Restrictor Plate – This is a thin metal plate with four holes that restrict airflow from the carburetor into the engine. Teams use it on larger tracks to reduce horsepower and keep speeds down.

 

Jameson and I were heading into a busy month of racing. Sitting there on the tailgate of the smooshed red dragon, we discussed the next few weeks and how often we’d get to see each other.

He was scheduled to leave tomorrow afternoon for Joliet. Then after the race Saturday night, he had to fly to New Richmond for the World of Outlaw race, then to Lima, Ohio, for an appearance, and then he had to be back here next Thursday for the start of the Northern Sprint Tour.

It would be a busy two weeks.

“Let’s go to dinner,” Jameson said abruptly, jumping down from the tailgate. “I’m hungry.”

That sounded like a good time. Aiden and Emma were already heading home to Mooresville, which meant we would be alone. Even better.

“Where do you want to go?” We didn’t have much to choose from here in Elma, Washington. We had the Rusty Tractor and that was about it.

“Ranch House,” Jameson answered, nodding his head. There was one thing Jameson loved almost as much as racing and that was barbeque. “I haven’t been there in years.”

“Nice choice.”

It didn’t take long to get there, maybe fifteen minutes, and with Jameson in tow, we got a seat right away. It paid to have a superstar for a boyfriend—you never had to wait in line for anything. Even though I held a certain amount of reserve for this ability to be served right away because of your social status, I’ll admit, it had its perks.

“What are you going to order?” I asked, sitting across from him at a table in the corner.

The Ranch House was a small barbeque restaurant on the side of Highway 8 in Olympia. They had the best barbeque around, no lie. And I would kill over their potato salad any day.

“I think I’m getting the beef ribs,” Jameson replied with a big smile, rubbing his belly in anticipation. “Definitely, the beef ribs.”

“You’re showing an awful lot of excitement for food.”

“I just spent the night in the woods with no food.” He gave me a folly glare. “I’m hungry. And did I mention that bear ate my damn Twinkies?”

“Yes, you may have mentioned that a few times already.”

Jameson, giving almost every person in the restaurant his autograph and talking racing with all the men, occupied most of the time waiting for our food.

In my mind, it was hardly a date. I’ve grown to realize that this would be our life, though. It would always be this way for us, and I understood that as I had grown up around this type of public adoration with other racers and had seen it first-hand with Jimi.

At times, I felt bad for Jameson, though, as it can’t be easy. He knew when he chose this as his profession that this came with the job. At least he could still go out in public—most celebrities couldn’t even do that these days.

One particular man had been standing there talking to him for fifteen minutes while Jameson’s food was getting cold.

He gave him his time to talk and then very politely said, “It was nice meeting you, sir, but I’m actually on a date here with this beautiful woman.” Jameson stood to shake his hand. “I should show her the attention she deserves,” he said with a wink toward me.

“Oh—sorry,” the man apologized with sincerity. “It was nice meeting you, Jameson. Good luck this weekend at Chicagoland.” He turned to me. “I’m sorry for disrupting your evening, ma’am.”

I waved my hand around. “It’s no problem,” I told him with a mouth full of potato salad, hardly attractive.

Jameson laughed.

“You’re adorable,” he said softly and began eating his ribs.

Once he began, I couldn’t focus on anything other than him eating. The way he licked his fingers, the incredibly sexy way he chewed.

Hot damn.

It was like some sort of food pornography.

I wanted to jump across the table, hump his leg, and then lick all that sticky barbeque sauce from him.

And I’ll be damned if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing with the smirk on his face. He knew all right.

“How’s your brisket?” Jameson asked licking barbeque sauce from his thumb.

“Stop doing that,” I glowered at him, taking a bite of my brisket.

He smirked licking the other thumb. “Doing what?”

“You’re distracting me. All I can focus on is you licking your fingers.”

Jameson leaned forward, his breath blowing across me when he spoke. “Are you imagining what all my tongue can do for you?”

“No, not at all,” I lied calmly. “I’m enjoying my meal.”

“Bullshit,” he called my bluff. “I know you find this hot.” He ran his sticky barbeque finger over my lower lip. “You bite down on your bottom lip when you’re horny.”

“Do not,” I stated, releasing my bottom lip.

He chuckled softly leaning back in his seat and placed his napkin on the table. Jameson glanced around the room, then turned his head to the side and smiled again. “I’ve got something to distract you.”

The perverse pigizzle in me wanted to drop to my knees under the table and see exactly what he had to distract me. I refrained only because this was his favorite restaurant, and I’d like to be allowed to return.

Taking a slow drink of water, trying to distract him and myself, I asked, “And what would that be?”

“When are you going to marry me?” His green eyes smoldered.

Say what?

I instantly started choking on the water I had ingested. I was choking to the point that my face was the devil’s ass again as I gasped for some much-needed air.

Jameson moved next to me rubbing my back. “Breathe, honey... just breathe.”

