Victory Lane – The spot on each racetrack’s infield where the race winner parks and celebrates victory. It’s sometimes referred to as “winners circle.”

 

It was nearly midnight when Jameson finally finished with the contender conference (a press conference with the top five finishers from the race and their crew chiefs) and post-race interviews. Now we were finally on the way to downtown Charlotte where Jameson was required to make an appearance at the Howl at the Moon bar.

The thirty-five minute drive from the track was filled with Jameson, Aiden, and Spencer recapping the race and pit stops. Spencer had been just as disappointed with the pit stops as Jameson.

Emma, Alley and I elected to crack open the mini-bar half way through the drive. Since Jimi and Nancy decided to make it a night and gladly took Lane with them, Alley and Spencer were making use of the grown up time. Lane, who wouldn’t get out of Jameson’s car after the race, ended up falling asleep in there and had to be carried, lifelessly, to Nancy and Jimi’s hotel room.

“What was wrong with Bobby’s car?” Spencer asked Jameson.

“Fuck if I know. He was really loose coming out of four. Hell... I think he pegged the wall a couple times.” Jameson leaned further back in the seat and took a drink of his beer. “A couple of times I thought he’d give me a push on the restart, but he hung me out to dry.”

Alley smiled at Jameson. “Gordon called.” She held her phone up. “The car passed post-race inspection... they’re dropping the fine, too.”

“Seriously?” Jameson perked up.

“It was a bullshit fine anyway,” Spencer added.

Alley slipped her phone inside her bag. “Regardless, we’re a new team. We don’t need publicity like that. It’s good they dropped it.”

Jameson nodded, his gaze fixated on his beer.

The poor guy was beat. He’d spent four hours manhandling a race car—he had a right to be tired.

If it were me, I’d be curled up in bed right now.

Eventually the talk turned to what we were all going to drink once we got to the bar. Howl at the Moon had some of the best drinks around, like the Purple Rain.

As luck would have it, the Omni Hotel where we were staying was up the street. I had a feeling we might want the short drive after this escapade.

I sat there silently listening and drinking my beer beside Jameson.

When we first got inside the limo there was about a foot between us. Every so often, Jameson scooted over to whisper something to me and never moved back.

So now, here we were shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, left leg-to-right leg, and I was in pit lizard heaven.

My left hand was holding my beer, and I kept my right hand busy with the outside paper label. God knows what my hands would do if they didn’t have something to occupy them. They probably would have checked out his gearshift and then moved on to figure out what size gears he was running.

You sound totally stupid.

Jameson showered before we left and changed into a pair of jeans that matched my skirt and a black button down shirt that he had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. Emma dressed him, in case you were wondering how we ended up matching. He was insanely hot and smelled even better with the faint smells of racing fuel and burnt rubber lingering on his skin.

If only they made racing fuel cologne. I laughed at myself thinking back to the commercials they used to do with racing fuel as cologne.

Jameson turned his head toward me, grinning when he heard my chuckle. “Get drunk with me tonight.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sport,” I objected shaking my head. I crossed my legs, and Jameson’s eyes that were once focused on my face slowly moved to my bare thighs.

His eyes met mine again, and his intense stare had me blushing in seconds. He didn’t say anything for a long moment—just looked at me until Spencer’s laugh interrupted us.

Jameson licked his lips in a deliberately casual way. His head angled to one side before he brought his hand up to his face and rubbed down the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes holding mine. “I won the Coca-Cola 600.” His nose scrunched in the cutest way and motioned with two fingers for me to lean closer, so I did. Then he whispered in my ear. “That’s a big deal.” His lips grazed my earlobe. “We need to celebrate.”

“Fine,” I huffed, pulling away from him slightly and pretending to pout while he smiled triumphantly next to me.

I think I let out a noise that was near a squeak but closer to a snort. It sounded stupid ... not at all sexy.

I wasn’t mad he wanted to celebrate by drinking. I needed the liquid courage tonight more than ever. I didn’t want to appear too eager.

“Can I make one suggestion?” I asked when I could speak again.

“Is it a lewd suggestion?” Jameson raised a questioning eyebrow at me, a raffish smile plastered across his lips.

“Surprisingly, no.” I smiled holding up a finger in front of him. “No tattoos.”

His bottom lip protruded out, the smile threatened again tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Where’s the fun in that, Sway?”

Something seemed different about us. I couldn’t place it, but it was there. Instead of taunting, he was teasing in a flirting way.

Regardless, it was messing with my head though, and more alcohol was definitely in the cards tonight.

Once we made it to the bar, Spencer got shit-faced drunk, Alley was pissed because she ended up wearing an entire bottle of Jack Daniels down her dress, Emma was trying her hardest to stay away from Aiden and his cowboy hat, and Jameson ... well, poor Jameson looked uncomfortable as ever.

It might have had something to do with the fact that I bent over in front of him to grab the bottle of Jack Daniels that Spencer had spilled on Alley. Let’s just say that I forgot I was wearing a skirt.

Okay, okay... I didn’t forget. I knew exactly what I was doing.

This was what I liked to refer to as Pit Lizard 101.

When the limo pulled up to the bar I wasn’t prepared for the swarm of fans that inundated Jameson when we stepped out.

Everyone was yelling his name, screaming for his autograph, and I’ll be honest with you, it was a little overwhelming.

