Happy Hour – Slang term for last official practice session held before an event. Most of the time it will take place after qualifying and all other practices.

 

I think I’m dead.

One eye opened assured me.

I was dead. Had to be.

That was all there was to it. Surely, no one could feel this badly, and still be alive. My throat was as dry as the Mojave Desert. My head throbbed like someone hit it with a baseball bat, and my body resembled jelly.

I laid there for a good ten minutes, wondering if I truly was dead. Stretching, I intended to get up, when my arm bumped something causing me to jump.

What the hell?

Movement on the bed startled me and someone groan beside me. Once I turned my head, I groaned myself.

Fuck me.

Not only did I know that particular groan, but even so much as turning my head, hurt like hell. Bringing my arm up, I covered my face to block out the blinding light coming in from the morning or afternoon sun.

I continued to lay there for a moment trying to remember anything that happened last night when reality hit me—slapped me across the face, actually.

It came back to me in flashes, the race, the bar, Chelsea, the dancing, the kissing, and Purple Rain.

And then in a rush, without warning, the sex came back to me based on the soreness between my legs.

Then who came back to me... Jameson... oh God.

What if he regretted it? What if he doesn’t even remember what we did?

I turned over onto my back, covering my head with a pillow now, wondering what I was thinking last night. Friends with benefits, jeez, you have truly lost your mind this time.

Just as I decided that I would be perfectly content never removing my head from under that pillow, Jameson groaned loudly beside me and flung an arm around my waist.

It was at that point I realized I was still completely naked, in bed with my best friend, Jameson Riley.

While I was starting to regret not putting some clothes on before we went to sleep, he grunted, moved closer and pressed his body against mine and oh my ... he was hard.

Hot damn that’s nice.

What did I do next? I started giggling.

Why?

When I was nervous, I giggled, and right then, I couldn’t speak and I could barely even think so, I giggled.

“Ugh... Sway,” Jameson groaned once again covering his head with a pillow. “Stop laughing... head hurts...”

Well, at least he knows it’s me beside him.

This had me giggling even more because I, Sway Reins, slept with my best friend Jameson Riley.

“Stop your fucking laughing,” Jameson groaned again, tossing a pillow at me.

His legs tangled with mine under the sheets, and his erection pressed against my thigh.

I had the sudden urge to stick my head under the sheets and get a good look at him since I didn’t see it last night. I refrained though.

I giggled once more, my head throbbing at the noise and causing Jameson to cringe and tighten his grip around my waist. “I swear to God... if you don’t stop, I will push you out of this goddamn bed,” he warned in a serious rough voice.

Eventually I stopped giggling and Jameson made no attempt to push me away or off the bed. Instead, he kept his arm firmly around my waist and his hips pushed against my thigh.

Before I could decide what was going to happen next, his cell phone started ringing on the nightstand beside me.

“Fuck... that’s worse than you laughing,” Jameson grumbled reaching over me pressing his chest against my own.

Completely on top of me, he answered the phone, “What?”

I was hyperventilating.

Let me take a moment here to really explain what kind of position we were in. I was lying on my back, legs spread, completely naked—kind of like last night. Jameson was completely naked as well, on top of me and between my legs.

We were in quite the predicament here.

“What time do I have to be there?” Jameson sighed. I could tell by the voice coming through the receiver that he was talking to Alley. “Wait... what time is it now?” Jameson looked around the room searching for a clock.

Glancing over my shoulder, I looked at the alarm clock to see that it was already four in the afternoon.

Great, my flight leaves at eight tonight.

I tried to push Jameson away so I could get up and get dressed but he grabbed my hand with his and pushed it above my head.

Apparently, I wasn’t going anywhere.

His eyes narrowed at me, shaking his head no. “Yeah, Alley, I’ll be there at six. I need a few... hours though,” Jameson added with a wink.

Say what?

Alley apparently wasn’t happy about this judging by the screaming. “Bye, Alley,” he simply said tossing his phone on the floor.

My head turned, looking anywhere but in his eyes that I could feel penetrating me. Speaking of penetrating, I could feel something else awfully close to penetration.

Jameson let go of my hands and placed his right hand against my cheek forcing me to look at him.

“Look at me, honey,” he said, softly kissing along my jaw.

I couldn’t help the tears that were forming. I tried—believe me I tried. When I finally looked at him, my emerald green meeting his smoldering green, I couldn’t place the emotion his held.

Why am I doing this to myself? You know this isn’t going to change anything. This is stupid and one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had.

“You okay?” he asked leaning in to kiss me. His lips pressed to mine once, twice, three times and then his tongue grazed my lips. His other hand came up holding my face securely to his while he attacked my mouth with passionate hungry kisses that left me weak and incredibly vulnerable again.

Hard and ready, all he would have to do is push once. Just as his hips flexed forward, a loud knocking interrupted us.

“Jameson, open the goddamn door!” Alley yelled outside smacking the door. “Don’t you ever hang up on me again asshole!”

Jameson put his fingers to my lips and pushed forward causing me to let out a loud moan. His hand covered my mouth, chuckling above me with that damn smirk.

I’m not all that surprised this amused him, as he loved pissing Alley off. It was like a game for him. He wasn’t happy until she’d called him an asshole at least once throughout the day.

“Shhh... if we’re quiet she’ll leave,” he whispered in my ear and pushed forward once more.

I openly cried out when he bit down on my shoulder again, cut off by his mouth that clamped down on my own, causing both of us to groan.

We moved together languorously but the door opening quickly interrupted us again.

Jameson stopped suddenly and pulled back to look at me, his eyes wide with panic.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Jameson... she can’t see me in bed with you,” I whispered, but was silenced by a pillow covering my face.

Was this supposed to be hot?

For some morbid reason, it was. I really needed help if him holding a pillow over my face turned me on.

It does so much!