“I...” cough. “Am...” cough. “Trying...” cough.

The entire restaurant gawked at me. And though they all seemed genuinely concerned, it was still incredibly embarrassing. I wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

Jameson wrapped his arm around me, leaning into my ear, effectively blocking everyone’s view of me.

It was a simple gesture that I appreciated very much.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered, “and that wasn’t my proposal. I may be a jerk, but I can be romantic. I want you to know that I am going to marry you, someday. I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with you.”

“Did you get that from a Hallmark card?” My voice was hoarse from all the coughing.

“No, those are my feelings,” he responded with so much sincerity that I started crying. In the middle of the damn restaurant, with Jameson’s arms wrapped around me, I was bawling.

“Come on, honey,” Jameson hugged me closer. “Let’s get out of here. I want to take you somewhere special.”

“Not the woods,” I responded instantly. “Please not the woods.”

“No, not the woods. I’m not sure I will ever go camping again.”

“Me either.”

“Where are we going?” I asked when he pulled off Cloquallum onto a private dirt road.

“We are going to the first place I kissed you.”

I was quiet for a moment trying to recall the first time we kissed. There were a number of occasions growing up when Jameson and I had locked lips. Back then it never led to anything—just kids being kids and experimenting.

“Where was that?”

Jameson’s hand rose to his heart. “I’m hurt you don’t remember.”

I watched curiously as we drove through Elma, wondering which time it was.

There were a few kisses that I distinctively remembered, but I remembered my first French kiss most of all, because it was with him. We were thirteen, and we had spent the day swimming out at Summit Lake. Now I don’t even remember how it happened, but we saw Spencer kissing his girlfriend at the time, so we decided to try it. I thought it was strange, wet, and sloppy.

When Jameson turned down his parent’s old driveway, I remembered instantly where our first kiss took place.

I hadn’t been there in a while, not for a couple years at least. They kept the house in Elma, but his aunt Mary was living there now. The grass that was usually kept cut short during the summer was now overgrown shadowing the long paved driveway. The tree we used to climb near the gates was still there, hanging across the creek as it always had.

No one appeared to be home, so Jameson drove out back to the quarter-mile clay track where he had learned to race, and the place where we spent the majority of our summer breaks growing up.

“Now I remember,” I told him, getting out of the truck.

We stopped by the water barrels we had used as the flag stand back in the day when Jameson turned toward me.

“I was standing right here. We had met about a month before.” He smiled. “You were the trophy girl and I, of course, won.”

I laughed, remembering the silly little games we used to play back here when he was home. Nothing mattered back then, but when you’re a kid, everything mattered.

Little games were your entire life—the reason you got out of bed in the morning. A kiss wasn’t just a kiss back then, it was all you thought about because to you, that was your world.

I learned quickly not to take everything to heart back then, and I was comfortable enough around Jameson that I could just kiss him and not have it mean anything to me.

But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it made my thirteen-year-old world to have someone like him around—someone who I could be me around.

That was why I cherished my friendship with him so greatly—I could be me.

Jameson’s eyes focused on mine. The smells of summer surrounded us, blending with the rich scent of the clay from the track, reminding me of all those summers out here.

Smiling up at him, I said, “You told me instead of the trophy, you wanted a kiss.”

He pulled me against his chest and his arms slid around my waist. “I didn’t wait for you to answer me, I kissed you.” His lips were about an inch from mine. “I was afraid you wouldn’t let me.”

“I would have, and I did let you.”

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Yes, you did.”

Leaning forward, I captured his warm lips with my own.

He kissed me back and then pulled away. “I didn’t mean to freak you out at the restaurant. I meant it, though,” he admitted. “I will marry you, when you’re ready.”

“What if I said I was ready right now?”

“I would call Wes and have him fly us to Vegas.” He actually looked serious, which scared the shit out of me. “Let’s do it now.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” his face grew solemn. “I mean that, Sway. I love you, and I would marry you tonight if I had it my way, but I don’t think we’re ready for that.”

“You’re right, we’re not. You’ve got issues.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But at least I’m not the crazy one. I’m the angry one.”

“So we got an angry one, and a crazy one... what happens if we ever have a kid?” I asked.

“Maybe between the two of us the kid will come out normal.”

“Possibly, but highly unlikely.”

“Oh well, being normal is overrated. It’s much more fun being crazy and angry.” He dove in for another kiss, this time it wasn’t an innocent kiss like when we were eleven.

It was a kiss that had intention and meaning behind it. He was telling me with one kiss, that I was his, forever.

We’d been sitting on the water barrels for about twenty minutes, talking about the races we had on this track when Jameson surprised me yet again by his comment. “Do you want kids?”

“Huh?” I had no water to choke on this time, only my breath.

“I... just... I don’t know... thought we should talk about things like that, you know, where we want our life to go?”

I laughed at how nervous he seemed all of a sudden.

