Blue Flag – The flagman waves this flag to indicate to a driver that a faster car is either approaching (steady flag) or attempting a pass (waved flag). If a driver is given this flag he doesn’t have to do anything, just be aware and maintain the racing line, and avoid intentionally obstructing the faster car.

 

“I can’t believe Alley rented this goddamn thing?”

“She’s your wife ...” Jameson pointed when we arrived at his parent’s house.

“I feel like I’m driving a vagina on wheels.”

“Like I said, she’s your wife, dude,” Jameson laughed. “And good luck with the whole,” he motioned to his hair and ass. “Just ... good luck.” He patted Spencer on the back as we got out of the mini-van.

It was around midnight when we arrived at his parent’s house in Mooresville. After last night, and spending the day with Spencer and Emma, I needed sleep.

As soon as Jameson and I got inside his room, we both fell on the bed tangled together, asleep within mere minutes.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt so much better. My ass still hurt from my new tattoo, but mentally and physically, I was feeling much better.

I swore to myself I would never drink that much tequila ever again. I’m sure that resolution wouldn’t last though. I’d said that before, hell, I even attempted to sue them back in high school when I woke up naked in the back of my truck after polishing off a half bottle, okay, an entire bottle, by myself. Regardless, I was sure I didn’t mean it, but I felt better already even if I was lying to myself.

Jameson was still asleep on his stomach so I decided to let him sleep. After showering and dressing in my new underwear I purchased, I made my way downstairs.

When I walked into the Riley’s gigantic kitchen, I suddenly remembered how much I enjoyed cooking. Back home, I usually cooked for Charlie, but since I’d been on my pretend summer vacation, I hadn’t done much but spread my legs.

That sounds horrible.

Making my way around their kitchen, I pulled out the ingredients to make Jameson some waffles—the boy was obsessed with them. His motor coach was overflowing with those damn Eggo waffles. I personally found them insanely delicious, too, but I wanted to make him a meal that didn’t have me as an ingredient.

Not that I was opposed to that sort of thing, but we did need to find some balance as well as nourishment.

After the batter was done and the waffle iron was heating, I heard footsteps behind me—hoping it wasn’t Spencer or Emma. I couldn’t handle them again today so I warily turned around.

And there, in all his morning glory, Jameson stood, wearing only a pair of khaki shorts. With his insanely wild mess of hair; beautifully sparkly green eyes; sexy dirty smirk and his chiseled chest, my hot-headed dirty heathen was staring at me with burning, lustful eyes.

Hot damn.

He didn’t say anything and placed his hands on the island and the counter trapping me in the corner of the U-shaped kitchen.

“Hi.” My eyes stayed focused on his.

“Hi,” Jameson replied, moving closer.

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

“My breakfast wasn’t in bed, though, so ...” he grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

“If you would have stayed in bed,” I said, pushing lightly against his chest, I grinned as well. “I could have surprised you.”

Jameson shook his head slowly lifting me onto the counter with a soft grunt. “I wasn’t looking for food,” he clarified.

“What are you looking for then?”

“I think you know.”

I tapped my index finger to my lips and looked up as if I was contemplating. “You were looking for waffles, weren’t you?” I teased.

“No,” he shook his head slowly looking around the kitchen. “Try again,” he told me reaching for the honey bottle next to my arm.

“Honey?” I asked softly. “You were looking for honey?”

“I wasn’t looking for honey ...” his voice trailed off setting the honey aside and reached for the hem of my shirt. “But I found honey.”

I grabbed his hands. “Jameson, your parents—”

“Aren’t home,” he finished pulling my shirt over my head. His hands snuck around my waist dragging me to the edge of the granite counter.

What kind of pit lizard would I be if I didn’t whore moan and arch my back when I felt his already hard camshaft ready and waiting for me?

Not a very good one.

Staying true to par, I did whore moan and arch my back in response because damn, this boy was good.

Jameson’s strong hands moved with determination up my sides and around my back to remove my bra. Slowly, he pulled the hot pink bra away and my nipples hardened in anticipation.

Throwing it behind him, he attacked my nipples. With each nip, I let out a whimper of pleasure and ground my hips against his, earning a moan of pleasure from him, too.