I couldn’t see any more, but I heard Alley’s heels clicking against the wood floor when she came into the bedroom.

“Get out of bed you shithead!”

“How the hell did you get a key?” Jameson growled back at her. And yes, in case you’re wondering he was still inside me, his body trembling to stay motionless.

“I reserved the room for you. I have a key,” Alley replied with a sour edge. “For Christ’s sake Jameson, you have a woman in bed with you?”

Oh Alley... It’s even worse than you think.

“Get out!” Jameson yelled in a no nonsense tone.

“No,” she objected. “Get up!”

“Well, I’m not getting up with you in the room!” He snorted. “I’m naked.”

Yes, you are, with me underneath you.

“What the hell is taking so long in here?” Spencer’s bellowing tone echoed throughout. “Whoa, dude, who’s under there?”

You couldn’t miss the inquisitiveness in his voice, and I’m sure by that point he was trying to see who was underneath Jameson.

I was so glad my face was covered because it was the color of the devil’s ass right then, and I was moments away from breaking out into a giggle fit. I giggled when I was nervous. I couldn’t help it.

It was amazing the thoughts that went through your head when you were naked and in this predicament. I won’t go into details but some were even alarming to me and I was used to my daily rambling thoughts.

Jameson sighed loudly, throwing his head forward against my shoulder. “Get the fuck out!” he yelled loudly against the pillow vibrating my entire body with his menacing voice.

This was so mortifying.

And who joined the party next?

Jimi.

“Jameson,” he began as he entered the room, I assumed.

I couldn’t see to know this for sure, but his voice suddenly tapered off when he took in the sight before him. I can only imagine what this must look like.

“What the hell, why—” I heard him sigh dramatically. “I don’t even want to know.”

Now they were all in the bedroom of the hotel room.

Spencer was laughing hysterically; Alley was yelling at Jameson, and Jimi was yelling at Alley and Spencer to leave the room.

Unbelievable.

Jameson, probably mortified, was shaking his head in disbelief against the pillow covering my head.

I was now giggling.

It was so unbelievable. Really, it was.

Here I was lying underneath my best friend, his camshaft inserted in my crankcase with three other people in the room.

Good times.

“All of you shut up!” Jimi barked over them. “Get out now! Jameson, get this girl out of your goddamn room and get dressed. You have an interview with SPEED in less than two hours.”

Jimi ushered Alley and Spencer out of the bedroom, but I could still hear them arguing in the other room about why I wasn’t in my hotel room, which had me panicking again.

Jameson removed the pillow from my face and smirked.

“We need to get up...” he whispered in a low throaty voice but never attempted to move.

Instead, he pulled back and then pushed into me again. His eyes fell closed with the motion. Mine did not. They were fixated on the door that was still wide fucking open. And though their backs were to the room, what if they turned around?

“Jameson.” My eyes were very wide by this point. “We have to stop...” I pushed against his chest, but he didn’t budge, just continued with tenacity. “Jameson...” I tried again but my voice faded when one of his hands fisted in my hair and the other reached down to my... ignition switch.

“I can’t, Sway. I want you...” he moaned. “I can’t stop... I can’t. Not after last night.”

“Your family is right outside the door,” I whispered incredulously trying to point out the obvious reason why he had to stop.

“Fuck ‘em.”

“Jameson, get up!” Jimi bellowed from outside the bedroom.

“Oh, goddamn it,” Jameson growled against my shoulder.

I’ve talked about this before, but this dirty heathen ... has a quick fuse. All of a sudden, his arm raised, his left fist slammed into the headboard, the wood splintered and cracked loudly.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” he roared at them causing me to jump. It’d been a while since I’d heard him so angry.

Have you ever seen a two-year-old throw a fit?

It usually happens suddenly and in the midst of this fit, their tiny arms flail around and they reach for anything they can to get their two-year-old point across.

That was Jameson.

So because punching the headboard did nothing, he then reached for anything he could reach without pulling out of me, which happened to be an empty beer bottle.

The glass shattered against the wall causing me to jump again and Alley to yelp.

Jameson didn’t stop at that. He then reached for the lamp on the nightstand and chucked it across the room as well, it too shattering.

“I mean it!” He warned them in a blistering snarl. “Get the fuck out of this goddamn room right now!”

No one said anything, including me.

They knew he’d keep throwing shit until they left. He’d destroy the entire hotel to get his point across.

Believe me, he’d done it before.

Finally, we heard the door close as they left. I sighed in relief, thankful that Nancy and Emma hadn’t joined the party, or worse, Tommy; wherever the hell he had disappeared to last night.

Jameson was panting against me from the sudden onset of rage but his movements didn’t halter. His hands returned and fisted tightly against the pillow my head was resting on. His lips were at my neck now, trying to control his breathing but it was coming in irregular gasps. He managed to rasp out, “Fuck, you feel good,” against my neck that left me shivering.

With the intoxicating haze lifted, the closeness I had to him now was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.

I knew this wasn’t going to last very long by the way he was moving against me, but the idea of a quick, naughty, illicit, qualifying lap had me panting just as hard as he was and giving way to the pleasure.

My hands flew to his back as my fingernails sunk in, my orgasm overtook me in waves, causing him to push into me harder and harder, pushing me farther up the bed into the splintered headboard.

We’re old friends, this headboard and me.

After a few quick thrusts, Jameson threw his head back exposing his neck for me, groaning my name.

The sound vibrated my lips as I attacked his neck with wet kisses. He shuddered above me and then collapsed against my chest.

I welcomed the weight of his exhausted body. I’ve waited years to feel this man heavy, spent, and relaxed above me.

As I laid there trying to catch my own breath, I thought again about what had just happened and started giggling.

Jameson growled while he nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck, his two-day scruff tickling my skin. “You’re going to give me a complex if you keep laughing at me like that.”

I giggled again.