Jameson smiled politely at the insanity declining to sign anything until he was inside.

After hearing them, I intended on staying in the car until Jameson grabbed my hand. “Come on, Sway.”

I shook my head. “I lied. I don’t think I want to go inside anymore. What’s wrong with the mini-bar in here?” I asked.

“Spencer drank it all.”

When our eyes met, I knew he saw my fear.

“Don’t leave me hangin’... you promised,” Jameson intoned, leaving me weak and vulnerable. I hated being either one. Especially around someone like Jameson Riley.

“I hate you,” I seethed stepping out, careful to keep my goods covered.

Jameson watched my every move as I stepped out, shamelessly letting his eyes rake down my body.

With a devious smirk, he slowly winked at me. “You don’t hate me, honey, and you know it.” Pressed against his body, his lips dipped to my ear. “I have a surprise for you tonight anyway.”

If it involved his camshaft, I was all for it.

Eventually we maneuvered our way inside the bar. Spencer and Alley were arguing, Emma and Aiden were inches away from each other and looking like they are about to kiss any second, and I was so close to Jameson’s side you’d think we were glued together.

And believe me, I wasn’t complaining.

Once inside, it wasn’t hard to spot Tommy, our friend from high school and the mechanic for Jameson’s sprint car team. Not only was his orange hair loud and stood out, but he was also chanting Jameson’s name as he stood on the bar.

My eyes scanned the bar looking for familiarity and the low lights set a comfortable ambiance.

Most of the crew was waiting at a large table that the bar had reserved for us and the alcohol flowed in abundance. When we reached the table, Kyle pulled Jameson into a hug, which meant Jameson had let go of my hand. I wasn’t okay with that.

What surprised me was once Jameson let go of Kyle, he quickly reached for my hand again.

Maybe he does have feelings for me. Maybe he’s loved me just as long.

Unlikely, but a pit lizard could dream.

The bar was uncontrolled. Media, fans, various team members, sponsor reps, and even other drivers hugged the very edges of the room.

Everyone, including me, wanted a piece of Jameson. Everyone wanted to talk to him about the race and the win. Everyone wanted to get a picture with him... wants, wants, wants.

I’ll tell you about wants... My want was working overdrive as I observed him working the room, shaking hands with everyone and mingling.

I had a feeling he didn’t know who most of these people were but he pretended. I, on the other hand, had no idea who anyone was until Alley and Jameson took me around and introduced me.

“This is Melissa Childers,” Jameson said motioning with a tight nod to the short brown haired woman standing before me. “She’s a public relations rep for Simplex.”

“Hey dude” —Tommy threw an arm around Jameson— “Justin and Tyler flew to Terra Haute for tomorrow’s race. They said to tell you congratulations and this girl hello,” Tommy tugged on my hair.

“Thanks,” Jameson replied with a wide smile.

Melissa, who remained beside me, shook my hand and chatted as Jameson moved through the crowd to greet fans and a few other drivers who made an appearance.

Seated securely in the corner, wanting to control myself for once tonight, I kept an eye on Jameson from a distance. That alluring mysteriousness circling him captivated me as it always did.

He stood in the shadows of the bar; wanting a distance from those around him he wouldn’t get any time soon. Not tonight. Watching the crowd, he seemed agitated. As if he was struggling with something he couldn’t say.

Shrugging to an unheard question from the man seated next to him in a dark suit, Jameson tossed a smirk my direction. A reassurance I definitely needed right then. The man walked away after that leaving Jameson to himself for a moment until the next person requested his attention. It seemed to be an endless cycle, and I knew then why he stayed in the shadows.

Beneath the many layers of Jameson was that vulnerability about him that you didn’t see too often in racers, as I’ve said. Personally, I think most racers owned this trait, but you didn’t know, or cared enough, to be aware of it.

Jameson seemed uninterested in the fans surrounding him, yet he didn’t move from his place at the bar as he knew he had to be here. I think he knew if he moved Alley would kick his ass.

It was times like this where I could feel the change in him. He was still the same Jameson, but I was afraid of what he had to be on the outside and if he would be able to protect him and his dream.

Despite the lack of attention he seemed to have to those around him, I could still see the restlessness and the loneliness that this lifestyle had created for him over the past few years. That was the side you could see in most drivers these days. It was as if the lifestyle was destroying who they were inside just to live a dream.

Jameson’s eyes appeared distant and unseeing for a moment as he searched the crowd appearing to be looking for someone. Me, I hoped.

Looking at him now, you wouldn’t know that this was a man who’d won a race. He appeared annoyed.

Tommy walked by ruffling his hair. His distance gave way to the gesture, and he cracked a smile at his longtime buddy.

Jameson stole a sideways glance my direction and a familiar heat spread over me. He was still that boy I grew to love. He was still Jameson.

I smiled, seeing the authenticity I’ve always known and loved about him.

Another fan approached him for an autograph, his body shifted toward them to offer them a little piece of him. Dragging his hand through his hair, a careful smile formed, but I could see he was uneasy with the close proximity of the fans. He was nervous and apprehensive.

A reporter with FOX Sports made it known she had an attraction for Jameson by basically hovering over him.

This only made me want to push him against the bar he was leaning against and fuck the boy senseless right in front of her.

