Air Pressure – You can adjust a car’s handling by raising or lowering air pressure in the tires. There’s a certain amount of flex in the sidewall of a tire that acts like another spring in the suspension. Increasing the air pressure will make the spring rate higher. Lowering it makes the tire softer.

 

The next morning, standing there staring at myself in a full-length mirror was a sight to see. My hair resembled Rob Zombie’s; I had no idea how I was going to get those knots out. Seriously, it was some sort of cross between the frolic in the sheets and dreads. Nothing about it was sexy, though.

My body actually had bruises on my upper arms, hipbones, and my ass. I couldn’t remember a point when his grasp on me was too tight but it must have been, judging by the bruises.

Jesus, you’ve been manhandled.

Eh, I’m not complaining, it was a good time, bruises or not.

I tried to remember how many times we’d bumped “uglies” in the past few days, but I honestly couldn’t tell you.

It wasn’t really important to me, so I shrugged to myself and stepped inside the shower. It felt so good to finally take a hot shower.

Rolling my sore neck around, the jets soaked blissfully over back. I was incredibly tender and aching everywhere from sleeping in the back of a pick-up truck last night, not that we really slept, but I was still uncomfortable. Not only would I require a therapist when these three weeks were up, but a massage therapist was beginning to pull rank as well.

Besides being small, his bathroom was luxurious. It had everything you would need and then some with the cream tile floors, black granite counters, glass shower door and mirrors everywhere. It was nicer than most people’s homes—including mine. Not that I had a home of my own; I still lived with Charlie but this was way nicer than Charlie’s house and a fucking mansion compared to that dorm I had lived in.

Once I stepped out of the shower, I heard some commotion outside so I opened the door thinking Jameson had returned from the drivers’ meeting and could hand me a towel since I forgot.

Without thinking, I stepped outside completely naked. “Jameson, can you hand me a towel ...” My voice trailed off when I ran into him. “Oh, hey, is there a towel over there?” I asked but when my eyes met his, they weren’t his.

“OH MY GOD!” I screamed, but Spencer screaming like a four-year-old girl and covering his eyes silenced my screams.

“I thought it was Jameson in here, not you!” He cried out tossing a towel my direction.

“Jesus Christ, Spencer,” I wailed just as loud trying to cover myself with my hands. It would have worked if I had three hands, but I didn’t. “You didn’t think to knock?”

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Jameson asked from behind Spencer, his voice a blistering snarl as he stepped inside the motor coach, slamming the metal door. I never heard the door open but how could I with the volume of Spencer’s screams?

Now let me take a moment here to really explain how this would look to Jameson.

I was standing next to the bathroom door, completely naked with my girly bits on display because when Spencer threw the towel, he was so freaked out that I wasn’t Jameson, he didn’t even throw it remotely close to me.

In fact, the towel was on my ceiling fan whipping around the room—and I say “my ceiling fan” because this particular ceiling fan, had housed a few of my undergarments in the past few days.

Spencer was now gaping between Jameson and me. Jameson, who was not even remotely amused, looked as though he was going to have a heart attack any second. Body shaking, fisted hands, he was a little worked up over this.

He might possibly kill Spencer.

“I ... I ... um ... shit,” Spencer stammered, staring at me. “I thought it was you in here.” He backed away holding his hands over his eyes. “I’m so sorry dude.”

I will give Spencer credit, he really was trying not to look, but his hands kept coming away from his eyes so he could take a better look. He’s a man; you couldn’t blame him really.

I wanted to giggle, that was how inappropriate this whole situation was, but I decided that wouldn’t be best given how worked up Jameson appeared.

“Spencer,” Jameson growled slowly. “Get the fuck out now!”

I flinched at his furious tone.

Poor Spencer all but ran out of there, but before he got to the door, he reached for his hat, the whole purpose of him coming in here, but the hat was next to me. Naturally, Spencer looked at Jameson and back to me, wondering if he should just leave the hat.

“Spencer— GET OUT!” Jameson roared.

I swear the entire racetrack could have heard him. I actually covered my ears—it was that loud.

In the entire time I’ve known Spencer I have never seen him scared of Jameson, or anyone. Right now, he honestly looked terrified of him.

Once the door shut, Jameson reached for the towel on the ceiling fan and threw it my direction. “You might want to check who it is before you come out of the bathroom, naked. There’s no privacy around here,” his voice was low and bleak, but less furious. His eyes flickered to mine and then away. A moment later, his expression softened. “Please put some clothes on,” he ordered walking out the door.