Eventually Jameson made it to the bathroom to get ready. Once dressed, he sat down on the bed next to me.

I was still wrapped in the sheet because I didn’t have any clothes. Jameson ripped my underwear and bra off with his teeth, destroying them last night. I ripped my shirt off like a whore, so that left my skirt and heels.

“You should probably get dressed,” he suggested running his fingers through his hair. “Even though I prefer you naked.” He winked.

“I would... but I don’t have any clothes,” I reminded him. “They’re in my room.”

He raised an eyebrow at me and then smirked. “Sorry, I guess I lost control last night.” His fingers lightly traced the mark.

I shrugged pulling the sheet up feeling exposed. “It happens.” I looked away from his gaze.

Having agreed to this, I was really starting to freak out and on the verge of bursting into tears at any moment.

A suffocating silence lingered in the room when Jameson moved closer to me on the bed, but didn’t look up.

Gently, he took my hand in his own, rubbing it softly. “Don’t leave tonight,” he pleaded, although he spoke more to his hands than me.

I didn’t look up; my eyes remained fixated on the bed as a pensive silence lingered once again.

“Jameson, I can’t stay here.” My voice sounded strange, probably because I was saying one thing but meaning another. “Charlie needs me at the track.”

He nodded taking a deep breath. “Please...” he mumbled softly, almost so softly that I couldn’t hear him.

Oh God, how can I ignore him pleading? I can’t.

“Why?”

Jameson still hadn’t looked up even though I was staring at him now. I had never seen him act like this before, so I asked again. “Why do you want me to stay, Jameson?”

Tell me you want me to stay because you love me.

He tilted his head to one side before answering, “Because, I need you here.” His eyes slowly met mine, and I saw an emotion I couldn’t quite place again. It was as if he was begging me not to pry, to give up trying to figure him out. “I... you... keep me grounded.” He offered me a bolstered smile and the restlessness from last night returned. “Come with me to Pocono and Michigan. Then we’re in Sonoma again... you can go back after that. It’s closer to Washington.”

I groaned, leaning my head against the headboard, looking up at the white ceiling. “What are we doing, Jameson?”

“What do you mean?” He actually sounded confused.

How can one person be so clueless to this!

“This.” I motioned to the bed. “What is this?”

I have to know what he thinks. Does he want more? Will he ever want more?

I leaned my head forward again, looking into his eyes. That was when I saw that this wasn’t going to be what I had hoped, but I also saw that same emotion that I couldn’t place. He was hiding something behind those beautiful eyes.

“We’re friends...” he paused, swallowing. “But I’d like to keep doing what we did... I liked it.” He took a drink of water from the bottle he’d been holding, concealing his smirk.

“What if someone else comes along that’s not a friend and you want that with her?”

You sound like a jealous high school girl.

“That won’t happen.” His voice sounded almost disgusted that I asked that.

“You’re Jameson Riley—you have women throwing themselves at you, why me?”

“Because Sway, you’re my best friend.” Jameson sighed again, leaning back against the bed on his elbows.

It distracted me when his shirt came up revealing the sharp lines of the hips leading down to the promised-land.

Before I could get too distracted, Jameson’s voice interrupted me, “I trust you, and I can’t trust anyone right now.” He leaned closer to me pulling my legs against his chest. “This can be fun, Sway; let’s just... have a good time together. Keep it simple.”

Have a good time? Keep it simple?

Maybe—can you do that?

Doubtful—can you do this without getting your heart broken?  

Absolutely—do you want to have fun? 

Without a doubt—do you want to stay with him?

I’m so screwed.

I knew my reasoning was completely off and incredibly stupid. I knew I was going to get hurt, but I decided, once again, to put Jameson’s needs above my own and reached for my cell phone to call Charlie.

The conversation with Charlie didn’t go as planned. And it wasn’t even his anger that upset me the most. It was his disappointment that I would be with Jameson again for a few weeks. I think his exact quote was, “Sway, he’s using you. It’s a shame that a girl as smart as you can’t see that.”

Way to make me feel like a complete asshole.

Despite all this, it didn’t change my feelings or way of thinking as this—indulging in too much alcohol once again—ended in me sleeping with my best friend.

Wasn’t that what I wanted all along?

Yeah, it was, but just the thought of “friends with benefits” to Jameson Riley was freaking me out a little... okay, a lot. But then I thought about how much I wanted this. I didn’t want to be another pit lizard to him; I would be more if it killed me trying. Stupid logic I know, but fucking sue me. I was a woman on a mission.

 

Jimi had bought a Citation Bravo Jet last year, which made traveling for their entire family easier. Half the time Jimi was on the opposite side of the United States from Jameson and that made the jet nice.

The Riley’s still kept a home in Elma, but they also had homes in Mooresville and Jacksonville Beach.

Jameson had recently started building a home near his parents in Mooresville, or Dirty Mo as we referred to it.

Unfortunately, the house he was having built on Lake Norman wouldn’t be finished until December. This left him staying at his parent’s home.

He hated it.

When we walked outside the hotel to get the car Alley had rented for Jameson to get back to Mooresville, I burst into laughter.

Jameson, well he was not laughing. “You have to be kidding me.” He threw his bag down next to the Dodge mini-van and kicked the left rear tire.

Growling, he pulled out his cell phone to call Alley.

“You’re such a fucking bitch!” he shouted and snapped the phone shut. Turning to me, he glared. “Get in.”

I couldn’t stop my laughter, but eventually I did get in when he threatened to leave me there if I didn’t stop laughing.

Much of the drive to downtown Charlotte was spent with Jameson complaining about the speed the mini-van refused to do, how he hated living with his parents, how he was going to get Alley back, and if I thought anything was going on with Emma and Aiden.

Remembering my pact with Emma, I denied the accusations and conveniently changed the subject to something sexual.