“I do want kids, someday.” I snuggled against him, peeking into his vibrant green eyes. “But, more importantly... I want them with you.”

Jameson smiled. “Good.”

“Do you want kids?”

“Yes, with you, I do.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” I clapped my hands together. “We fly to Vegas, get married and then start on the kids.”

“I’ll call Wes right now.”

I climbed on his lap, straddling his hips. “I have a better idea—let’s get started on the kids first. It’s a much better plan at the moment.”

Jameson reached for the button of his jeans. “You read my mind, honey.”

“Let’s at least make it back home.” I kissed his lips once more before standing. “We wouldn’t want to attract any more cougars.”

“That’s not funny.” He glowered at me. “Don’t joke about that.”

Jameson left on Tuesday morning for Joliet, Illinois, leaving me alone at home. I needed to spend some time with Charlie and I knew, by the way he was acting, that he didn’t have a lot of time. It seemed that overnight his personality was changing, which was actually entertaining if you didn’t let the fact that he was dying bother you.

Charlie had always been a fairly reserved man who rarely cussed and didn’t let anything bother him. Now, he cussed like a truck driver and got riled up over everything. I found this quite humorous because it was usually the Lucifer twins provoking him and not me.

On Wednesday, they threw a baseball through the kitchen window to which Charlie almost had a heart attack. His expression was something similar to the time I pierced my lip in my Madonna stage... fear, anger, and then rage.

“I don’t care how it happened!” Charlie shouted the same way he did to me at that time and then realized the entire kitchen was full of soap. “What the hell happened in here?”

I stared blankly at all of them wondering when his head was going to explode.

“You said you didn’t want to know,” Logan hid behind his mom with wide frantic eyes.

“That was before I saw the soap.” His eyes about bulged out of his sockets. “Now I want to know, what the fuck happened?”

It was shit like that all week. I think the twins actually provided entertainment for Charlie, if not for him, it sure as shit was entertainment for me. For once, I wasn’t the one setting him off, and the twins had found their new target.

On Friday, I was on my way to the grocery store for Charlie when Andrea insisted I take one of the Lucifer twins. I had my own thoughts on this, and it’d be a miracle if I didn’t kill one of them. Despite my concerns for committing the homicide of a six-year-old, I smiled and said, “Of course.”

“I don’t want to go with her!” Lucas wailed to Charlie.

I don’t know what made him think I actually wanted to go in public with him anyway. I was completely against this.

“This is so stupid.” Charlie grumbled with a roll of his eyes looking over at me. “Do you even want to take him with you?”

“No,” I admitted, but smiled despite my anger. “Not really. I don’t want to take him anywhere.”

“There you have it,” he said, turning to Lucas. “She doesn’t want to take you anywhere either.”

Lucas immediately brought out the tears.

“He’s mad at me!” he wailed once again, but this time with a tremendous amount of water and snot coming from his nose and eyes as he climbed inside the Expedition with me.

“Stop it!” I yelled as he buckled himself in. “Stop crying.”

“I can’t help it, and you can’t tell me not to cry!” he yelled back, completely losing any composure he might have had earlier. “I can cry if I want to!”

“I’m not concerned with you crying, believe me,” I told him. “My only concern is with the snot coming out of you. Where does it go? On your hands? Your shirt? Your pants? Where is it all going?”

Lucas hiccupped. “My sleeve, I guess. I can’t help it.”

I looked down and sure enough, his sleeve was slimed like Turner from Turner and Hooch. “That’s no good.”

And then he started crying again because his snot was on his shirt. I didn’t have the heart to tell him all this crying wasn’t making me like him anymore. In fact, I didn’t like him at all right then.

Amazingly, we made it back from the store, both of us, alive.

But I swore that was the last time I would take him anywhere with me.

 On Saturday morning, I went out to get the mail. Mostly junk mail, but one letter from the Washington State Department of Licensing stood out, so I opened it. Charlie was sitting in his chair watching NASCAR qualifying while simultaneously reading the paper, which was his usual Saturday morning activity before leaving for the track.

“Dad, what is this from the Department of Licensing?” I held up the envelope.

“How the fuck should I know,” he grumbled, straightening his paper with a flick of his wrists. “You opened it. What the hell does it look like?”

I looked down at the letter. “It says here that you hit another car. What are they talking about? Did you get in an accident?”

As if this was war, he finally looked up from the paper, his eyes narrowing from across the room. “Are you shitting me? I didn’t hit that car, they hit me. There’s a difference.”

“What do you mean they hit you?” I stared at him, slightly perplexed because the letter said the car was parked at the time. I had a feeling I knew exactly where this was going but played along. “How can a parked car hit you?”

He got up throwing the paper on the chair. “It’s exactly what I mean. I didn’t hit that car. End of story.”

“Apparently it’s not the end of the story,” I laughed. “They’re taking your license away. You shouldn’t piss off the Department of Licensing. They have a certain amount of power over us.”