Well, that was interesting.

I know he had to get to driver introductions, but seriously ... I was naked. How can we not take advantage of that?

Oh, relax Sway. You just had sex less than four hours ago. It won’t kill you.

Just as I turned around, the door flew open and Jameson stormed back in, locked the door, and started ripping his clothes off, stumbling around as he tried to rid them quickly.

When he got the majority ripped away, he stood there in front of me, breathing heavy. His eyes a dark jade color that smoldered with hunger. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he pulled it over his head roughly, throwing it against the wall.

I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just stood there watching.

Standing before me, naked, he finally spoke, “I couldn’t just leave you in here, naked,” was his only response before he carried me toward the bedroom.

“I only have a few minutes,” he grunted, pushing me up against the mirrored wall.

Facing the mirror, my chest smashed against it, they appeared larger. For someone who was barely a B-cup, this was a good thing.

“If you only have a few minutes, then you better stop looking at my boobs and fuck me.”

His eyes narrowed at me and he winked. “Then hold on tight, honey.” And then he flipped me around so my ass was pressed against the mirror and in the next second, he was sliding into me with a low fierce growl that actually gave me goose bumps.

The nice thing about a luxury Feather Lite motor coach was the mirrors. Now, with my back to the one mirror, I had a perfect vista view of Jameson’s ass with my legs wrapped around his waist. If that wasn’t a pit lizard’s dream, I don’t know what is.

This was another picture I wouldn’t mind framing on the ceiling of my bedroom.

Jameson’s hands gripped my ass, using the mirror to keep me firmly in place.

Never in my life had I ever thought a quickie would be considered one of the best sexual encounters I’d ever had, but this, was definitely in the top five now.

Jesus Christ, look at that ass, hard, round, muscular ... perfect.

I think I actually whimpered at that point shamelessly watching his ass flex with each thrust.

“I’m sorry ... I’m ...” his thick, gruff voice trailed when he tried to reach between us.

I knew what he was trying to do.

Capturing his hand with my own, I placed it back on my ass. “Only you.” Wrapping my arms around his neck, I brought his mouth to mine.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He threw his head back and it was glorious, probably one of the best five minutes of my entire life.

Afterward, Jameson stayed there for a moment panting and kissing my lips, jaw, neck, and then my shoulders. “That was—”

“Amazing,” I finished for him.

“I’ll say.” He smirked. “That wasn’t very good for you though.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He looked surprised. “Huh?”

“That was hot!” I clarified pointing to the mirror behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and then shook his head in amusement. “I feel ... like I should charge you for that now.”

“I feel like I should pay you for it,” I agreed and we both started laughing.

I looked around for my underwear while Jameson put his clothes back on. I found them on the nightstand, but again, they were ripped.

“Jameson,” I held up the shredded underwear. “Stop doing this. I don’t have any more underwear here.”

He chuckled putting his Simplex hat on. “Ah ... it looks like Emma needs to take you shopping.”

“I hate you for doing that to me,” I grumbled in frustration.

The last thing I wanted to do was go shopping with Emma. I loved her but not enough to go anywhere near a department store, of any kind, with her.

“You don’t hate me.” He pulled me against his chest, his breathing still uneven. “I just gave you a free show.”

“Whatever,” I sulked, pulling away to put my jeans on without underwear.

Jameson watched me closely. “You’re seriously out of underwear?”

“Yes, you asshole!” I held up the pieces of the black pair from last night. “These were the last pair since you ripped the other ten pairs I brought.”

“You can’t go commando,” he stated firmly, as though it wasn’t an option.

“What the hell do you expect me to do?”

His fingers raked through his hair. “I don’t know.” He threw his arms up. “I won’t be able to concentrate if I know you have no underwear on. Put something on.”

I was silent for a moment trying to think. “Fine, leave and then you won’t know if I put some on or not.”

He shook his head violently. “No, no, no,” he quickly disagreed. “That makes it worse. Then I’ll spend the entire race wondering if you’re wearing any or not. You have to put something on.”

“My God Jameson,” I yelled and stomped over to his dresser to pull out a pair of his boxer briefs and slid them on, “Happy now?”

“Immensely!”

We left the motor coach after that with Jameson immensely happy, and me sporting his underwear.

As with any race weekend, the time just wasn’t there and soon race activities were in full swing.

“Jameson, what do you think your chances are here for a win?” a reporter with SPEED asked him as we stood alongside his car prior to the start of the race.