Jameson stopped, looking up at me from under his thick black lashes. “Are you opposed to being sticky?”

“I think you’re the one with the issue with being sticky.”

He smirked. “So that’s a no?”

“Have you ever known me to be opposed to anything while my legs are spread?” I felt the need to point out.

“Good point.” He grinned now. “You’re going to need a shower after this.” He reached for the honey bottle beside him.

Soon Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” was humming in my head.

I really didn’t know the words to sing them out loud but the entire situation was certainly playing out to the beat of the song when he leaned back, pulled my jeans off, and then reached for the whipped cream, shaking it with a quick flick of his wrist.

With his thumb, he popped the lid and winked. “You’re sweet, but I think I’d like my Sway a la carte this morning.”

“Is that so?” I giggled.

“Mmhm,” Jameson proceeded to pour honey, whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and caramel sauce over my entire body.

Within minutes, I looked like a goddamn banana split.

Apparently, Jameson thought the same thing when he laughed. “Look at that,” his head skewed to the side. “I’ve created the perfect dessert. My very own Sway banana split.” He laughed again at his discovery, admiring his creation just as Spencer did with the dick on the wall.

What was even worse was that we were thinking the same damn thing, which was never a good sign.

This just proved Jameson was the other half of my brain, a theory our parents have had for years.

“Are you just going to stare at your dessert, or are you going to eat it?” I asked trying to be all super-sexy licking some honey from my arm but it didn’t go down that way.

Instead, when I lifted said arm to lick it, I slipped on the sticky slippery granite counter and fell off the side onto the floor.

If that isn’t embarrassing, I don’t know what is.

Jameson tried to catch me, but I had so much sticky shit on me, I slipped right out of his hands onto my tattooed ass.

Instantly we were both laughing.

In the process of the intended sexy lick-and-then-slip, Jameson was now covered in the same sticky sweet mess he covered me with, and currently trying to unbutton his shorts with honey fingers—not exactly an easy task.

After some effort, he managed to get the shorts down and proceeded to lick his Sway banana split.

I couldn’t take my eyes off his because, holy Moses, it was sexy as hell.

Jameson knelt down in front of me where I was sprawled out pit lizard-style on his parent’s cream tile floor, covered in sticky sweets.

“Gimme some sugar,” he grinned bringing my foot to his mouth where he took his time at my toes, licking off the smeared chocolate and honey. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with him licking my toes so I squirmed away.

Chuckling at my discomfort for that particular appendage, he moved up my calf to a dollop of whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel. “You taste good,” his tongue carefully swept over me.

Ah, crap ... now I’m singing Trick Daddy’s “Gimme Some Sugar.”

His tongue darted out once more licking his way up my right thigh until he reached his destination but before his tongue met my ignition switch. He gave me a lopsided smile and bit the inside of my thigh.

I jumped.

“Did that hurt?” he asked in a low concerned gritty voice.

“No,” I assured him. “Just ... uh ... surprised me,”

He chuckled licking the whipped cream, honey, chocolate, and caramel from my body before he continued his licking and sucking against my crankcase for some proper deburring.

Tongue. Lips. Hands. Fingers.

All of it, dedicated to my banana split and me.

Once his lips touched me, I lost all sense of time clinging to him desperately.

I wasn’t if it was being covered in sticky sweets that made it seem so intense, or if it was being with him over the past few weeks was the reason.

Every day, every single minute of the goddamn day, I fell deeper in love with this man, if that was even possible.

I could feel a shudder rise deep within. It started at my feet, settling in my tummy, passing through me in waves. I knew I was panting, embarrassingly so, but couldn’t make myself care.

“Oh God, Jameson... I...” I couldn’t even form the words.

With a growl that bordered on a roar, he was up my sticky banana split body and sliding inside me with determined thrusts. I thought he was going to come by the way he was moving, but instead he pulled out, sat back on his heels to look at me, my banana split now covering his chest and stomach.

“I want to try something,” he said pulling me up with him.

We slipped a few times because, Christ, there was a lot of whipped cream. Jameson had gotten slightly carried away when the whipped cream was out.

Once standing, he turned me around and bent me over the counter.