You sound like a jealous high school girl with insecure emotional issues, I told myself. Well I wasn’t in high school and didn’t really have any insecure emotional issues but jealous ... party for one, please.

“I’ve seen that look before, Sway,” Alley whispered in my ear taking a seat next to me at the large dark wooden table.

So much for my private stalking.

I didn’t look up quickly finding interest in tracing the cracks in the wood with my fingertips.

Turning, I glared past her, my eyes focused on Jameson. “Who is that hanging on him?”

“Ashley Conner, she’s a reporter with FOX Sports.” Alley looked over the drink menu, never looking up. “She does this every weekend.”

Throwing my arms against the table, I groaned letting my head fall against my forearms. “He’s slept with her—hasn’t he? Jesus. Why am I so stupid?”

I don’t know why I asked if he slept with her. I knew the answer by the way they looked at each other. She was trying her hardest to flaunt her tits in his face, and he was looking everywhere else he could to avoid her. Over the years, I’d seen this exact dance between him and nameless pit lizards.

Alley sighed. “I don’t know,” her tone was dismissive as it always was when speaking of Jameson’s encounters with women. “My contract doesn’t include monitoring Jameson’s sex life. They don’t pay me enough for that.”

I was on the verge of tears when she turned in her seat and forced me to look at her.

“I’m warning you,” Alley pointed at me. “Don’t do what you’re thinking.”

“I didn’t...” I began and was quickly silenced by her murderous glare.

“I know you, and I know what you’re thinking. You think if you sleep with him you can convince him he loves you.”

Am I really that transparent?

In an attempt to hold on to any remaining dignity her glare didn’t destroy, I didn’t say anything.

“Don’t do it,” she warned once more, and then called the waiter over. “Here, pick something.” She tossed me a menu. “We’re getting drunk.”

Spencer, sporting a new Spiderman bandage above his eyebrow, sat down next to me and swung his arm around my chair.

“I suggest you remove your arm,” I warned grimly, my mood turning for the worst.

Screaming or crying, either one was a good option as I watched woman after woman throw themselves into Jameson’s arms. Trying to analyze his every move, I knew Jameson, and I knew exactly what he did when his interest was piqued. So far, he showed none of those signs; he actually appeared uncomfortable with it all.

“Spencer,” Alley’s voice brought me back around to reality.

Spencer, who’d been staring at the menu, flinched looking over at her but quickly looked the direction of the door when Alley mouthed something to him.

“What are you guys whispering about?” I asked scanning the room to see if I missed something. My eyes focused on the bar to see Jameson and a guy standing inches from his face.

He was around the same height as Jameson, dirty blonde hair, but I couldn’t see anything beside that with his back to me.

I did notice the tall blonde attached to his hip and thought that she resembled Chelsea.

We watched for a moment but when Spencer rose knocking his chair to the ground, I realized that the conversation between Jameson and this guy was getting heated.

Disdainfully, Jameson set his beer down and stepped forward. His eyes took on that dark glower I also knew well.

The woman at the guy’s side seemed uninterested and disappeared into the bathroom while the guy continued to talk to Jameson, waving his arms around as if he was explaining something.

Alley and I got up following Spencer over to the bar where we picked up on what was being said. By now, the entire bar was listening.

“Just because your dad provided the ride doesn’t mean you’re hot shit, Jameson,” the guy said.

Once closer, I recognized him as Darrin Torres, driver of the number fourteen car that Jameson beat for the win tonight.

Darrin and Jameson had history dating back to their days racing USAC and had frequent run-ins so far this year—including a very public brawl after the Winston a week ago.

Jameson leaned back against the bar again creating distance, trying to appear as if he didn’t give a shit. He probably didn’t.

“Darrin,” Jameson spoke slowly shaking his head, his voice surprisingly calm—it sounded all the more threatening that way. “Just because my dad owns the team I race for, doesn’t mean I can’t drive. Who won tonight?”

“By three-tenths of an inch,” Darrin snorted with a glib smile. “Hardly a win.”

Jameson laughed darkly, the impassiveness remaining imperturbable. “Any way you want to look at it Darrin, I won.” He looked away from Darrin. With a nod, he motioned for the bartender to get him another beer. “How does second place feel?”

“How does that $50,000 fine feel?”

Jameson laughed.

“Oh, I don’t know... didn’t you hear?” His hand casually dragged along the stubble of his jaw. “They dropped the fine.” His eyes then scanned Darrin. “Said the test came back inconclusive and nothing was found in the post-race inspection. Try harder next time.”

I didn’t know Darrin had anything to do with the fuel additive in his car, but I wouldn’t put it past him.

Darrin stepped closer and grabbed Jameson by the collar of his shirt causing Jameson’s beer to spill. “Listen you little shit,” Spencer appeared threateningly beside Jameson. “Stay out of my way on the track, or you will regret it,” Darrin warned.

Jameson came on like a charging bull shoving Darrin backward. Before Spencer could react, Jameson delivered a hard left hook to Darrin’s jaw, jerked him forward by the shirt and held a broken beer bottle pressed to his neck.

Spencer, who stood close to me in a protective stance, shook his head muttering something along the lines of “southpaw,” but I couldn’t make out much else.