“I think we have a shot at it, but it’s hard to say. I didn’t get a lot of practice time in this car since we crashed in practice yesterday. This Simplex Ford ran great in happy hour though. I think we could easily pull off a top five today,” Jameson answered mechanically continuing to sign autographs for the swarm of fans huddled around his car on the grid.

I couldn’t believe how many people were gathered around his car compared to the other drivers, yeah most of them were under twenty-five and female, but Christ Almighty this boy was popular.

You could barely move an inch without bumping into someone. I almost felt out of place, like I should have been asking for his autograph, but really, he gave me something better not more than an hour ago.

Jameson rarely looked up, just signed autograph after autograph.

I wonder if his hand ever got tired. I know something that never gets tired.

The thought had me giggling next to him. With his head still down, his eyes darted over at me to see what I was giggling about.

Quickly, I looked away like I wasn’t doing anything so he went back to signing his autographs.

One brave garage groupie was standing considerably closer than the rest and kept glancing at the way Jameson and I were standing together, I assumed. Either that or there was actually something wrong with her. No one stares that much.

But then when I thought about it, we were both leaning against the side of his car but what was even more obvious was the lack of space separating us.

The girl smiled looking at me. “Are you Jameson’s girlfriend?” she asked diffidently, the corners of her mouth twitching into a wide smile.

Both Jameson and I looked up at her.

I choked on my own spit. Embarrassing I know, and Jameson chuckled at the shy girl’s brashness.

Neither one of us answered, so she eventually left.

As I thought about what we were, what would I even say? Fuck buddies? The more I thought about it, the more I agreed with Jameson. It wasn’t anyone’s business what we were doing.

I found humor in another older gentleman hovering around for a good ten minutes asking random questions about the engine and what not. He had this handheld video camera with him, taping everything Jameson was doing.

It was actually a little creepy.

Eventually he said, “Say hi to the camera, Jameson.”

Jameson finally looked up for a brief moment and then went back to signing autographs, his dark sunglasses covering his expression. “Hi, camera.” Was his response, earning a chuckle from all the fans.

The strange man never left but continued trying to ask questions. “Hey, so can I ask you a question? I need to ask you a question.”

Jameson looked up. “Ask the question then—I’m standing here,” he snapped.

The guy never did ask a direct question and instead stood there astounded by the fact that Jameson actually spoke to him.

It was entertaining to me that here were people who were star-struck by my best friend, someone I’ve known nearly my entire life. It was a strange concept to grasp when you witnessed the rise to fame first-hand.

Reporter after reporter, fan after fan, hounded him prior to the race for autographs, handshakes, pictures, anything to take a piece of him away with them.

He handled it well. I could tell he was irritated but he did ... good.

I don’t think it was ever the fans who aggravated him—it was the publicity of it all. Jameson was still a small-town boy at heart who wanted to race. All this media attention and the fans hanging on his every word were sometimes overwhelming for him. I honestly believe he handled it the only way he knew how.

Today was a little different though. When I say he handled it the only way he knew how, this usually involved his short temper getting the best of him.

Alley even noticed the change in his demeanor. “What’s got him so calm? Usually he’s told a reporter or fan to fuck off by now.”

I shrugged; a heated blush crept up my neck to my cheeks.

Alley pushed me. “You’re unbelievable.” She looked down at her Blackberry. “I heard Spencer got a good look at your”—her eyes raked down my body—“parts. I’ve never seen him scared of Jameson before.”

“Did you just call my girlie bits parts?” I asked amused.

“Shut up, I have a three-year-old at home,” she chided. “I had to think of something to say after Spencer tried to call his penis his junk while we were potty training him.”

“I feel bad for you sometimes,” I told her patting her back.

“You should feel bad for me.”

“Now, for the most famous words in racing... gentleman, start your engines!”

Hot damn. I loved that sound.

My bones vibrated, my heart thudded loudly in anticipation.

I was already sitting on the pit box with Emma, Kyle, and Mason listening to the in-car audio.

“Fire it up, bud,” Kyle announced to Jameson when Spencer put up his window net.

“Got it.” Jameson fired the car. “Keep me calm today, Kyle.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kyle answered.

They went on to talk about the car for a few moments and then Jameson talked to Bobby about drafting. Bobby, his teammate, had qualified second which put Jameson right behind him at the start of the race.

While the cars made their warm-up laps, Aiden got on the radio. “All right Jameson, you got two laps until the green.”

“Aiden’s right,” Kyle said. “Two laps to go. Remember, watch your shift—don’t spin the tires.”