Hot damn.

Reaching for both my hands, he placed them securely on the edge of the counter in front of me.

“Honey, you’re gonna want to hold on for this,” he advised, his breath blowing across my shoulder, gasping slightly. “Jesus, you’re sexy.”

I giggled feeling him part my legs with his own. His hands traveled up my arms and over my shoulders where he stopped and pulled my hair to the side so he could place kisses down my neck.

Jameson’s strong hands then traveled down my back and came to rest on my tattooed ass. Reaching between us, he slipped himself in, his hands gripping my ass tightly.

I think this is my new favorite position.

I looked around for a mirror but no such luck, so I looked over my shoulder back at him.

The moment I looked back at him over my shoulder, his eyes darkened and he lost it, completely lost it. His head fell back; his eyes closed as “Fuck, Sway” fell from his honey, chocolate covered lips.

Slumping forward, his arms wrapped around my waist. “Sorry ... I lost it when you looked back at me,” he panted.

“It’s okay. That was amazing ...” I went to turn around to face him, but slipped and once again fell to the ground.

Thankfully, Jameson had already pulled out because, Christ, we could have lost some important parts that way.

There we both were, lolling on the tile floor, covered in a sticky sweet mess and laughing at each other.

“Should we clean this up?” he asked, motioning to the mess around the kitchen as he licked some chocolate from my finger.

“Probably, but—” I began but was interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening.

Jameson and I both gaped at each other in horror that we were naked, covered in sticky sweets, in his parent’s kitchen.

This, by far, transcends anything that’s happened in the last two weeks.

Luckily, Jameson reacted first reaching for any clothes nearby and throwing my shirt and jeans at me. Screw the underwear.

As I started to put on my shirt I realized that I was still covered in chocolate syrup.

Shit.

While I was trying to wipe it off Jameson stopped me. “Fuck Sway, just put your damn shirt on,” he snapped staring down at my chest and all its chocolate glory.

“I’m covered in syrup and my tank top is white.” My eyes focused between his legs. It was very obvious what we had been doing. “It’ll just soak right through my shirt.”

“Doesn’t matter!” his voice was frantic. “They are opening the door. Put your shirt on and stop staring at me.”

Pulling my shirt over my head, I forgot all about the chocolate and the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra.

Not only was I not wearing a bra, but I wasn’t wearing underwear either. Nope, they were on the floor next to the fridge where Jimi was now standing.

He hadn’t looked down yet; instead, his eyes were fixated on Jameson leaning against the counter—no shirt on, all sticky and smirking.

This couldn’t have looked much worse.

Yep, transcends everything.

Jimi glared at Jameson. Still not on speaking terms, Jameson offered his own glare. “What the fuck happened in here?”

Nancy walked in setting bags of groceries on the counter about the time I picked up the whipped cream bottle from the floor.

Jameson, nonchalantly, tried to kick the honey away, but their eyes dropped to the floor as Jameson slipped and fell sideways against the stove.

I giggled.

What else was I going to do?

“Never mind—I don’t even want to know.” Jimi shook his head stepping into the kitchen. His foot stuck to the floor where he stepped. “Okay ... why is there fucking syrup everywhere? What the hell happened in here?”

By that point, I could hardly breathe I was giggling so much.

Jameson cracked under the pressure joining in with the giggles and ran his sticky hands through his hair, causing it to stick straight up.

“Uh ... we ... made waffles,” Jameson finally answered holding up a burnt waffle. “Want one?”

“It looks like a bunch of fucking four year old girls made waffles,” Jimi replied looking to me for an answer. I couldn’t offer much more than a squeaked giggle snort and eventually a nod.

In the midst of all this, the chocolate had now mixed with the whip cream I was covered in seeping through my tank top. All this did was made it look like I was leaking chocolate milk.

Jimi averted his eyes to the floor, away from the chocolate milk, only to see my hot pink bra at his feet.

Let me rephrase my previous statement, this could look worse.

Nancy looked down when Jimi finally chuckled. “Clean this mess up.” He was still laughing when he walked away.