I’d seen enough of Jameson’s frequent pit brawls over the years to know his left-handed pop could get you unexpectedly. Spencer used to say that Jameson had this advantage over others, even him, because lefties came at you backward. I’d say that from the blood pouring for Darrin’s lip that he could attest to this theory.

“Don’t ever threaten me again,” Jameson growled in his ear making no attempt to back away. His voice was sharp enough to cut glass sending waning chills down my spine.

Before Darrin could counter to the anger pulsating from Jameson, Spencer and Kyle were breaking things up, and the owner was escorting Darrin from the bar.

Jameson was yelling at Aiden and Spencer as they pinned him forcefully against the wall struggling to control him.

I tried to get over to him, I knew I could calm him down, but Emma and Alley were tugging me toward the bathrooms in the other direction.

“I don’t have to pee, let me go,” I groaned as they pushed me through the door.

As if the night couldn’t get any worse, I ran into the person I thought I would never have to see again.

Chelsea Adams.

“Well,” Chelsea said looking directly at me. “It’s been a long time, Sway.”

“I wish I could say it’s nice to see you, but it’s not,” I replied glaring at the perfect bitch.

She rolled her eyes.

“Is that Jameson you’re salivating over out there? He’s looking good these days.”

I pounced on her like a jungle cat, slamming us both to the ground in the middle of the bathroom. I’m not sure what got into me, but I was livid. I hated her in high school and now she thought she could walk into his life again and pick up where they left off ... not if I had anything to say about it. Drawing my fist back, I punched her square in the mouth.

Moments passed and I stayed perched on top of her throwing punches, pulling her hair and scratching.

“Get off me you whore!” Chelsea screamed from underneath.

“Who are you calling a whore?” Emma lunged for Chelsea as well.

Word got out quickly to the rest of the bar about the gladiator style fight going down in the women’s bathroom. Doors were broken, mirrors were smashed, hair was ripped out, and blood and tears were shed.

It looked like they filmed part of the movie Fight Club in there.

Alley, Emma, and I were unscathed though.

“What the fuck happened in here?” Spencer asked stepping over the broken door. His eyes focused on Chelsea wiping her mouth. “Holy hell...”

Jameson and Aiden stood in the doorway their questioning eyes scanning.

“Hey boys,” I said as casually as possible. “Just freshening up.”

Jameson was looking at me with an amused expression patiently waiting for an explanation. Tommy stepped inside the bathroom and burst into laughter tossing me a glorified smile.

I grabbed Jameson by the arm and fluffed my hair with the other hand. “Let’s get drunk now.”

I never saw Chelsea again that night, and I think the key factor there might have been my intoxication.

A Hurricane Bucket, a Purple Rain, a Lucille’s Sweet Tea, and one Loose Goose. I was done for.

I couldn’t even form a coherent word... even when I tried.

Jameson wasn’t doing any better with Tommy holding him up as he explained how he thought today’s youth, present company excluded, had no work ethic.

Alley and Spencer had left to go get Lane since Spencer had to drive the motor coach to Pocono tomorrow.

Emma complained she was tired so Aiden conveniently became tired at the same time. They left together.  Thankfully, Jameson was too drunk to notice.

This left Jameson, Kyle, and Tommy with me at the bar when Jameson decided to duel some guy on the piano. No one knew he had the piano chops, too, and left the entire bar, still bursting with people, in a complete frenzy, me included.

Eventually I was alone with Jameson and he was pulling me toward the dance floor to dance to “Purple Rain” since we were, in fact, drinking a Purple Rain drink.

This was his reasoning at least.

Drawing me against his chest tightly, he whispered the lyrics of “Purple Rain” to me with a low gravelly voice that left me trembling in his arms. What sent me over the edge was when he threw his head back and belted out an utterly raw verse.

It seemed the more I drank, the more my plan was set in stone.

I was going to fuck this boy tonight. I was sure of it.

My biggest problem when drinking was that I had all the bad ideas floating around in my head. When alcohol got involved, they turned into bad decisions. Over the years I’d become accustomed to this, but don’t think I didn’t want to sue the makers of tequila a time or two for their persuasive influence.

These bad ideas convinced me that I would make him see me for me and that I was perfect for him. The drunker I got, the easier it was to forget that he was a superstar now and not just my best friend. He was the boy I grew to love. After a while, I went with it.

All night it seemed that he was giving peculiar looks, his eyes cutting and smiling. It warmed me and he looked as though he was seeing me as the girl who was always there for him and not some pit lizard. He looked at me like I was the only woman in the room who mattered to him.

I must have been staring at him because when he snuck a glance at me, he smirked. “What?”

I bit down on my bottom lip then slowly pulled my straw in my mouth and took a drink before saying, “Nothing,” then winked at him.

Slowly, and I do mean slowly, he sucked his bottom lip in, bit down and then gradually let it drag against his teeth.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he crooned pressing a tender kiss right below my ear.

I was drunk, plain and simple.

Tanked, toasted, spent, hammered, smashed, intoxicated, plastered, and sloshed... whatever you want to call it. Jameson and I could barely put one foot in front of the other when the limo driver dropped us at the hotel around four in the morning.

Somewhere between the dancing and serenading, I decided I was going to do whatever my engine and crankcase wanted—as noted, alcohol played a strong role in this. Since my crankcase and engine were in charge, they decided I’d stood by watching far too long now.