He didn’t say any more and stomped to his room mumbling incoherent profanities at the Department of Licensing.

You know what I love? Crazy people. They were so entertaining to me and made me feel better. And I mean in the sense where everyone was like me. A little crazy.

Picking through the rest of the mail, still laughing at Charlie, my phone vibrated on the counter. I glanced at the number and smiled instantly.

“Hello, handsome,” I answered, balancing the phone on my shoulder. “How are you?”

Jameson sighed contently. “God, I miss you, honey.” I could literally hear the longing in his voice. “You don’t have any idea how much I hate not having you here with me.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea. How’s qualifying?” I looked over at the TV to see what position he got, but couldn’t distinguish the numbers.

“I qualified tenth, not very good, but not bad either.” The muffled noises of engines broke through before I heard the raucous voices and then Spencer’s laughter.

“You’ll do fine,” I reassured him.

“I know,” he sighed again. “It’s not the same when you’re not here with me.”

“Only another week and we get to see each other.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He let out another long sigh. “It’s the only thing that keeps me going right now.”

“You’re such a cheese ball.” I giggled again, taking some left over pizza out of the fridge. “What will people think of you now, all domesticated and shit?”

“I know, but I love you. And I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.” Louder noises echoed in the garage. Kyle was telling him he was needed, but he ignored him for the moment. “Phillip called ...”

“Yeah, what did he say?” Placing two slices of the pizza in the microwave, I had to lean against the door to keep it closed. Yet another thing Lucas broke this week. “How’d the pre-hearing conference go?”

“Chelsea didn’t show.” Jameson gave a relieved chuckle. “Her lawyer said she’s dropping all charges.”

“That’s great, Jameson. Now we have to worry about Darrin.”

That was a huge relief. The last thing Jameson needed right now would be for his fans to think he was some kind of asshole who went around sexually assaulting women.

“You let me worry about Darrin,” he stated firmly. “I don’t want you involved in this.”

The last thing Jameson wanted was for me to get involved in his problems, particularly when it came to Darrin. But, as I said before, when it came to Jameson, this pigizzle knew no bounds.

Since I wasn’t able to attend the race that weekend, I settled for watching it on television. Jameson’s engine blew up for the second weekend in a row after only seventy laps.

The camera shot to him pulling himself from the car. He sat on the edge, his head resting against the roof for a moment before he swung his legs around.

I wanted, so badly, to be there in that moment. He looked disappointed in himself, though it had nothing to do with him.

I continued to watch until they interviewed him, smiling once I saw his face on television. Even though he was upset, it was still good to see him.

“Jameson,” the reporter caught up with him as he exited the garage. “Looks like you were giving the team feedback there. Can you tell us what happened?”

He sighed heavily, running his hand across the back of his sweaty neck. “I had about four laps there where I thought something was wrong, but I don’t know; it just blew up. It was running two ninety most of the race so it was only a matter of time.”

“This is the second week in a row you’ve blown up, with yet another DNF. How is this affecting the team’s morale? Do you think it has something to do with the engines at Riley Simplex Racing? Or maybe with Harry Sampson?”

“This has nothing to do with the cars we are provided each week or all the hard work our engine specialist, Harry Sampson, puts into the testing of these Ford engines provided by CST Engines,” Jameson snapped back. “We have excellent cars and engines. This is obviously something else entirely.” Before Jameson could say any more, Alley was dragging him away.

The engines weren’t the problem and with his grandpa building them for his team and Harry maintaining them, I knew what he was insinuating with that comment. I had a hunch he was right.

Darrin.

It was hard to imagine Darrin would be able to get near the car at the track. There was usually always someone from the team nearby but it wasn’t impossible, either.

If Jameson was right about Charlotte and the fuel additive, it definitely wasn’t impossible for Darrin or his team to be fooling with their engines, too.

As his pigizzle and my duties as such, I decided to try and make him feel better by sending him a picture.

S: Would it make you feel better if I showed you my boobs?

It took a while to get a response... exactly forty-three minutes.

J: Maybe. Show me and let’s see.

I attached the picture to the text and clicked send, feeling slightly childish sending a picture of my boobs through a text message. It was another eleven minutes and I hadn’t heard anything so I sent another one.

S: Did it work?

Another three minutes later, he finally responded: J: Sorry... I had to take care of a problem you created, but Spencer wouldn’t leave.

S: Are you good now?

J: YES!

S: Wow. That was quick.

I laughed, snuggling into the couch and enjoying the teasing.

J: You have no idea.

S: Don’t worry, only a few more days and I will be taking care of it.

J: Looking forward to it, I miss you and love you!

S: Same to you, handsome.

The time away from Jameson flew by, and soon we were together again. Only problem was, I wasn’t exactly feeling dapper.

I hated throwing up, truly I did. I had a strong feeling this was why I was in a really bad mood. Bitchy and exhausted, I felt like crying with all this added stress upon me. That could have had a hand in it, but it could also be that shark week—my period—was on its way. I assumed. I always got extra emotional and tired.