Jameson was quietly focused, he said little throughout the warm-up laps other than asking where his pit was and who he had to go around.

“Coming to the green here,” Aiden announced. “Keep coming, keep coming ... green flag, green flag.”

The cars roared past down the front stretch.

The downside to watching from the pit box was that you could only see what was in front of you and to the sides but on the backstretch, you couldn’t see anything unless the broadcasting station was following them at that moment. Most pit stands were equipped with televisions for this purpose allowing them to see what they couldn’t ordinarily.

“Inside two... inside one... clear high... ten cars at your door, middle two... middle one... clear low... ten car high.” Aiden guided him through the heavy traffic.

Everyone bunched up in the front, fighting for position.

Jameson managed to stay in the top five when the caution came out for a wreck in turn three. “Cautions out, cautions out—clear high,” Aiden told him. “You’re gonna have a few cars coming around on the inside, watch low.”

“Who’s it for?” Jameson asked the radio crackling.

“A shit load of cars. Watch low in four. There’s an... engine lying out there on the front stretch...”

“No shit?” Jameson chuckled.

“Yep.”

“Aiden, can you see my right rear? It feels flat or maybe dragging. I’m not sure. I think I got into Tate a little on a restart.”

“Uh... where are you?” Aiden asked with slight panic.

“What?” Jameson sounded confused. “Are you serious?”

“Where are you?” Aiden’s tone continued down the path of panic. “Are you on the backstretch?”

“Well yeah ...”

“Oh, I see you now.”

“Well that’s comforting that my spotter just lost me on the track,” Jameson mocked. “How many times does this happen in a race?”

“So what do you think bud, how’s the car?” Kyle asked, interrupting them.

“It’s tight coming out of the turns, but it’s not terrible,” Jameson told him. “Check the right rear though since Aiden can’t.”

“It was one time, jeez,” Aiden let out this apprehensive chuckle, as though he knew Jameson was less than amused that his spotter lost him on the track.

“Okay boys, pit lanes open—coming next time by. Let’s do four tires, fuel, and a spring adjustment,” Kyle advised the crew. “Keep coming, keep coming, watch your speed... here you go... three... two... one. Wheels straight, foot on the brake.”

Jameson swung into his pit stall. I could see him in the car, handing the crew his water bottle and taking the replacement, flipping the visor up to rub his eyes.

“STOP!” Kyle jumped to his feet yelling, as Jameson went to pull out of his pit just as Darrin pulled into his pit stall in front of Jameson’s. “Get him out of the way!” Kyle yelled to the crew.

The crew was screaming at Darrin’s crew to push the car forward, but Jameson was losing positions fast.

Spencer was beating on the back of Darrin’s car trying to get the crew to move, but they were busy performing their stop.

“C’mon! Tell him to get the fuck out of the way!” Jameson revved the engine steadily throwing his arms up. “Let’s go! Move!”

If there hadn’t been crew members in the way, I was sure he would have rammed into the back of him.

After about thirteen seconds, Darrin pulled out, but Jameson was now twenty-sixth.

This also put the two of them right beside each other on the restart.

“Jameson,” Kyle warned, “don’t do anything stupid.”

Jameson didn’t respond.

Here’s the thing about Jameson’s anger, there was no controlling it or preventing it. You just had to wait out the storm under cover. Knowing how he’ll react is about as easy as predicting the path a tornado would take.

“You’re going to be in some heavy traffic back there,” Aiden advised. “Coming to the green next time by.”

When the cars passed by on the front stretch, Jameson was all over the back of Darrin’s car and silent on the radio.

“I’m serious Jameson.” the warning in Kyle’s tone was clear. “Stay calm.”

Again, Jameson was silent and I knew what was about to happen, as did Kyle.

“All right, you’re coming to the green here. Watch yourself. You got the fourteen on the inside,” Aiden said. “Here we go... watch your outside. Harris has a run. Green.”

Jameson was on the outside of Darrin when the green flag was thrown; by the time they entered turn one he had dropped in behind him, but stayed right on his bumper. They stayed like that for a few laps when Jameson got a run on the backstretch with Paul behind him and went to the outside to pass Darrin.

Darrin saw him coming and blocked him right before turn three. There was so much chatter between Aiden and Kyle that you couldn’t tell what was happening until you heard it.

Emma and I were watching on the monitor as Darrin pushed Jameson up the track and in the wall, hard.

“In the wall, turn three, damage right side. Flat left rear and right rear.”