I watched as he won the Coca-Cola 600 tonight. I watched as he whispered an entire song in my ear and, let’s face it, he could have been whispering how to change a tire and I would have melted.

And then to top it off, he told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Okay, well yes, he was drunk when he said it but still, he said it, to me.

My attention turned back to Jameson fumbling with his room key. He seemed resolutely focused on getting the door open.

Leaning against the wall, I searched for mine in my bag. Reaching down, I slipped my heels off. My feet now resembled hamburger from all the blisters.

Jameson, with some determination and focus, managed to get the key in the door but fell through the door when it opened, landing on his ass in the entryway.

We both started laughing as he lay down on the floor. “I think I broke my ass.”

“I’ll let you get some sleep, Jameson. See you in the morning.” I started to walk away, but stopped when his hand grasped my ankle.

“Where you going, honey?” I looked down and I was met with the most intense burning stare. Where his eyes were once restless at the bar earlier, they were now focused and alive.

The green—though bloodshot—seemed brighter but in the same sense, they seemed darker with a carnal desire. I knew the look well as I had it plastered upon my face throughout the entire evening.

That burning stare traveled up my body focusing on me as he waited for my answer.

“To my room,” I choked out, though I wasn’t sure he heard me or maybe it was that I couldn’t hear myself over the loud thudding of my heart in my ears.

I should have been concerned with how fast my heart was beating, but all I could focus on was the green in his eyes contrasting against the black in his shirt and the way he was looking at me.

His head skewed to the side slightly as though he was waiting for me to do something, anything.

Nervously, I stood in the doorway hovering over him. He bent at the waist to sit up wrapping his hands around my legs and leaned in to my right leg.

“Stay,” he whispered against my calf.

His lips brushed against my skin in a tender way, but the predatory gaze he unleashed told another story.

Kneeling down beside him, I dropped my shoes and bag to the ground, providing quite the sight with my illegal skirt. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” he pointed out. His hand reached to touch the side of my face. “I don’t care that we’re drunk.”

I intended on helping him up, but it didn’t end up that way when I leaned forward. Arms crossed, legs gave way, bodies tangled together and hands went wild. Before I knew what happened, I was lying on top of Jameson with my legs on either side of his hips.

Propped up by one arm, I looked down thinking he was going to tell me to get up, but nope, he stared at me. His right hand moved from my leg and touched my cheek again.

What did I do next?

I did what any aptly minded pit lizard would do. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his once. I planned on one kiss—just to remember the feeling. But he surprised me when his mouth opened and his tongue swept over my lower lip.

So while I intended on this one kiss, my crankcase had other plans, as did Jameson.

His mouth pressed to mine urgently, rough with a hard desperate edge. When his tongue entered my mouth, I gasped, forgetting how nice that felt. Over the years, we had kissed often, to which I had always enjoyed, but I had failed to remember the giddy high that it had gave me.

I moved my hips, shifting my weight when my hands found his hair. It didn’t feel strange; it was natural and familiar.

He groaned into my mouth, the want emanating in his voice. “Sway...”

His hands flew to my hips and guided me down on top of him—flush against his pelvis and oh... oh... hold up... caution flags out ladies and gentlemen. We not only had an oil slick down on the track, but we had a camshaft searching for a crankcase.

I froze, wondering if he was going to push me away at any moment, but he didn’t. We had been here before, but he always stopped quickly before anything escalated, collecting himself. Only now he wasn’t stopping.

Instead, he pushed his hips up to meet mine. “Jesus Christ, Sway...”

Still kissing me desperately, his impatient hands began working my shirt over my head. The pit lizard in me was thrilled, and I ripped the motherfucker off letting it fall beside Jameson’s face.

He grinned, a lopsided grin against my lips, chuckling at my sudden onset of rage against the poor fabric that used to be a shirt. Like an engine exceeding its maximum rev limiter, my willpower and need for him couldn’t prevent any unforeseen damage.

I realized right about then that the door was still wide open so I tried to maneuver my legs to kick the door shut but didn’t succeed.

“Just a second,” I whispered and with one last kiss—I got off Jameson and pushed the door closed.

Once I was away from his warm embrace, I began to comprehend what was really happening.

Did I want this? Did he? Would we regret it in the morning?

Before I had time to regret anything we’d already done, he approached me from behind. A strange electric pulse sang between us causing my breathing to become ragged.

Placing both hands against the door to stabilize myself—my body anticipated the contact. I could smell him—feel him getting closer.

With nervous energy pulsing throughout my body, my nerves primed for it—waiting. The silence between us was heavy and tense, my body pulled toward him by the energy between us.

Jameson leaned in—his chest pressed against my back covering my hands against the door with his own, his fingers interlocked with mine.

I could feel the rise and fall of each strained breath in his body. His lips pressed to my bare shoulder and then he kissed me slowly leaving wet kisses over my skin until his lips found my neck.

The fire in me was burning. He stopped there, and then grazed his tongue back down the path he’d made, sending a shudder through me.

“I want you so bad,” he whispered, echoing my exact thoughts, his voice and body trembling.

I couldn’t respond. I wasn’t aware that a voice could sound so pleading while with so much urgency. Over the course of our friendship, I’d never seen him like this before.

I maneuvered myself turning around in his arms.

We stood there facing each other—me without a shirt, his jeans intact with his shirt open in the front.