The other draining stress was that Jameson and I didn’t know the first thing about running a racetrack. The lack of knowledge was becoming evident when Mallory was telling me how to do a job I’d been training to do since I was a kid. I knew how to do my job, but I didn’t know how to be a General Manager, as well.

“Sway, you’re never going to guess who’s here!” Emma ran up to me throwing her hands on my shoulders.

Emma and Jameson were both here for the weekend for the Northern Sprint Tour. Although Jameson was not thrilled about Emma tagging along, he should have thought about that before he went and put her in charge of his fan club.

My stomach was still rolling as I stood there staring at her. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that second corn dog ... or the nachos.

“Who?” I asked, focusing on her excitement instead of the rolling in my stomach.

“Dana ...”

“No way.”

What in the hell was she doing in Elma? This was my first thought, but then I knew the answer to that. She was stalking Jameson.

“Yep ... let’s go talk to her.” Emma yanked me along toward the concession stands. “Do you think she’ll go for it?”

“I’m sure she’s going to want something in exchange.” I thought about it for a second. “Maybe like a picture or something.”

“Yeah,” Emma snorted, “of his... ahem...”

“Not happening,” I stated firmly. “I’m the only one who sees the camshaft from here on out.”

Stopping next to the bathrooms, Emma nodded to the coffee stand under the grandstands. “There she is. That’s her friend Sadie standing with her.” She pointed to the one with blonde hair.

“Which one is Dana?” I just now realized I’d never seen her before.

“She’s the one with brown curly hair. She did have blonde highlights the last time I saw her in Charlotte, but it appears she’s trying to resemble a certain someone.” Emma looked at my hair, playing with a strand. I slapped her tiny hand away.

Dana had dyed her hair the exact same color as mine. Nudging Emma forward, I told her, “Go talk to her.”

She stepped forward and then reached for me with a nervous expression. “You’re coming with me.”

I really didn’t want to meet Dana right now. I didn’t feel good, and I had Mallory making me crazy today, and then Jameson was all kinds of stressed out, which, in turn, stressed me out.

We stopped right in front of them.

“Oh Emma, hey, how’s...” Dana looked at me and stopped talking all together, scrutinizing my entire body.

She was undressing me with her eyes. I knew what she was doing—she was comparing herself to me. I would’ve done the same given her position.

“Hey, Dana,” Emma smiled. “This is my friend, Sway.”

I wanted to bare my tattooed ass to her and say, “Yep, that’s right. I’m Jameson’s!”

That’d be one hell of a first impression—wouldn’t it?

I reached for her hand instead. She didn’t seem like the stalker type. She was pretty, brown hair, blue eyes, slender form, and some enormous fun bags.

Dana smiled politely at me. “Nice to meet you,” she motioned to the blonde girl next to her, “This is my friend Sadie.”

“Do you live around here?” Emma asked, smiling widely at me. I was receiving a lot of smiles.

“Yeah, I’ve always lived in Elma.” Dana’s smile widened. “I actually went to high school with you guys.”

Emma and I both looked at each other. “Oh,” we both said after a few moments of awkward silence.

I didn’t ever remember seeing her in school. Although, I hardly paid attention to anyone who wasn’t in the Riley family. It wasn’t like I actually knew who even went to school with us.

“So Dana... um... we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions,” Emma stepped closer to her trying to remain discreet. “Private things.”

“Oh, sure,” Dana seemed eager to be talking to any member of Jameson’s family. “What do you need?” Her eyes lit up.

“How well do you know Darrin and Mariah?”

“Pretty well. Mariah is my cousin.”

Both Emma and I gasped.

What were the chances of this shit?

“Seriously?” I blurted out.

“Yeah, I mean, we’re not close or anything.” Dana’s eyes narrowed at me. “But I know a few things,” she hinted.

“And what would you want in return for these, few things of knowledge?”

Please don’t say a picture of his camshaft.

Dana was quiet for a minute her eyes glazed over. “A date ... with Jameson.”

I laughed out loud.

“Um... Dana... I don’t know if that’s something Jameson would agree to,” Emma replied, elbowing me in the side. “You did steal his underwear.”

“I guess you don’t want to know that bad then,” she countered, clearly not amused by my sudden onset of the giggles.

Emma and I both exchanged a loaded glance in between my giggling.

I nodded. “Fine, but let me talk to him first.”

Dana gave Emma her cell phone number and then walked away.

“Emma, he’s never going to agree to this. That woman,” I pointed to Dana walking away, “is fucking crazy.” I shook my head walking toward the office where Jameson was. “After the stabbing, I suggest you run, like fugitive-style. Only pack what you can carry in one arm,” I suggested.

“Make him agree, it’s our only option,” Emma ordered rolling her eyes and began to walk away.