He was easily distracted when the subject involved sex. What man wasn’t?

“What did you mean when you said it’s been a long time?” I suddenly blurted out.

Jameson choked on his water. “Huh?”

My cheeks flushed in embarrassment and I whispered, “Nothing,” pretending to look out the window, avoiding eye contact.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped back at me.

“Do what?”

“Ask a question like that and pretend that you didn’t,” he said as he avoided looking at me and we pulled into the parking lot of the SPEED studio.

“Answer it then,” I said boldly.

“It has been a long time,” he shrugged indifferently.

Looking anywhere but at him, I asked, “How long?”

Jameson groaned loudly parking next to a red SUV. “Over a year.”

I laughed... scratch that, I giggled hysterically almost to the point of tears.

“You’re such a shit!” Jameson barked at me. “And how long has it been for you?”

I stopped laughing instantly. Oh, how quickly the red flag can be thrown.

“A while.” My cheeks burned.

He brought his right hand up to my heated cheek. “Don’t get shy on me now, honey.”

Damn him.

“A year, maybe longer,” I mumbled suddenly finding my hands very interesting.

I snuck a glance over at him and his face was scrunched as if he was trying to remember something and then he reached for his Simplex hat on the dashboard. “With who?” he asked quietly putting the hat on. Almost methodically, he adjusted the fit to the way he preferred it.

It was my turn to choke; not on water, but on my own breath, at his question. “Huh?”

“You heard me.” Though the hat concealed his expression slightly, his eyes narrowed at me.

“You don’t know him.” I knew this answer wasn’t going to work, but I tried anyway. I could hardly admit to myself that I had slept with Mike, the guy who squealed like a pig when he came, let alone tell Jameson.

Jameson shook his head slowly, his eyes penetrating. “That’s not what I asked.”

It was useless. He’d get it out of me, anyway.

“Mike Tanner,” I finally said after a moment of silence.

“Where’d ya meet him?” He reached over the front seat for the posters in the back.

“Skagit, he was racing outlaw late models there one night when I was there with Tommy.”

Jameson was quiet, eerie quiet, sitting next to me. The only sound was the squeaking from the sharpie marker as it drug across the posters. His jaw was clenched, body tensed. I could see the muscles in his jaw flexing.

“Who was your last?” I tried breaking the silence.

“Couldn’t tell you.” He signed one more poster and then shoved them inside a white plastic Simplex bag. Still not looking at me, he shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “I never got her name.”

I’ve known Jameson for over eleven years; I could tell he was irate by the way he slammed the door of the mini-van when he got out. Why he was so upset over this was beyond me.

I’m sure it had something to do with Mike being a race car driver. I should have lied and said he was a construction worker or something, but Jameson and I don’t lie to each other. We never have.

I felt badly for this poor Kim woman who was stuck doing the interview with Jameson. She started on the wrong foot by flirting with him.

What did Jameson do?

He said and I quote, “That’s unprofessional,” in a sharp demeaning tone and followed it up with, “Besides, you’re not my type.”

And to think she still has to perform an interview after that.

Jameson could be a real jerk when he wanted to be, and his demeanor could turn on a dime. Having experienced this first-hand on many occasions, I sort of felt the need to apologize to everyone he encountered and tell them it was my fault and not to take it personally. But I didn’t. I simply sat back and watched the hot, possessive, angry side of Jameson emerge for nothing more than pure entertainment value.

Waiting for the interview to begin, I observed his behavior much like I did last night. These interviews, the press and media, weren’t part of the lifestyle he wanted.

His passion and vast talent for racing had suddenly created a life for him that he had a hard time adjusting to at times.

“Jameson,” Kim began, crossing her leg over the other, sitting in the large director’s chair. “Can you tell us how you got started in racing? You’re only twenty-two, when did you start racing?”

I could imagine how many times he had told this story over the years. Especially with his rise to fame so suddenly.

Jameson shifted in his chair and sighed before he began to tell his story—a story I knew first-hand as I was a huge part of it.

“Well, let’s see, I started racing quarter midgets just before I turned five. My dad was racing in The World of Outlaw series so I learned a lot by watching him and the other drivers.”

“I heard you raced sprint cars, too.” Kim smiled. “When did you start racing those?”

“I was eleven. My dad moved me up to sprint cars but not full-time because you had to be sixteen at most tracks. So I continued racing midgets and sprints when I could. When I turned sixteen, I began racing on the Northern Sprint Tour and the USAC Silver Crown Series as well as the USAC Midgets.

“The day I graduated, my older brother, Spencer, his girlfriend at the time, Alley, my younger sister Emma, and my” —Jameson’s eyes met mine— “best friend, Sway, traveled east with me. I raced in the USAC Divisions and The World of Outlaw series collecting trophies and winner’s checks just big enough to make it to the next track. I raced anything I could whether it was my car or for Bucky Miers and Monty Evans, both long-time friends of my dad.” Jameson leaned back further in the chair. “I drove, and Spencer worked on the cars along with a few of our buddies who were able to help out. Emma, Alley, and Sway all helped in any way they could. That summer we ended up capturing the USAC Triple Crown title, which is a national title in all three of the USAC divisions.”

“And those are?”

Jameson chuckled. “Well USAC runs three national divisions of midgets, sprints and silver crown cars, all open-wheel. If you win the championship in all three divisions, you get the Triple Crown. To date, Bobby Cole, my teammate, and me, are the only drivers who’ve ever won it.”

“Wow,” she seemed shocked. “That’s impressive.”

Jameson nodded taking the compliment about as well as he took her flirting.

“So the Triple Crown paved the way?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He gave a contemplative nod. “From there, I was able to land some sponsors that smoothed the way to bigger races with better payouts. In January of 2001, I met Tate Harris at the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals in Tulsa through my dad and Bucky. He introduced me to a representative with Simplex Shocks and Springs, about the time my dad was thinking of starting a NASCAR team, and the rest is history.”