“Jameson, my goodness, can’t you keep your hands off poor Sway for one morning,” Nancy chided pushing his shoulder and shaking her head slowly as though she was thoroughly disappointed in her son. “Here Sway; I’m sorry my son has no control,” she apologized handing me my bra and then looked back at Jameson. “Clean this up, Jameson.”

Tossing a towel his direction, she noticed his hip.

I giggled again when she grabbed him to get a better look. The tattoo was low enough that you couldn’t see it ordinarily when he didn’t have a shirt on but his shorts were unbuttoned and hanging rather low on his hips revealing the chiseled curve.

So there in plain view, running vertically up the cut line of his hip, were his tattoos on display for his mother.

Nancy shook her head again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with these kids,” she mumbled mostly to herself. “I really hope you two get married someday since you can’t stop humping in my house and branding yourself with each other’s names.” She slapped him on the chest. “Clean up.”

“Yes, Mom,” Jameson laughed and started cleaning up.

I reached for another towel to assist when Jameson leaned down near my ear. “Did my mom just say hump and marriage in the same sentence?”

“Yep!”

While we were laughing we overheard Jimi on the phone with Alley. “What do you mean he drew a dick on the wall... you mean like a man dick... Christ, I swear, these kids are not mine.”

On Tuesday night we snuck out to Charlotte to watch Justin and Tyler test sprint cars. It was a change from the sticky sweet day mostly because we were clothed. I had the biggest bruise sprawled across my hip from where I fell from the counter but, other than that, the day was still providing laughs for us whenever we recalled Jimi’s reaction.

Jameson and I sat there on the tailgate of his Ford F-250 watching the cars whip around the track, kicking up a cloud of dirt that hovered over it in a thick layer. After a few laps, the cars came back into the infield where Tommy took notes. Jameson made his way to them as Justin offered his feedback to Tommy.

Looking out over the track, I was reminded of how simple racing used to be for him. Now, it was far from that.

Jameson approached with a beer in hand. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly when he heard the sharp growl of a 410 sprint roaring to life. The sound really was addicting.

Securely seated next to me once again, we watched the car drift smoothly through the turns. My focus was more on Jameson as he observed the way the cars jerked sideways on the front stretch.

His long fingers grasped the neck of the beer bottle gauging a group of bystanders waiting for a glimpse of him. It seemed news spread that Jameson was here. Reality was waiting for him.

Instead, he looked beyond them bringing the beer to his lips. Before taking a drink, he sighed. “I miss this.” He tipped his head toward the track.

I nodded, knowing my remarks weren’t needed. He knew I understood. If anyone understood how he felt about dirt track racing, it was me.

The bottle in his hand drifted my direction. “Want some?”

Shaking my head, I curled my legs up to my chest wrapping my arms around them as a breeze blew across the dirt. Times like this, I understood why I saw that vulnerability in him. He longed for a time when all he knew were sprint cars. Because it was where his dream of racing had formed.

I still saw that side of Jameson emerge racing in the cup cars, but now it was overshadowed by the drama of it all.

Aside from the day at track earlier in the week, Jameson had absolutely no free time during the day so that meant I spent my days with Emma.

By Thursday, I was contemplating killing myself as drastic as that sounded. I could only handle her for a few hours at a time before I needed a nap to recoup.

The only thing that made everything better was spending the evening with Jameson, wrapped in his arms, without an inch of space.

There were times late at night, after he’d fallen asleep, when I watched him sleep. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, how much I wanted this to work, and how much I didn’t want to leave next week.

Knowing I spent the last few years attending college so I would be in a position to help my dad, I had obligations now. Charlie needed me there to help.

As it was, he only had a handful of staff there to help. When you’re running an entire track with only four people, you needed all the help you could get.

Once we arrived in Brooklyn, Michigan, Jameson, having put aside the events of last weekend’s fine, was in race mode again and focused on racing. Being one of his favorite tracks, his mood improved.

Michigan International Speedway is a two-mile moderately banked D-shaped superspeedway. Some even refer to it as the sister track to Texas World Speedway because of its wide racing surface and high eighteen-degree banking. It’s extremely fast with the average speed entering the corners at around two hundred and five miles per hour, which is due to its wide sweeping corners and long straightaways.