The muscles in his stomach flexed and contracted with each labored breath he took. I could tell his resolve was crumbling when he swept his shaking hand across the back of his neck.

It was if each of us was daring the other to make the next move.

My eyes met his, and I thought I would see love or something resembling the emotions I had for him, but all I saw was the hooded lust burning deep with hunger.

His breathing remained heavy, shit, he was nearly panting as he watched me like I was his prey. And it was impossible to miss the way his hands trembled as they reached for me again.

Letting go of any hesitation I may have had, I lunged for him. Jumping in his arms, his hands immediately flew to my ass as he attacked me, my kiss silencing his guttural moan. We stumbled back against the wall with an animalistic grunt, the drywall cracked against my back, but that didn’t stop us.

Driven with want, we seemed to be eagerly searching for the unknown. We weren’t necessarily searching for the same want, but we were searching for it with each other.

I kept asking myself what I was doing, but I was doing what was natural to me. It was instinct and adrenaline coming together, but there was the familiarity there, assuring me; I was safe with him and he wanted this.

We wanted this.

Throughout our entire friendship, it was easy to see there was a sexual attraction between us. I always wondered if it was me. Judging by the camshaft rubbing against me, it wasn’t my imagination.

Happy hour had begun and our clothes were all over the place and in pieces, with the exception of his jeans.

It didn’t take long and I was on my back on the king size bed in the middle of the gigantic bedroom. His kisses were frantic, hands were as determined as they were when he was steering a race car. Only now, he was steering me. Pushing, pulling, and dragging my body against his in all the ways he wanted.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, and I could feel the hesitation in each move he made.

It was evident he wanted this, but he held a certain amount of ambiguity. Pulling back, his eyes hooded with that same hesitation and lust.

“Please,” his voice broke when his breath caught. “Honey... tell me to stop.”

Though he was saying this, he didn’t stop. His fingertips ran over my lips searching my eyes for an answer, an answer he didn’t want.

As I said, we’d been like this before but stopped. Stopping now didn’t seem like an option for either of us. But I also had a feeling this was his way of making this my decision.

I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted this just as badly. I always had and now, for the first time, my insecurities surrounding this didn’t matter and I threw myself into it.

“Don’t,” I mumbled pulling him closer, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. “Please, don’t stop.”

There, I told him.

He pulled back again, his eyes searching mine, and I could see the struggle within as he stilled himself above me. With each breath, our chests moved slowly but with a rapid pace that gave away our feelings. We both wanted it.

But I could also sense his hesitation. He was afraid to move knowing there was no going back. We couldn’t take this back once it happened. When he entered me he was, in more ways than either of us understood, claiming me.

What will this mean for us?

Sometimes you think you want a taste, but is a taste ever enough?

I honestly believe no one could have just a taste. This went beyond physical attraction. For me, this was bone deep and would never change. With the way I was drawn to Jameson, both frightening and exciting, this couldn’t be just a taste.

“Sway, I...” his voice faded, his eyes opening and flashing with an emotion other than the lust we were both feeling.

“I know,” I said softly. I had no fucking idea what I was agreeing to.

I just said “I know,” but really, what did I know?

Then, to add some fuel to the fire, I said, “I want you.”

“I want you, too.”

That pretty much sealed the deal for me and soon all thoughts were lost when he leaned forward and kissed me.

“Oh God... it’s been a long time,” he moaned.

You and me both, buddy.

Jameson broke away for a moment, the clanking of his belt buckle registered, bringing me back to what this was as he pulled his jeans and underwear down before returning to the bed, pressing his warm naked body against mine.

It was then that I realized that I was completely naked, too. Took me long enough to realize that. I’d only been that way for the last ten minutes.

I couldn’t see very well, the only light was coming from the bathroom down the hall, but I could see enough to know I was in trouble.

Growing up, I always knew the Riley boys were well endowed but this... I may require medical attention after this. I may have even gasped at this thought, but I couldn’t be sure with all the noises he was making. We were both being very vocal.

Settling between my legs, his lips grazed over my bare nipples. Slowly, he drew my left nipple into his mouth and sucked gently and then let his teeth graze it before pulling back, repeating the process with my other nipple.

I was dying... a slow agonizing death, wrapped in his warm steel embrace.

Suddenly he jerked back looking at me, his brow scrunched together. “Are you okay? I mean ... are you sure, Sway? We’ve never...” A shaky hand rose to run through his mess of hair.

Is he nervous? Why is he shaking so badly?

I nodded, my cheeks blazing like the fiery sun. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was nervous at the way he was shaking. But I knew Jameson well enough that he was never nervous, why would right now be any different?

When his eyes met mine again, he looked worried. “I... uh... are you sure? We’ve never...”

We’ve never.

He kept going back to that. Of course we’ve never. One of us always stopped.

Could I do this? If it meant other women were nowhere near him, then yes, I could do this. If it meant that by some slim chance he would realize he had feelings for me too, then yes, I could do this.

I nodded again.

Jameson flashed a soft smile leaning over the side of the bed for a condom in his wallet. I wanted to look when he put it on, but I didn’t. I think I was too nervous.

The hesitation returned for a brief moment before his eyes found mine again and I saw a glimpse of that boy I grew to love. With his body pressed tightly to mine, you couldn’t hide much of anything. I could feel him against my thigh and knew he could feel my chest against his chest. Why I was thinking of our body parts pressed together I wasn’t sure, but I was.