“Is your family still a big part of the operation?”

“Yeah, my dad is the team owner. My mom and sister run my fan club. My brother is on my pit crew.” Jameson’s eyes shifted back over to mine. “It means a lot to me to have my family nearby. It reminds me of what’s real.”

“I hear you started your own sprint car team this year, too? How’s that going?”

“I did. Right now, I have two cars racing in The World of Outlaws. I have my buddies Tyler Sprague and Justin West in the cars. They used to race USAC with me growing up. They’re doing an amazing job.” Jameson leaned forward and took another drink of water.

“Do you still race sprint cars when you can?”

He laughed. “I try, but Simplex doesn’t like it all that much. It’s a liability issue on my part if I was to get injured while doing it but... dirt track racing is where I came from. It’s a part of me and I refuse to let that go.”

“Once you go dirt you never go back sort of thing?” she teased.

Jameson laughed softly staring at his feet as he pulled his hat down further shadowing his eyes. “Yeah, I guess that’s the saying.”

“So let’s talk about this season. You won your second start in Rockingham—you won the Winston and another on Saturday night at the Coca-Cola 600! Do you think you have a chance at the cup title this year?” Kim asked.

“I think we do. The win last night put us only sixty-three points behind Darrin Torres. I wasn’t sure how competitive we’d be in our first full season with it being a new team, but I think we have a shot at it,” Jameson said nodding his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Now we heard NASCAR dropped that hefty fine they handed out on Saturday night. Can you tell us about that?”

“There’s not much to tell.” He shrugged. “As far as I know, the fine was dropped because the test turned out to be inconclusive.”

I think she knew he wasn’t going to give her the inside scoop so she finally let up.

“Well, Jameson, thank you for coming and good luck with the rest of the season.”

Jameson stood, shook her hand politely, and then headed for the door without another word.

Once we were back in the car, I realized his mood was still the same.

He didn’t look at me and instead headed to Mooresville. The drive wasn’t long, but eventually we started talking again.

Half way there, Jameson plugged his iPod into the stereo and put it on shuffle. He had a vast music collection of Van Morrison, Eagles, Linkin Park, and every song by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

One particular song, “Simple Man,” came on and Jameson began to sing along.

He had an amazingly smooth, but raspy voice that could leave any woman a puddle of oil in his drain pan. And let me tell you, he could do one hell of an Eddie Vedder baritone.

This particular song was one of Jameson’s all-time favorite songs. It was relaxing and held a special meaning for him. He always said he listened to it when he needed to remember where he came from and as I sat there and listened to him singing along, the truth behind the lyrics was easy to see.

A few verses caught my attention, similar to “Purple Rain,” and I knew there was nothing behind him singing that particular verse louder than the rest of the song but again ... a pit lizard could dream.

My hand was resting lightly on my knee when Jameson shifted in his seat reaching for my hand, pulling it to his lips to place a tender kiss on it. “Does it hurt?”

“Huh?”

Does what hurt? Yes, my crankcase!

“Your hand,” he clarified.

“Oh that... uh... no, not really.” I smiled briefly. “You owe me a million dollars though.”

“Pfft.” Jameson shook his head. “I said a spring, not your hand.” He kissed my knuckles once more. “Though I am proud you punched her. I would have, but it’s frowned upon to hit a woman.”

“Frowned upon, really?”

This seemed to have broken the ice between us again, and the rest of the drive was filled with laughter and witty remarks, our usual selves.

We arrived back in Mooresville around ten that night, and Jameson’s mercurial mood had returned.

Now he was planning his attack on Alley for the mini-van and walking in on us.

If there was one thing I could say about Jameson, and his practical jokes on people, it was that he never did them half-assed.

We eventually agreed upon a plan of action and called Kyle to have him order it, insisting on the part being sent overnight.

On the way to his parents’ house, we stopped by Burger King because we were both starving. I was so exhausted by the time we got there. Thankfully, Jameson’s parents weren’t home so we didn’t have to explain why I was there ... well, for tonight anyway. I was sure that there would be questions when I arrived with him in Pocono.

His parent’s house was huge. It literally reminded me of something you would see on MTV Cribs, only built for a racing family.

The house was situated on fifteen acres, complete with a quarter-mile oval track in the backyard, a pool that could accommodate the Olympics, and enough bedrooms to shelter a small village.

Once we got upstairs, I headed toward the guest bedroom at the end of the hall when Jameson grabbed me by the arm and slammed me against the wall. It wasn’t rough, just enough that he took my breath away for a second.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jameson asked with his lips at my ear. His tongue darted out and then he nipped my lobe with his teeth.

“To the guest room?” I mumbled breathlessly watching his intense eyes find mine.

“Wrong.” He picked me up bridal style and carried me up to his room on the third floor.

Once in his room, I couldn’t tell you what happened when the door closed. I couldn’t tell you what happened when we broke his bedroom door. I couldn’t tell you what happened when we fell through the closet door onto the floor. I couldn’t tell you any of this because I was in such a state of overdrive by this man that I was actually delirious and incoherent.

 

When I woke up the next morning, I wondered why I was on the floor in Jameson’s closet surrounded by broken furniture and clothes that had been ripped off hangers.

It was a disaster.

At least I had my bra on, well half on with one of my funbags falling free.

Somehow, I feel like less of a slut with a bra on ... stupid, so stupid.

Tucking myself in, I surveyed the rest of me. I was wearing one of Jameson’s ties around my neck, which was not all that concerning as I could imagine how it had been used. I was also sporting a pair of his boxer briefs.

How and why I was wearing these random items was a mystery to me.

I glanced around the large walk-in closet and was rewarded with an absolutely magnificent sight; it was Jameson Riley, lying on his back, naked.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, was more beautiful than the sight before me. I stared at his face. His messy hair looked like he had just done some press forging (a process where you forge hot metal between dies in a press to make the metal stronger) in a closet the entire night.