I only made it up one step before her hand grasped mine. “As much as he annoys the fuck out of me, I love him, and I refuse to let Darrin hurt him,” Emma told me. “We need answers.”

I was still nauseous, and this wasn’t helping. Not only was my stomach bothering me, I did not want to tell Jameson he had to go on a date with Dana because I was trying to find out answers. Answers he did not want me finding out. But if I didn’t, and something happened to Jameson, I would always wonder if I could have stopped it.

Everyone was hard at work preparing for a night of dirt track racing when I walked into the announcer’s booth.

Jameson was standing in the corner with Mark going over the schedule for the events tonight.

When his eyes met mine, he quickly made his way over to me by the door.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jameson kissed my forehead, his arms wrapped around me. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” I eluded. I really did look like shit, and I felt worse than shit. “Just tired.”

He took me into the private office off the announcer’s booth. “Are you sure you’re okay, honey? Are you horny or something?”

“No... well... actually yes, but that’s not why.” I tried to make something up but drew a blank and went with the truth, well part of it anyway. “I don’t feel very good tonight. I think it was that corndog I ate.”

Jameson scrunched his nose disgusted. “That’s what you get for eating a corndog.”

We laughed and talked about the schedule for the night and stole a few kisses before heading back outside to the announcer’s booth.

“Oh... by the way, you are going on a date with Dana.” I cringed, waiting for his protests, “on Sunday.”

“I don’t think I heard you.” His hand came up slamming the door shut. “What was that?”

“You’re going on a date,” I repeated, “with Dana.”

“You can’t be serious.” His eyes were hard and not pleasant at all. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

I stood there, waiting for him to agree, while he stood there, waiting for me to tell him I was joking.

“I’m serious, Jameson. It’s the only way to get Dana to tell us what Darrin and Chelsea are up to.”

“I thought I told you to stay out of this?”

“You did, but we have to know.”

“Going on a date, with Dana, is not worth knowing!” he shouted. “No fucking way. Not happening. Ever!”

“Jameson,” I sighed heavily. “Just please... I don’t like this anymore than you do.”

“I highly doubt that or you wouldn’t have agreed to whore me out!” he barked back as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I feel cheap.”

“Whore you out?” I pushed him back against the wall, trying to be intimidating, clearly not achieved by the smirk. “Listen,” I grabbed his face between my hands. “I’m not going to sit back and wait for Darrin to hurt you... I will find out what that fucker is up to. So if Dana is our only option, you take her to dinner.”

“You’re okay with me going out with another woman?” he questioned, for good reason.

“Fuck no I’m not okay with it, but what choice do I have?”

“You could let me take care of this myself and not get involved.” He glared, challenging me to say something else.

It was clear he didn’t want me involved. But, then again, that what if? was blaring so loud, I couldn’t see past it to not make him do this.

I grumbled, frustrated, “Just go out to dinner with her.” I stepped back creating distance from his glare. “Emma and I will be there to make sure she doesn’t try anything.”

The silence that followed made me nervous before he finally caved.

“Ah, Christ.” Jameson stared at me with obvious doubt. “I swear to God, Sway, if this goes badly, I’m holding you and Stabberally responsible.”

There was a loud knock on the door. “Hey, Jameson,” Mark poked his head in. “I need you for a second.”

Jameson nodded to him, and then looked back to me. “No longer than an hour. I’m serious, I’m fucking timing it.” He pointed to his wrist heading to the door. “One hour.”

This had bad idea written all over it, but what other choice did we have?

I didn’t have one. I refused to sit back and wait for Darrin to pull his next move on the track for the simple what if? factor.

I sent Emma a text letting her know that Jameson agreed, and then walked out of the office to find Mallory again.

The rest of the evening was spent with Mallory and me arguing over silly inconsequential things like what the schedule would be for the ticket booth or when to close the beer garden down.

Jameson spent most of his night arguing with track officials being slow to throw out a caution or being slow cleaning up a wreck.

Being a racer himself, he wasn’t exactly the person you want yelling at you to throw a caution. They had their own ideas about the way things should be run, and it wasn’t always the right one.

Throughout the busy evening, we may have seen each other twice since our Dana conversation and both occasions, he was yelling at someone.

It was a relief I wasn’t behind the yelling, but I knew this was going to happen; I warned him. He didn’t need all this superfluous stress added to his life; he had enough going on as it was.

When the races were finished for the night, I finally got to see Jameson. It didn’t take long before Emma needed him to sign some autographs for the little midget series.

After that night, I had a feeling this was the way race nights would be from now on at Grays Harbor.

“Where is he?” Emma asked coming into my bedroom Sunday afternoon, the day of the date with Dana. “He didn’t run away, did he?”

“In the bathroom,” I answered, not looking up from my book. “He’s taking a shower.”

She plopped down on my bed. “Is he still mad at me?”

“What do you think?” I raised my eyebrow at her.

“Ugh...” she groaned. “He’s overreacting.”

“Is he?” I laughed. “Emma, you made reservations for him and Dana at Sorrento’s.”