Knowing what was about to happen, I swallowed, slowly, feeling the rapid beating of our hearts and trying not to focus on pressing body parts and more on the actual boring about to take place.

Then, with a slow lazy kiss, our bodies joined. He pushed forward gradually with a growl that sent shivers and goose bumps all over me, his body trembling with each movement.

I can’t believe we’re actually doing this! We’re actually having sex! He’s not pushing me away, he’s pulling me against him and his camshaft is inside me!

The feeling I got when Jameson entered me was amazing, sappy even. I was complete.

Pathetic. You’re pathetic.

He gasped and I let out a shaking sigh against his lips as I adjusted to him.

“Are you all right?” his voice hindered by his harsh breathing. “Should I ... stop?”

I couldn’t form the words so I simply shook my head against his shoulder placing a kiss into his neck and pushed my hips up letting him know I didn’t want him to stop. My hands moved over the breadth of his hard shoulders urging him on.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop? I can stop.” He sort of laughed a breathless chuckle and shook his head against my forehead. “That’s a fuckin’ lie. I can’t stop.”

I laughed and then stared at him wondering if I was dreaming.

Is this really happening?

Now I’ve had sex before with a few different people, but Jameson quickly put them to shame when he had me screaming like a porn star within two minutes.

His hips moved slowly for a while, his hands curled under me pulling me into his movements, holding me tightly to his body. So tightly, it was as if his life depended on it, and I desperately wanted his life to depend on it.

Intensity and impatience marked everything from his movements to his kisses and I wasn’t about to complain.

Holding my hands above my head against the pillow, his head dipped down to whisper in my ear, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Say what?

All I could do was moan loudly and then he reached down hitching my leg farther up his hip.

“You like that?” he grunted against my shoulder, most of his weight shifted to rest against his arm that was bent near my head supporting him.

“Yes, harder.”

Jesus, you sound ridiculous.

Jameson chuckled breathlessly. “That I can do,” he growled in my ear fisting his hands through my hair, tugging gently before he flipped us over so I was on top of him. “You like dirty talking... don’t you?”

I became undone completely with everything, all around me. It was his voice, so low and vibrating that I could feel it pulsing throughout my entire body, every nerve ending reaching out to him. It was his touch, one that I knew so well—firm, yet soft, and focused.

It really was everything and so much more than I ever thought possible. So many times, I wondered what this would be like and now it was happening.

“Yeah,” I moaned eventually to his dirty question because I really did enjoy the dirty talking. You could tell me how to change spark plugs and I was a quivering mess.

Right about that point, I began to sound as if I was auditioning for a Ron Jeremy movie. I was ashamed at how vocal I’d become.

“I can tell you like car talk, too...” he whispered in that low gravelly voice he had from time to time. I moaned again when his lips found the sensitive skin on my neck rough with need. His teeth drug over the path he’d made. “Proper amount of lubrication makes inserting the camshaft easier, you know?”

My response was to moan. I seemed to be doing a lot of that.

He had my body bending in directions I never thought were possible without needing an MRI the next day.

He also, to his utter amusement, had me screaming at the top of my lungs at times, and a few instances where I was sure I saw twinkling stars.

Wanting to see how worked up I could get him, I did everything I could to drive him just as insane.

My theory that he, too, was losing control was confirmed when his head fell back against the pillow, his eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head resisting. “Ah honey, slow down ... please, slow down,” he moaned taking a firm hold on my hips.

I was grinning like a fool.

He was also very thorough, too; I’ll give him that. I swear he covered every inch of my five-two frame with kisses or nips and the occasional pinch or lick.

What wasn’t that comforting was his attention while my ass was in the air with him between my legs behind me.

For one, I’m not sure about the rest of society, but for me personally—my ass in the air wasn’t really a comforting position, unless you’re a dog. Let’s face it: your asshole is public knowledge when you walk around on all fours like an animal.

And for me, I’m not that comfortable with my ass in the air or my asshole. I’m just not. Especially when the person behind me was Jameson Riley.

Thoughts of my asshole in the air didn’t last long and soon I drifted completely with the kissing, the sucking, the pinching, it was all almost too much.

Where’d this boy learn all this and why had I waited so long to indulge? That was what I wanted to know.

We were molded together. You couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. But when he sucked down on my nipple once more, I couldn’t hold off.

Thrashing around beneath him with total futility, his hands held me in place tightly against him and the mattress. With a tingling that started in my toes and settled in my tummy, I literally screamed Jameson’s name loud enough for the entire hotel to hear.

Forget the porno audition.

Apparently, I was now trying out for the opera.

Jameson chuckled against me, my breathing turned to something resembling a woman in child labor or an animal in heat. It had been way too long since I last had sex, that was for sure.

I soon realized Jameson was past the point of stopping or being able to go slow as his breathing was turning from heavy to panting gasps—grunting with each movement. My head hit the headboard with each thrust while his hands moved from my hips to the pillow behind my head, grasping it tightly as he prepared himself.

I wanted to stop time, slow this down and make it last forever, but I knew I couldn’t. After waiting for so long for this, it seemed to be fleeting quickly. I kept thinking I was dreaming until he would move or say something, his voice bringing me back, and I realized it was happening.