His beautiful face looked content; his lips pushed out into an adorable pout. His defined chest, amazing ripped stomach, and the sculpted cut lines of his hips that led down to the biggest mother-loving camshaft ever engineered.

Christ Almighty, he was a sight.

I’ve seen a few... okay, only three... but this one topped them all including the few that I’d seen in pornos Alley and Emma had forced me to watch in high school.

How did that fit in me? That was a very concerning thought for me.

I brought my knees up to my chest and curled into myself, comforting my crankcase and wondering how she hadn’t exploded yet.

I realized once I did that particular curling move that I was paying the consequences of our press forging. I commonly referred to press forging as aggressive sex. If you had ever seen metal press forged, it was very aggressive.

My legs burned like I had tried out to be a Navy Seal or something similar.

And judging by the shaft my eyes were currently fixated on, I’d say that happened, more than once last night. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

Until Jameson’s light laughter startled me.

Embarrassed, my eyes quickly darted to his meeting his amused expression in embarrassment.

He stretched slowly and put his arms behind his head.

“Like what you see?” he asked with a smug smile.

“Eh... I’ve seen bigger,” I quipped quickly running into his bathroom hoping to get away from him.

That was one race I was not going to win.

Our debate about him being small officially ended when he had me pinned against his shower wall.

We spent a good part of the day inside Jameson’s room... and the closet.

Kyle called around three that afternoon to let Jameson know the part he ordered was in and that he needed to drop off Justin’s helmet at the race shop. Jameson had a friend of his paint some new graphics on the side for Justin.

On the way over to Spencer and Alley’s house Jameson turned to me, his eyes focused. “You down for this?”

“Sure.”

He gave me a skeptical glance as though he thought I was lying. “It could mean jail time.”

“My arrest record was shot long before this,” I reminded him.

When Jameson and I were sixteen, we were arrested for branding the ass of old man Roger’s cow with an iron that said “Grade A Piece of Ass.” That wasn’t the first time I’d been arrested, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

“Good point.” He smiled and plugged his iPod into the stereo of his truck—he ditched the mini-van once we got back to Mooresville. “Here’s a song to get us prepared.”

And with that, House of Pain’s “Jump Around” flooded the truck, and we jumped around like complete idiots that we were.

Once we were parked outside of their house and eyeing the said target, Alley’s precious cherry red Mustang, Jameson pulled me into the bushes on the side of their house.

“Here’s the plan,” he whispered in my ear.

Keeping focused was hard; it was distracting as hell when he whispered like that.

“You go inside and distract her. Pinch the boy or something.”

“The boy has a name, you know,” I pointed out.

Jameson glared slapping me on the ass. “Pay attention.” He put on the hood of his black sweatshirt. “It’ll take me ten minutes tops to change the horn.”

I started laughing at how focused he was on this entire prank. It was as if it was a mission directed by the Secret Service or something.

“What does the horn say?”

Jameson flashed me a wicked smile nodding his head arrogantly.

“Move, I’m a ruthless bitch.”

“She’s going to kill you.” I pulled my hood over my head as well.

“She deserves it.” He nodded to the house. “Now go, we don’t have all night. I have to swing by the race shop.”

Going in there alone, concerned me for a number of reasons, some more than others.

“If it will only take a few minutes why do I have to go in there?” I asked. “Jameson, she will pry it out of me,” I pleaded.

Not only that, I was afraid she would find out what I was doing with him. I’m sure I’ve covered this before, but I was not known for being sneaky. I lack that particular set of desired skills.

Jameson was silent for a brief moment and then frowned. “Another good point,” he mused looking at the house and then the car. “Fine, stay right here. Keep watch.”

Then he jumped over the bushes and snuck toward Alley’s car all stealth-like. It was very entertaining to watch.

My time waiting wasn’t long. He returned in five minutes with a huge grin that quickly disappeared when we heard voices from behind.

Darting back into the bushes with me, we crouched down between the branches. One particular branch kept tickling my ear, and I snapped and broke the fucker off.

Jameson looked at me as if I was crazy so I punched him in the stomach.

The voices got closer, and I saw that it was Aiden and Emma. Unfortunately, they stopped a few feet from us on the side of the garage, right in our line of sight and started making out.

I knew what was going to happen next so my hand flew to Jameson’s mouth before he could say anything and give our covert operation away.

“Shhh... Calm down,” I whispered.

His jaw clenched; his entire body tensed.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he barked in a whisper pulling my hand away. “Did you know about this?” He motioned to Emma and Aiden still making out.

I didn’t answer, just played with my broken branch, avoiding eye contact.

“You knew?” he asked incredulously attempting to get up. “How could you not tell me?”

“Jesus Christ, Jameson!” I yanked hard on his arm and he collapsed on my lap. “She’s twenty-one and in love for the first time. You get it?”

“Apparently, I don’t.”

I really couldn’t understand what the big deal with all this was but he was adorable when he was mad. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Whatever,” he glared. “You should have told me.”

“Calm down.”

“No.” His arms crossed over his chest. “I’m mad.”

Emma and Aiden were still kissing so I needed to distract him.

I couldn’t believe I was resorting to this but I was. It was either this or poor Aiden wouldn’t be walking tomorrow.

“Would it help if I showed you my boobs?”

He was quiet for a moment before replying with, “Maybe.” He motioned with a quick flip of his hand. “Show me and let’s see.”

Ashamed with myself, I flipped my shirt up, and his eyes immediately lit up like a kid in a candy store.

He was like a damn child.

Emma and Aiden finished their make out session and ventured inside so that I could pull my shirt back down. It took some persuasive convincing on my part but we eventually made it to the shop to return the helmet and did not go inside Alley’s house to kill Aiden.