“Bring it in,” Kyle said. “All right guys, he’s coming in. Four tires ... front splitter. Fix the damage on the left front and get him out. Anything you can’t do in twelve seconds we’ll get next time by.”

“Watch your speed... three... two... one,” Kyle remained quiet watching the crew.

“Get the hammer out, pull that left front, Shane. Josh, grab the front splitter.” Mason fired orders at the crew while they worked. “Spencer, pull the left rear out while you’re there.”

“Come on, let’s go, let’s go!” Jameson yelled revving the engine, slamming his fists repeatedly on the wheel for the second time today. “What the fuck are you waiting for? LET’S GO!”

Spencer yanked the jack out, waving to Kyle.

“Go, go, go! Clear all lanes!” Kyle shouted when they let the car down.

Emma was practically sitting on my lap now as we held each other tightly; talk about excitement.

Jameson made it out before the pace car came back around, staying on the lead lap. When the green flag flew at lap one twenty five, he was in thirty-eight with seventy-five to go.

Where was Darrin?

Third.

This had disaster written all over it. Jameson was the type of guy who didn’t forget, and Darrin was about to see that side of him.

“This guy is such an asshole!” Emma screamed in my ear. You could barely hear anything over the noise from the cars. “Why doesn’t NASCAR do something?”

“I know,” I agreed. “Is he always like this?”

“No, well yes, every week it gets worse. He seems to be on a mission this weekend though.”

“What’s his problem? I mean, I know it has something to do with Mariah, but how is Chelsea involved?”

“Darrin thinks Jameson slept with Mariah...” My eyes widened, Emma held up her hands defensively. “He didn’t... that I know of. He swears he didn’t, and I believe him. Anyhow, after the race in Daytona, Darrin confronted Jameson about it. Of course, Jameson denied it and told Darrin to basically fuck off and called Mariah a whore. From then on, Darrin has had it out for him. Even back in USAC they had rivalry, but this is out of control. I’m not sure how Chelsea got involved but she is somehow. She is supposedly dating Tate, but I’ve never actually seen them together. It just didn’t make sense how a guy like Tate Harris would date Chelsea Adams. Besides, not that this really makes a difference, but he’s like thirty-four and she’s twenty-two.”

I listened to everything Emma had to say, wondering what they were up to with Jameson and how Tate, who gave Jameson his start, was involved.

I’ve met Tate on many occasions, and I never once got the feeling he was the kind of guy who would back stab Jameson. He was a nice guy.

Tate raced on the Outlaw Series with Jimi before he made his start in stock cars, so the fact that he knew Jimi made it all seem that much more impossible.

Not only that, but Tate Harris was the one who helped Jameson get the sponsorship from Simplex after he won the Chili Bowl. Knowing that, it didn’t seem likely for him to be with someone like Chelsea.

Throughout the remainder of the race, I thought of ways to figure out Chelsea and Mariah, but I kept my eye on what was unfolding on the track.

By lap one seventy-two, Jameson was in thirteenth and moving through the field steadily. He was running lap times that would break the track record.

The caution came out with twelve laps to go and that single minded-athlete returned.

“Any changes, bud?” Kyle asked as the cars slowed down the front stretch as the yellow flag was displayed.

I watched as Jameson’s black car fell into line behind Darrin.

“I’m not pitting,” Jameson stated resolutely.

Rolling my eyes with a shake of my head, I knew damn well what was about to happen.

“You need tires,” Kyle argued throwing a hand up. “You’ve been on the same ones for over sixty laps. Just bring it in.”

“Not pitting.”

Kyle ripped off his headset and threw it across the pit box. “Goddamn him!”

There was no convincing Jameson to do something when he made up his mind but it didn’t stop Aiden from trying as well. “I think you should get tires, Jameson. The top five cars are coming in, so should you.”

“If I wanted your opinion, I’d fucking ask for it, Aiden,” Jameson spat.

Aiden didn’t say another word and sure enough, everyone pitted leaving Jameson by himself out there on used tires and a questionable amount of fuel.

When they lined up to take the green, it was Jameson, Bobby, Darrin, and then Paul.

I wanted to say something to him, but I also knew it wouldn’t do any good. He wouldn’t listen to me any more than he would listen to Kyle.

“Coming to the green here—watch your shift—Darrin has a run. Green flag, green flag,” Aiden announced. “Cole’s at your door, clear, fourteen has a run on the inside, at your rear... still there... still there, at your door... clear.” Jameson darted in behind Darrin leaving him in third in front of Paul in the twenty-four car.

He was all over the back of Darrin once again with eight laps to go and wasn’t losing ground like we expected him to.