“Oh God, Sway,” he grunted, his body trembling for control, I knew the feeling. “Shit... I’m sorry... can’t hold on any longer...” His head fell against my shoulder, his teeth sinking into my skin as he threw himself into his movements. “Fuck,” he cried out.

My legs wrapped around his waist, and I held onto him anywhere I could, desperate to make this last longer.

He gasped, his body jerking, his eyes squeezed shut tightly as his forehead rested against mine.

A few thoughts ran through my mind. The first was that, at least he didn’t squeal like a pig. Mike Tanner, a past fuck did, and I was very alarmed. And secondly, hot damn we just had sex.

Collapsing on top of me, his head turned to the side, his ear pressed against my racing heart. We laid there, breathing as if we ran a marathon, which we kind of did, when Jameson rolled moving the sheets over us.

Once he pulled out, a cold breeze blew over me at the lack of contact between us. He surprised me, though. He didn’t go far. Sliding to the side, he tugged my body against his trailing kisses across my shoulder.

He cuddles after sex?

If possible, I think I fell deeper in love.

After a couple minutes, his smile pressed a kiss into my hair. “Why were we not doing that from the beginning?”

“You’re so weird.” Tossing my arms over my face attempting to mask my embarrassment and any chance at crying, I shook my head. “Because, we were eleven you pervert.”

He chuckled, but said nothing more.

Moments passed and the surge of adrenaline mixed with anxiety and fear overwhelmed me. Suddenly my stomach did a flip as tears threatened again. No, I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t let myself. If anything, I’d blame it on allergies or something just as ridiculous.

All my brain focused on was, would he regret this in the morning?

More moments passed where we remained, the fear embedded further with no relief.

From the morning light coming in through the cracks in the curtains, I could vaguely make out his expression.

Lying on his back, arms contently resting on his stomach, I steadied his sedated breathing. His left hand rose to run through his hair.

What really caught my attention was the intensity marking his gaze. His eyes were open staring at the ceiling, the restlessness returned, as did that vulnerability. I couldn’t stop my mind from convincing me he’d regret it. Maybe that was why he wanted me to tell him to stop.

Once Jameson was asleep, I couldn’t take lying there as the gnawing anxiety got the best of me. Turning over, I took in his softened features. With his unkempt rusty hair, the freckles on his nose, he reminded me so much of the boy I fell in love with amongst the methanol and clay of the Northwest.

Who was I kidding? He was still that boy. Jameson hadn’t changed and I knew that. And knowing that, I shouldn’t have been so worried he’d regret this because the boy I fell in love with wouldn’t. He was still my best friend above all else and sleeping together wouldn’t change that.

Or would it?

Here I go again.

The haze of intoxication was starting to lift and reality was setting in.

Feeling sick again, I decided to get some water or run away, one of the two was a good idea.

You’d think his room would have water since it had everything else but nope, just alcohol. No surprise there though.

I threw on Jameson’s shirt from last night and stepped out the door, tentatively. I glanced outside but no one seemed to be around.

Half-naked, hair all over the place, I made my way down the long hallway of the Omni Hotel and Resort in search of water.

When I rounded the corner, I ran right into Emma.

No, scratch that—I fell over Emma because for God knows what reason, she was on her knees in front of the vending machine.

“What the hell, Emma?” I grunted peeling myself from the tile floor, slipping on ice cubes that were scattered everywhere.

Emma started picking up the ice chips frantically and dropping them in a bucket. “What does it look like? I was getting ice and water.”

She looked over me once, scrutinizing my appearance and then shook her head. “Where are your clothes?”

“Where are yours?” I challenged. Emma wasn’t wearing much more than me with Aiden’s t-shirt and cowboy hat. “Nice hat,” I added.

She smiled again and looked more closely at my collarbone that was sporting a purple bite mark from Jameson. “Did you ... oh God, Sway, you didn’t?”

“Shut up!” I snapped shoving her against the vending machine. “You have no room to talk. Whose saddle were you just in?”

“Saddle?” Emma glared but appeared nervous. “Don’t tell Jameson about me and Aiden.”

“Don’t tell Alley about me and Jameson then,” I countered letting go of her.

“Deal.” We shook hands.

“Well, was it what you hoped for?” Emma asked as we made our way back down the hall to our rooms. “I heard you. You sounded like a damn hyena in there,” she added laughing hysterically.

I pushed her again, knocking her and her ice chips against some innocent guests’ door. “I hate you. I really do.”

When I made it back inside the room, Jameson cuddled against my back. I thought he was sleeping but his breathing hitched when I kissed his arm that he’d placed around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

“Have you ever thought about this before?” he asked. His voice was out of breath and low but smooth, as it always was.

“Thought about?” I tried to be vague as though I didn’t know what he was asking, even if I did.

“This...” his answer was just as vague. His arms flexed around me and he kissed my shoulder once, his lips warm.

“Yes and no,” I told him honestly, because right now, I couldn’t tell him how I really felt about him. Nope. Keep your damn mouth shut.

For someone who never ran from anything and spoke her mind frequently, I couldn’t tell him that this was all I’ve thought about for the past four years. The words wouldn’t form.

In his arms that morning, I knew then that nothing would ever be the same between us. This wasn’t something where two people casually slept together.

It couldn’t be. Not with the thirst I had.