No one was at the shop when we arrived, which surprised me. I figured there would be guys there working on the car since they are leaving for Pocono tonight.

When we entered the large warehouse-looking building, Jameson turned on lights as he went.

Once the fluorescents lit up the main floor, I was in pit lizard heaven. That heaven was glorified when I saw his cup car parked by the bay door, ready to be loaded on the hauler.

I skimmed my fingers along the sharp line of the body, gliding over the black glossy paint. My fingers skated along the rear quarter panels, along the door, down the front quarter panel and against the hood with ease.

It was beautiful. I had a thing for race cars that either made me squeal with delight or horny.

I thought Jameson was in the office, but he surprised me when his hands touched my hips, his fingers pressing lightly into my heated skin.

“See something you like?”

How many times was I going to hear these exact words today?

“Maybe I do,” I began turning in his arms. My eyes scanned the shop when they settled on an engine perched on a hoist. “Isn’t that supposed to be in the car?”

Jameson looked over his right shoulder and then at me again. “Yeah, but the bearings are misaligned—they have some work to do on that one. I think it’s going back to Grandpa’s shop tomorrow.”

I smiled knowing where this was going when he smirked. “What’s bearing alignment?”

Knowing damn well I knew what bearing alignment was he was only playing along. “Well,” he began, slowly pushing me against the side of the car. “When you have bearing misalignment, and an engine turning 9,000 RPMs, that’s not good. You see...” His fingers that were gripping my hips trailed delicately up the curve of my body before cupping my cheek and his thumb brushed my lips. “All bearings have some internal clearance which can accommodate a certain amount of thermal expansion and misalignment.” He pushed forward again, this time his hips showed his thermal expansion. “But when that clearance is fully consumed, then metal-to-metal impacting occurs with high dynamic stress ... and bearings fail.” His eyes searched mine, hungry and glowing with desire.

Playing my part well, I asked, “So why so much focus on bearing alignment? I mean... I understand it’s not ideal, but what do the bearings do?”

Jameson’s smirk widened. He knew what I was doing. Tilting his head to one side, his eyes penetrating my very being with one look.

“It keeps the camshaft moving with... ease.”

“And your camshaft, is it moving with... ease?”

“I think I need to check the bearing alignment.” His lips found mine. “I seem to be experiencing some... thermal expansion.”

He didn’t give me time to respond before picking me up and carrying me over to the front of his race car.

In the process of doing this, he knocked over a drip pan, and we slipped in the spilled oil, landing against the hood.

Jameson looked down at my jeans that now had oil covering them, giving me a lopsided grin. “Look at that, those are ruined,” he mused. “You’ll have to take them off.”

Moments later there I was, pit lizard-style, spread out on the hood of his race car, naked, my bare ass sitting directly on his Simplex logo and damn happy about it.

He removed his black sweatshirt and t-shirt, oil smudges smeared across his jaw.

Just when I figured he was going to drop his pants, he surprised me, flashing a wicked smile. Pulling my hips to the nose of the car, he dropped to his knees.

Sweet Jesus.

“In order to properly check the bearings... I need to do some deburring of the crankcase.”

He’s going to kill me with all this car talk!

Leaning forward so his lips were on the inside of my thigh, he took in a deep breath and then placed slow deliberate kisses along each thigh, groaning a loud luscious groan. “I can’t wait to taste you.” His voice alone was enough to put me into overdrive.

In my head, for some reason, I was singing Nine Inch Nails, “Closer.”

Me, and others at times, found this somewhat concerning but in addition to inappropriate giggling, I heard music in my head at the most inappropriate times.

Panting uncontrollably, I threw my head back against the hood and stretched my arms up against the Lexan windshield, already so close with just fingers.

As soon as his mouth replaced his fingers, I was no longer in control of my body movements.

Jameson roughly grabbed both legs near the tops of my thighs and pulled me closer to him with a low growl.

As good as that felt, I really wanted him, now, after that reaction.

“Jameson, please...” I moaned.

He chuckled against me.

“Please what?” he grunted.

I whimpered. “Inside... need you... inside.”

I was amazed I could even string the words together to form that sentence, given it wasn’t complete, but I shouldn’t expect so much from myself.

“Not yet, honey,” he murmured in that signature raspy velvet voice. He continued his ministrations until I was literally screaming his name once again today.

I was trembling, panting, quivering, shivering, and shaking; whatever verb you want to use... I was in complete disarray on the hood of Jameson Riley’s race car as he tended to my crankcase as if it was the holy fucking grail.

Just when I thought I had died and gone to heaven, he pulled away, stood, slowly drew his bottom lip between his teeth and dropped his jeans to the ground.

I got a glimpse of the lust driven desire from his eyes that were mean enough to scare a wild animal as he crawled on the hood and inched up my body as if he was hunting his prey.

Hot damn.

What did I say in that moment?

“Roarrrr!” complete with a hand gesture.

Yep, in that moment that was what I chose to say.

I was amazed I didn’t belt out the lyrics to him.

Jameson fell against me in a fit of laughter at my reaction, but he didn’t get distracted for long.

Nudging my legs apart with his knees, he placed one hand behind my left knee and hitched it up his bare hip.

Bending forward at the waist he leaned his face against mine and whispered in my ear, “This is something I’ve always wanted to do with you.”

Did he just say what I think he said?

“Huh?”

Jameson didn’t waste any time at all before pushing himself forward into me.

“I’ve... uh... nothing,” he mumbled hooking his hands on the top of the hood for leverage.

He went in for the kill, assaulting my neck with wet kisses and soft nips while his hips rocked against mine. The steel hood was not designed to support the weight of two grown adults and began to flex beneath us but that also did nothing to deter Jameson.

We didn’t last long before I was once again moaning like a whore as he started in with the dirty heathen car talk pushing me over the edge.