“I don’t know how he’s even keeping that damn car straight. He’s riding on cords out there,” Kyle told Mason, they both shook their heads.

He’d done this sort of thing before and we all knew what he was up to. It was obvious by the way they were bumping each other around the track this wouldn’t end well.

ESPN was all over the coverage so we were able to see what was happening. Darrin and Jameson were tearing the two cars up and allowing Bobby to pull away to a two-second lead.

“Jameson, cut the shit and drive the fucking car!” Kyle yelled at him. “You’re going—”

“Don’t tell me to cut the shit when any run that I get on this asshole, he blocks me!” Jameson snapped. “I’m finishing what he started.”

Jameson went high when Darrin was low so Darrin shot up the track in front of him.

Jameson never lifted.

He slammed into the back of Darrin on the second stretch coming out of turn two. Darrin fishtailed for a moment and then shot up the track into the outside barrier, his car spinning down onto the apron. Once it hit the grass outside the tunnel turn, the car flipped four times before it came to a rest in the infield.

His car was destroyed. Parts and sheet metal scattered from the turn across the infield and up the banking of the track. All that remained of his blue car was a roll cage and the engine.

Not a word was said on the radio by anyone except Aiden telling Jameson they had red flagged the race.

“They’re stopping you guys outside turn two.”

Darrin seemed fine. He got out of the car, stumbled slightly, rode to the infield car center where he was required to be evaluated, and then he was supposed to go to the NASCAR hauler.

The NASCAR Official in Jameson’s pit motioned for Kyle to come down off the pit box. He did and when he returned he wasn’t pleased.

“Bring it in, they’re black flagging you,” Kyle announced. “Take the car to the truck and then head to the NASCAR hauler.”

“10-4,” was all Jameson said.

He knew damn well what would happen if he wrecked Darrin intentionally, but I was also inclined to think he didn’t give a shit right now.

In the drivers’ meeting earlier today, they announced they wouldn’t put up with retaliation of any kind. That was never something NASCAR condoned. Just as any sanctioning body, they were there to enforce the rules and that they did.

Though I understood the position NASCAR held in all this, I couldn’t understand why Darrin wasn’t penalized for the shit he pulled when he put Jameson in the wall in the beginning of the race.

He should have at least had a stop and go penalty.

The crew started loading tools and equipment as Emma and I headed to the hauler.

Jameson wasn’t there yet, so we helped Alley field the media that was hovering by his hauler.

When the car pulled in, spewing steam and fluids, Jameson had already removed his helmet, gloves, and was working his belts as he shut the car off.

He was irate to say the least—not that I expected anything less of him. Like I said, I’ve seen this before over the years.

Sure enough, a news reporter was in his face before he even made it out of the car. “Jameson, can you tell us what happened out there? Did you mean to hit Darrin?”

Jameson was already walking toward the NASCAR hauler with the reporter tagging along.

Alley motioned for us to follow; we had to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.

“Can you tell us what happened?” the reporter repeated, shoving the microphone at him, fighting to keep up with his quick steps.

Jameson shook his head and snorted.

“What does it look like happened?” He threw his arms in the air. “He wrecks me in practice. He blocks me in my pit, and then he puts me in the wall. I got a run on him and he blocks me, again. I had nowhere to go.”

“You and Darrin seemed to have it out for each other out there.”

“You’re so perceptive,” Jameson retorted coldly walking inside the hauler, the door slammed shut behind him.

Alley stood outside with us. “This is not good. Why can’t he keep his mouth shut and not react like this?”

I offered a shrug. There wasn’t much else to say.

Kyle showed up and walked inside with a grim expression, he’d just been talking to Jimi and Simplex. I’m sure they had their concerns with their driver’s actions today.

Twenty minutes later, they emerged from the hauler with two NASCAR officials who escorted each driver back to their transporters.

Jameson and Kyle didn’t say anything, so we followed quietly.

Alley was typing away on her Blackberry, Emma was texting Aiden, and I watched Jameson’s ass trudging back toward his hauler.

Now is not the time to be thinking about that, Sway!

I couldn’t help it, I tried, but anytime I watched that ass, I watched it. Thoughts of the mirror had me smiling.

When we made it back to Jameson’s hauler, he walked inside with Kyle and Alley.

Before the door even closed, Jameson was throwing tools. Kyle was yelling at him and Alley was actually screaming.

They hadn’t loaded the car yet, so Emma and I sat down on the hood and waited for the storm to clear—it was going to be a long night.