“So...?”

“It’s one of his favorite places, not to mention he is going with Dana.” I finally looked at her. “You’re tainting his memory of the restaurant forever now.”

“We’re going to be right outside.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like a real date—she knows that.”

“Does she?”

Emma giggled with a touch of mischief. “I told her it wasn’t a date...” My glare had her confessing. “Okay, okay ... I told her it was a date, but she knows it’s nothing more than a “friend” date. I told her that you’re his girlfriend.”

That still didn’t make it any better.

Emma and I were going with him, but Dana didn’t know that. We were supposed to hide out in the kitchen while they were on their date. I hated calling it that, but that was what it was, for her sake. Dana needed to think Jameson was going on a date with her so she would tell him what Darrin was up to.

Jameson, on the other hand, was convinced she was going to try to rape him or something, and to say he freaked out when Emma made reservations at Sorrento’s was an understatement ... he went apeshit.

I heard my bedroom door open and Jameson walked in with only a towel wrapped low around his waist.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked Emma.

They scowled at each other for a moment. “Talking with Sway,” Emma finally answered.

My eyes were drawn south and stayed there. He was showing entirely too much skin for me to focus on anything else.

“You’ve got five seconds before I’m completely naked,” Jameson warned, tugging on his towel. “Four seconds...”

Emma screamed in horror running to the door.

“Works like a charm,” Jameson smirked, walking toward the bed. I set my book down wrapping my arms around his waist when he made it to the edge of the bed. “What do I wear?”

“Nothing revealing.”

“Obviously,” he held up a black Simplex long sleeve shirt. “How about this?”

“Don’t wear black.”

He threw the shirt back in his suitcase. “Why, what’s wrong with black?” he asked confused.

“You look... incredibly hot in black, it makes your eyes stand out. I don’t want her drooling over you.”

“Right, no black then,” he agreed, rummaging through his bag. “What color looks the worst?”

“Wear that one,” I pointed to the navy blue Oakley shirt. He picked it up, pulling it over his head and then sat down beside me. “And don’t wear your cologne.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he said with a chuckle. “I only wear that for you.”

My shoulders slumped forward. Jameson must have noticed because the next thing I knew, he pulled me onto his lap.

His hand moved under my chin. “This was your idea, remember?”

I sighed forcing a small smile. “I know... it doesn’t mean I like the idea.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to go?”

“NO!” Emma yelled from behind the door. “You’re going!”

“I asked my parents for a dog... and that’s what they brought home,” Jameson said pointing to Emma who was now inside my bedroom with her hands covering her eyes.

“Shut up, Jameson.” She reached forward to punch his shoulder. “Now get in the car. You’re going to be late.”

He laughed sarcastically. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

An hour later, Emma and I sat there crammed in the corner of the kitchen at Sorrento’s in downtown Olympia, watching Jameson and Dana.

Every time Dana tried to touch him in some way, Emma giggled hysterically as though this was a comedy club.

I did not. I wanted to run out there and rip her hair out.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked adjusting my position on the floor. My ass was starting to fall asleep.

“You have no idea,” Emma grinned evilly as she stuffed another bread stick in her mouth. The guys working in the kitchen were kind enough to let us sit back here and also kept handing us food. I didn’t have the heart to tell them we were like dogs, and if you fed us we might never leave.

“He’s going to kill you,” I told Emma with a mouth full of food. “Just so you know.”

“I don’t care.” She laughed. “This is a hoot.”

Dana, once again, reached for his hand over the table. Jameson jerked it back quickly and glanced around the restaurant, probably looking for us. I felt bad for him sitting across from her and her gazing unabashedly at him.

His discomfort was noticeable with the way he was fidgeting and how his knee was bouncing uncontrollably. All signs were pointing to an angry Jameson. Another telltale sign was that he had barely touched his food.

He hadn’t spoken much as she seemed to be doing most of the talking. I did notice his mouth moving a few times though, so I assumed that he was answering her questions.

“Does she talk a lot?”

“You have no idea.” She smiled. “That’s what makes this so entertaining. How much you want to bet she wore his underwear tonight?”

I shook my head in disbelief. “He really is going to kill you.”

Emma reached for her phone and sent someone a text.

“Who are you texting?” I asked adjusting my position again.

“Spencer,” she answered. “He thinks this is hilarious.”

“I bet he does.”

“Where’s he going?” Emma asked looking up as Jameson walked past.

“Maybe he’s going to the bathroom.” I guessed and snuck over to the door to see. “Stay here, I’m going to make sure he’s not running away.”

If he were running, I’d probably run with him at that point.

I followed him as he walked into the men’s bathroom.

Jameson jumped, taking a sharp intake of breath when I hopped on the counter behind him, watching him pee.

“Thank God,” he breathed in relief. “I thought you were Dana.”

“Nope, just a jealous girlfriend.”