“You like that, honey?” Jameson grunted reaching for a fist full of my hair, wrapping it tightly around his fingers and tugging gently.

“You have the most amazing camshaft!” I blurted out.

“Fuck!” Jameson cried out slamming his right fist against the hood beside my head, the steel vibrated causing me to once again jump. His other hand was still holding my thigh securely to his hip. “I love the way you say camshaft,” he growled right before his head fell forward against the hood above my shoulder.

I turned my head to get a good look at him, his eyes remained closed, his brow furrowed in concentration and determination, biting down on his bottom lip.

I wanted to take a picture of that face right there, blow it up and hang it on the ceiling in my bedroom.

By that point, we were both panting, my ass was stuck to the hood, and I was sure I had sticker burn.

My hair was caught in an air vent, my toe was stuck in a hood pin loop, and Jameson was still trembling above me. His hands were gripping my shoulders tightly, holding me against his chest.

I was afraid to move or even breathe.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he whispered, “We should... get off the hood.” Still panting, he placed a row of soft tender kisses along my collarbone.

He can be so sweet.

“Yeah, we should,” I agreed, but we still made no attempt to get up.

I didn’t know if we actually could. We’d worn ourselves out today. What is this, like round six... maybe even seven.

Eventually, we did peel ourselves from the hood that was, indeed, dented.

Jameson laughed when he looked down. “This is the one we’re taking to Pocono, too.”

Laughing at him, I put on my oil-saturated jeans about the time Kyle came walking into the shop with Gentry, his younger brother, trailed close behind.

Kill me now.

At this point, Jameson still hadn’t put his shirt back on. Not that I minded, but now they were going to know what we were doing, in a race shop, on the hood of a race car.

Jameson had oil smudges on his face and neck with his hair looking like it could easily have its own zip code.

Who am I kidding, I’m sure I didn’t look any better, my hair was all over the place, I had oil literally everywhere and I was missing a shoe.

Kyle approached us while Jameson slipped his shirt over his broad shoulders.

“What happened in here?” Kyle glanced at the oil on the ground and on the hood of Jameson’s car.

“I spilled some oil and we... slipped in it,” Jameson replied throwing some shop towels on the ground to soak up the mess.

I was still searching for my other shoe when I found it on the spare pit box. I climbed up there and retrieved my shoe while Gentry and Kyle started loading the hauler.

Usually this would have already been done but Jameson insisted on taking this particular car to Pocono so they had to reload the car and the back-up car.

Kyle ran his fingers across the dent, his head quirked to one side. “Jameson, why does the hood of your car look like someone sat on it?”

I sunk as far down in that damn pit box as I could without falling.

What did Jameson do?

He smiled, his head tilting slightly, but didn’t look up from his spot on the floor where he was cleaning the oil.

“That’s because someone did have their ass on the hood of my race car, Kyle.” And then he looked up and proceeded to nod his head arrogantly with that stupid dirty smirk plastered across his face.

I wanted to kill him.

Kyle shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t even want to know.”

I didn’t think I could be any more embarrassed than this morning in the hotel room, but this surpassed it.

Gentry, standing beside the pit box, nodded his head as he let out a low drawn out whistle. “Damn.”

Once again, embarrassment did not do this justice.

“See you later, bud.” Kyle grinned at me. “And careful with that engine over there—it’s going to be sent out for bearing alignment and sonic testing, wouldn’t want to disturb it.”

I said nothing because there wasn’t any point adding any fuel to that particular fire. In a matter of minutes, we’d dented a hood and coated the floor with oil. Just imagine what we could do to that engine.

“What’s a sonic test?” I asked pretending to be shy when the guys left and we remained cleaning up our mess.

Jameson’s warm eyes darted to mine from the floor. He grinned with an adorable nod. “Hmm... You don’t need much recovery time, do you?”

“You should know by now that I can go all night,” I told him with very little wavering on my part. I may have shifted my stance but other than that, I was strong and confident. I was winning this battle to make up for all the embarrassment.

He inhaled a breath before letting it whoosh out and smiled. His hand came up as he leaned against the side of a toolbox running it across the back of his neck. “Sonic testing uses high frequency sound energy to measure material...” He looked up at me, the warm green in his eyes darkened. “It measures the material thickness.”

I nearly fucking fainted because when he said thickness, his entire body shifted toward me, his breath blowing across my face. It couldn’t have been much more erotic than that right there.

“And how does that work?” I provoked him, stepping closer as well.

Once again, our bodies were nearly touching; just one slight movement and we’d be welded together. The lack of touching was providing all the heat in this. Jameson may have been the driver, but he knew engines, my engine to be exact. He knew my particular engine didn’t need to be heated prior to the race but goddamn did he know how.

In case you’re wondering, this was a real term, too. In sprint car racing, it was common for the guys to “put heat in the engine” prior to the race. They did this by hooking the car up to a machine and bringing the engine and cooling systems up to race temperature. The main purpose of it was to get the most horsepower during the race.

I had no problems in that particular area, that was for sure. My engine was up to race temperature in a matter of seconds.

Jameson’s eyes searched mine as he spoke, watching me intently. “The machine sends out a signal and measures the time it takes to echo back. The longer it takes, the thicker the material. It measures the cylinder wall thickness as well as the cylinder heads.”

“Is it an effective test... this sonic testing?” I did this snicker-snort of thing because it was the only other noise I could make at that moment so I didn’t moan and ruin the dirty engine talking.

Slowly, he drew in his bottom lip, his tongue dragging across it just as slowly as his eyes squinted slightly. “It’s a very effective test, if done correctly.” His breathing increased when I reached forward and grabbed him by his shirt.

“Let’s see how long we really can go.”

“I think we have enough heat in the engine.” He leaned closer breathing a throaty string of words in my ear that sealed whatever deal I wanted. “And I can also... go all night long."