We’d only been sitting there a minute when Emma looked back at the car with questioning eyes and then back at me.

“Is this the same car ...?”

“No. He wrecked that one,” I smiled widely feeling the heat from the engine and my cheeks. “But it’s the same hood.”

“My goodness you guys are sluts.”

“I know. Everyone keeps telling us that,” I agreed, shifting my weight on the hood.

I had a damn hood pin up my ass reminding me that I needed underwear. “By the way, I need to go shopping tomorrow,” I said under my breath. “I don’t have any underwear.”

Emma raised a questioning eyebrow at me and I knew she heard me. “Not that I’m opposed to shopping but why don’t you do some laundry tomorrow?”

I looked away before I spoke because if I looked her direction I would burst into giggles that I’m actually telling someone this. “They’re ripped.”

“How did ...” she started laughing loudly. “Wow!”

“Shut up!” I tried to sound mean, but I ended up smiling at her. “So you’ll take me?”

“You know, you could go ask Dana for a pair of Jameson’s,” she snickered. “I’m sure she has a few you can borrow.”

“I’m wearing a pair of his right now.”

“This just gets better and better,” Emma replied, thoroughly amused.

Though I’d agree, it just keeps getting better and better, our better was entirely different. Before I could say anything more, Alley came out of the hauler with her Blackberry pressed to her ear.

She put her hand over the receiver. “You guys ready?”

“Ready for what?” we both asked at the same time, confused.

The door to the hauler was ajar, so I glanced inside. Jameson was leaning against the counter with his head bowed and his arms crossed over his chest.

“We’re going to dinner,” Alley said and continued talking to whom I assumed was someone with Simplex.

“Yes, he will be there ... okay ... the one on Pocono Boulevard ... yes ...” After glaring, she hung up, tossing her phone inside her bag. “Come on.”

“I’ll wait for ...” I began, but Alley yanked me along with them.

“No you won’t. He’ll meet us there and believe me ... you don’t want to be around that,” she pointed at the hauler, “right now.”

Unwillingly, I followed and got in the Expedition with them.

“Where are we going?” Emma eventually asked as we pulled through the driver’s compound and toward the infield.

“Jameson has a meeting with Simplex at Burke’s Tavern & Restaurant in Pocono. I’m going there to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid and you guys are coming with me.” Alley sighed and shook her head. “I’ll be damned if I’m putting up with his moody ass all night by myself.”

“Where’s Spencer?” Aiden asked, getting in the backseat with Emma.

“With Jameson, he’s supposed to make sure he gets there on time.” Alley shook her head once again. “Oh, damn it—I should have had you do that, Aiden.”

She was right.

Leaving Spencer in charge was a very bad idea. “See Alley, you should have let me stay. Now they are never going to make it. They’re probably drinking beer right now,” I pointed out.

Alley gave me a pointed glare in the rearview mirror. “No,” she spat. “If I left you in charge, you two would be going at it up against a wall somewhere.”

Both Aiden and Emma turned to look at me with amused expressions.

“She has a point there,” I mumbled, pretending to play with my cell phone.

When we arrived at the bar, Melissa was sitting at a large booth with another taller man with dark hair, dressed in a suit.

Alley walked up to them, shook hands, and then introduced us. “Melissa ... you remember Emma, Aiden, and Sway, right?”

Melissa smiled politely and shook our hands again.

Alley pointed to the man, “This is Marcus Harding. He’s the President of Simplex Shocks and Springs.”

Marcus reminded me of an actor you would see on those Matrix movies with his jet-black hair and matching Armani suit.

We all shook hands and then took a seat around the table in the far corner of the bar.

Marcus cleared his throat, his voice stern like our high school principal, Mr. Lars. “Where’s Jameson?”

Yep, he sounded like our principal and asked that same question frequently.

“Jameson’s on his way. He had a press conference to finish up,” Alley answered typing away on her Blackberry. “Jimi can’t make it. He’s racing in Knoxville and then catching a flight to Charlotte in the morning.”

The waitress made her way over to take our drink orders.

When she looked to me, I answered before she had a chance to ask. “Shot of tequila, please.”

Both Aiden and Emma looked at me once again. “If I’m going to sit here all night with these people,” I motioned with a shift of my eyes to the Matrix Armani dude. “I’m getting drunk.”

Another hour later and twelve, yes, count them, twelve shots of tequila, Jameson and Spencer showed up.

Jameson didn’t appear to be in any better of a mood than the last time I saw him with the defiant stare he sported as he approached the table.