Jameson turned around to wash his hands. “What the fuck would you have to be jealous of?” he asked incredulously reaching for the paper towels. “Have you not seen that out there? She fucking crazy, certifiably insane.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” he seethed, stepping between my legs, pulling my hips to the edge of the counter. “In the last thirty minutes she has told me her entire life story. We went to high school together and I smiled at her once in the halls. That she has a life-sized poster of me above her bed that she does God knows what to every night.” He shivered. “She told me that she has five pairs of my underwear, one of which she’s wearing, right now, and she named her dog after me.” His face went pale. “Sway, she knows some really strange things about me.”

“Like what?”

“Did you know that my favorite pizza is pepperoni and pineapple?”

“Is it?”

“Apparently it is. She read it in a magazine, so it must be true.” He rolled his eyes. “How much more time do I have to spend out there?” Jameson brought his lips to mine once. “I can’t take much more of this shit. She actually asked me if it was true that I have a huge dick.”

“No,” I giggled and snorted. “She didn’t?”

“YES!” he shouted.

“What did you say?”

“I told her it was none of her fucking business.” His eyes got a strange look to them. “She asked if she could have a picture of it.”

I laughed hysterically to the point that Jameson was holding me up, so I didn’t fall.

“You’re worse than Stabberally!” he snapped, pushing my shoulder. “Stop laughing, right now.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny,” I told him, trying to breathe and kiss him once more to keep my smile at bay. “Has she told you anything?”

“No, this is pointless.” His head slumped forward. “I asked, but she said we’ll get to that. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” I jumped down with a renewed sense of security. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“Fucking right you’re making this up to me.” He smacked my ass. “And not just tonight... you and Stabberally owe me, big time.”

Jameson left first and after a couple minutes, I made my way back to the kitchen.

The next thirty minutes were spent with Dana slowly moving closer and closer to him. Jameson drank an insane amount of water so he could sneak away to the bathroom every five minutes, and Emma paid a waiter to keep offering wine to Dana, the most expensive wine, since Jameson was paying.

“He really is going to kill you for this,” I pointed out.

“I don’t care.” She shrugged carelessly. “It’s entertaining. Spencer and I have a bet going for how long it takes for her to try and kiss him.”

I rolled my eyes yet again. “Now I know why he wishes he was an only child.”

We really hadn’t been paying attention in the last twenty minutes when all of a sudden we heard glass breaking and then Jameson’s voice raise.

“Get off me!”

We turned immediately to see Dana on top of the table with her arms around his neck, tightly, holding on for all she was worth.

“Just one kiss, please?” she begged. “Just one!”

“No. I mean it, get off me or I call the cops right now.” Jameson reached for his cell phone in his jeans. “Let go, Dana.” He pushed her away, holding his phone in the air as a warning. “Stay away.”

Breathing heavy for a moment, she then lunged for him again.

Jameson was quicker this time and ran at the exact moment she lunged for him, barreling through the kitchen doors.

“No fucking way I’m going back out there. I’m leaving.” I could tell by the grim, set look on his face, this was not up for negotiation.

The date is over.

Emma’s phone beeped while they argued. “Oh,” she said, looking at the text. “It’s Dana.” We all turned and watched as Dana walked out of the restaurant. “She said that Darrin wants to end your career. He will stop at nothing until he’s taken everything you have.”

A silence spread over us, even the cook beside us said nothing.

“Ask her why Jameson?” I ordered pointing to the phone. I was not accepting that as an answer. “Why is he so focused on Jameson? What about the other drivers?”

The cook offered Jameson some bread dipped in garlic oil, which he took and scarfed down like Mr. Jangles eating spaghetti. Apparently, his appetite had returned.

Emma typed away as we waited for some type of response.

Jameson, after eating his bread, stood beside me wiping his neck off from where Dana touched him.

Apparently, that wasn’t enough for him so he grabbed my purse and dug out my hand sanitizer. After examining the label for a brief moment, he dumped the entire bottle in his hands, rubbing it all over his neck and face.

Curiously, I watched him, both amused and then concerned at how much he used.

That couldn’t be good for his skin. I may not have mentioned this before, but Jameson had some obsessive-compulsive tendencies when it came to anything touching his skin. He once took a bath in alcohol when he thought he had a rash. Yeah, he’s weird.

Emma’s phone beeped again, silence spread for a second time. “You’re the only competition for him and he doesn’t deal well with that.”

“I don’t take well to being threatened,” Jameson barked, walking toward the door after Dana got in her car. “I’m tired of this bullshit.”

I don’t know if it was the fear of Jameson being hurt or all the smelly Italian food, but the breadsticks Emma and I had been eating came back up once we reached the parking lot.

Jameson gave me a contemplative scowl once we were in the car. “I want you to stay out of this. I mean it, Sway, stay out of it.”

Could I do that for him? No, probably not.

I wanted to stay out of it, but with anything related to Jameson, I couldn’t just stay out of it.