tomorrow night.”
Do you see the flash of uncertainty in my eyes? What about the way I flick my eyes to Tiller’s—who’s watching me—and then back to Cody. “Like a date?”
He nods. “Yeah. I know you’ve been really busy with River lately. . . I just thought maybe a night out might help.”
He’s right. I could, couldn’t I? I know better than to taunt Tiller, I do, but then again, what’s he doing to me but making sure I’m never touched by anyone but him?
“Sure. Let’s do it,” I tell Cody, instantly regretting the words, the gnawing sensation of guilt eating away at the lining of my stomach. Deep down, I know what’s going to happen, but I’m still going to try. If not for me, for River, who deserves better than the life I’m subjecting her to by being around Tiller. Or at least that’s my reasoning for now.
Hours later, the heavy sounds of the event have disappeared and team trailers file out of the city and onto the highway. It’s late, later than I should have her out, but River’s asleep in my car and thankfully not present when Tiller catches me again as I’m closing up the merchandise trailer.
“What was that about?” he asks, sarcasm lacing his voice. He’s shirtless, holding a beer in his hand and it’s on purpose. The shirtless part. Maybe even the beer.
Drawing in a heavy breath, I let it out, preparing myself for what he’s going to say. I can never be sure with him. It’s always, usually, unexpected.
“When you’re with him. . . do you think of me?” His voice lingers, suffocating my mind like the vise it is for me.
And then I’m upset. I’m so tired of this game between the two of us, most of which I have probably created myself by allowing him to treat me like his own personal toy.
I shove against Tiller’s chest, trying to create some distance, but he’s drunk—fresh off the win—sleepy-lidded eyes and pink cheeks, so he pushes back, trapping me against the side of the trailer like he did earlier. “You can’t think about anyone but me, can you?”
“Tiller. . . ,” I sigh, sinking into the cool metal against my back. “You’re driving me crazy tonight. I need to get River in bed.”
He corners me, one hand on the trailer beside my head. Waiting, he brings his beer to his lips. I watch the action, entranced in everything he does. When he swallows, he stares at me. “Are you going out with him?” His lips barely move over the words, his eyes penetrating my soul with their depth.
“Yes, I am. Why do you care?”
Like he’s lost in thought, he swallows over what seems like a lump in his throat, his boots shifting, but his eyes never leaving mine. “Because I do.”
My eyes focused on his, my brow scrunches in determination. “I think you’re bi-polar.”
He shrugs. Like this kind of relationship, this push and pull is normal or makes sense.
“Tiller?” Ricky comes around the corner. “Time to head out.”
Holding his breath, Tiller steps back from me and gives Ricky a nod, and then begins to walk away.
I watch his retreat, lost in the rush of blood to my head.
His hands are in the pockets of his riding pants, head bent forward. My eyes move over his inked body and the skeleton with the crow on his back, wishing I understood the meaning behind it. Turning, maybe knowing I’m watching him, a smug smile comes over him. I know what that means. It’s in the way his eyes shift to mine and the faint condescending smile present.
The devil knows his art and always plays his cards right. He’s going to ruin my date.