He looked cleaner, having showered I assumed, and looked like a walking billboard for Simplex, wearing his black and red Simplex hat, along with a black hooded Simplex sweatshirt and stone washed jeans.

I wanted to grab him and hump his leg like a Mississippi leg hound but that could be the tequila talking. I wasn’t sure tequila knew what the fuck it was talking about these days.

Marcus and Melissa stood when they reached the table. “Jameson,” Marcus greeted him with a firm handshake. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

“Let’s go to the bar,” Alley ordered pushing us away. “Spencer, carry Sway and for Christ’s sake, don’t give her any more tequila.”

I wasn’t in any shape to be walking, that was for sure, but I wasn’t about to be carried by Spencer of all people.

“Hands off, shithead,” I snapped when Spencer reached for me. “You’ve already seen me naked today, no touching.” Spencer raised his hands and backed away with that dirty smirk. I glared. “Don’t make me hit you again,” I warned when he stepped behind Alley.

I watched Jameson talk with Marcus and Melissa.

I had no idea what was being said, but Jameson wasn’t looking all that pleased and neither was Marcus.

Jameson didn’t say much aside from nodding.

After about fifteen minutes and another two shots of tequila I snuck from the bartender, Marcus and Melissa left.

After walking them to the door, Jameson approached the bar and stood beside me, our forearms touching.

My eyes flickered to him to find him staring at me. The bartender asked him what he’d like. Jameson didn’t say anything. He pointed to the shot glass in my hand and held up two fingers, his gaze fixated on mine.

When the bartender returned with the shots, he placed them in front of us. We still hadn’t said anything to each other by that point.

Jameson’s eyes seemed different, but I couldn’t place the difference. Maybe it was that defying edge again.

Slowly, he turned the bar stool I was sitting on to face him, the metal legs scraped across the floor.

Placing both his hands on my knees, he spread my legs apart to stand in between them. His right hand reached across me to grab the salt and then he leaned in and kissed my neck with slow wet kisses before dragging his tongue along my collarbone.

All this in a very public bar.

Before I realized what he was doing, he shook the salt on the place he kissed and placed the lime in my mouth.

After licking the salt away, he leaned back to take the shot, and then sucked down on the lime he’d placed in my mouth.

Holy mother of pearl.

Right there, in front of everyone, including his family, Jameson pulled the lime from his mouth and gave me another passionate kiss, similar to the one in the pick-up last night.

Ignoring Spencer’s catcalls and Aiden’s whistles, he attacked my mouth with angry kisses, his hands fisted in my hair welding my mouth to his.

I didn’t know what to do or how to react, so I simply gave in and returned the passion.

Once I became lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, I pulled away, but his mouth never left my skin, instead it moved to my neck.

“Jameson,” Alley warned after another minute. “There’s a better place for this sort of thing.”

Jameson ignored her, his arms wrapped firmly around my waist pulling me toward him and his camshaft pressed nicely against its crankcase.

I nearly fell off the barstool trying to get closer. My crankcase brought back her justifications and wiggled against him.

His hands immediately flew to my hips to stop me. “Stop that,” he growled in a low husky voice. I didn’t though. I did it once more to savor the feeling. “Unless you want me to fuck you up against this very bar, stop it.”

“That’s one we haven’t done yet.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he stated firmly, his eyes hard and completely serious. “I’m really not in the mood to be challenged.”

“Stop that you two,” Alley nudged Jameson. “You’re in public. Try and behave like normal civilized people and not like two hormone enraged seventeen-year-olds.”

Jameson laughed stepping back.

“Yes, Mother.”

I leaned forward to whisper in his ear, melting in the rich intoxicating scent of him. “Later?”

He winked and took the other shot.

The rest of the night passed in an absolute blur of tequila shots; Spencer singing “Bust a Move” with Jameson and Aiden as they danced around like complete idiots on top of the bar, and Alley yelling at all of us to behave.

We never did talk about what happened during the race or even after the race. Instead, we had a good time and behaved like the twenty-something kids we all were. You might think living a lifestyle with money and fame that Jameson could do what he wanted when he wanted, but that seldom happened with the obligations he had. But that night, he let loose.

I couldn’t tell you what all occurred because once we left the bar, things spiraled out of control quickly when we found a strip of four bars in a row and decided to do a bar crawl.

The only thing I remember, besides Emma throwing up on Spencer at one point, was the last stop happened to be a tattoo parlor. Who in their right mind would put four bars in a row and then a tattoo parlor on the end?

That was just asking for trouble.