On Friday, Jameson had left to qualify, which left me with Emma, Nancy, Alley, and Jimi in the garage area.

“Emma, honey, it’s like ninety-five degrees. Take that damn scarf off,” Nancy said as she pulled on the bright red scarf Emma had been wearing since we left Pocono.

“No, that’s okay,” Emma tried to say but it was useless when the red scarf fell to the ground beside her. As luck would have it, she had her back turned to Jimi, giving her parents a full view of her Trash-R-Us token.

You couldn’t miss the sharp intake of breath both Jimi and Nancy inhaled at the sight of their youngest child’s neck.

Emma slowly turned around with panic-stricken eyes to meet Jimi’s enraged eyes.

It took him a moment to be able to speak, but when he did the entire garage area turned and gawked.

“Emma Lynn Riley, what the fuck is that on your neck?” Jimi shouted.

Various members of Jameson’s crew chuckled knowing what Emma had done last week. Though this was news to her parents, most everyone else knew about her tattoo.

Jimi flipped out and began yelling at the top of his lungs at poor little Emma, who then began to cry, and not just any crying, more like bawling.

“Dad... calm down... it’s not that big of a deal.” She made an effort to downplay it. “I’ll grow my hair out. Why are you so upset?”

He gasped. “Why am I upset? You kids ... I refuse to believe that my DNA was a part of... something like this.” He was pacing across the concrete floor in the space where Jameson’s car had just been. “First, we have Spencer who draws dicks on hotel walls and tattoos his ass. Then we have Jameson who obviously needs to be medicated or some shit, and then there’s Emma, who tattoos her goddamn neck with something you’d see on a hooker!”

Nancy backhanded his shoulder. “Jimi, calm down! It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal?” he seethed and then his expression changed. “I don’t think they’re my kids. That’s it, I don’t think they are ...” his voice trailed off as he stomped away.

Nancy attempted to comfort Emma and her obsessive crying. I stood there against the wall shaking my head.

There was never a dull moment around the Riley family.

Eventually Jameson returned from his qualifying run. He snagged the pole, naturally, so he was in good spirits.

As soon as he pulled himself from the car, Liz Clayton, a reporter with FOX Sports, was directly in his face. “Jameson, you got the pole, how’d you do it?”

Jameson leaned back against his car and chuckled at the inevitable question. “It was tough. I knew we got through one and two fast and uh ... I knew we were awesome getting into three. I had three lanes to choose from. The one I chose didn’t really work, but ... I still ended up on the pole so I guess it did work. I felt like we were kinda tight in three and then I was a little free off, but it was because I hit the throttle too soon trying to get back to the line, it worked though.” He gave a quick shrug. “It’s nice for this whole Riley Simplex Racing Team. The guys did a good job, gave me an awesome car out there and to get the pole here at a track I love is awesome.”

“Have you and Darrin had a chance to talk about last week?” Liz asked searching for a feature story.

Way to put him in a bad mood.

“No.” His expression changed instantly, the casual tone no longer present. “We won’t be talking about it. There’s nothing to say.” Jameson walked away over to Kyle and Mason, who both had their clipboards going over notes.

Kyle congratulated him so I made my way over since he seemed to be smiling again.

“Congratulations,” I said, hip-checking him.

“Thanks,” Jameson replied giving me his lopsided grin he was so good at. “Do you want to get some dinner in a little while?” he asked checking his phone. “I have an autograph session but after that we can go somewhere.”

“Sure.”

“Nice run, Jameson,” a man said from behind.

We both turned around to see Tate Harris and Andy Crockett, Tate’s teammate, with Banner Racing, standing next to Jameson’s car.

Andy Crockett was a name I heard a lot these days. He was another driver who was easy on the eyes and had racked up a string of wins earlier in the season.

“Thanks.” Jameson reached for his hand to shake it.

Tate noticed me standing beside Jameson. “Oh, hey Sway. How have you been?”

“I’m good Tate.” I smiled. “Nice to see you again,”

“Have you met my teammate, Andy Crockett?” Tate nudged Andy. “He drives the Number Six Miller Machinery car.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Andy and I shook hands while Jameson slung his arm around my shoulder, pulling me toward him.

Tate looked at me. “How’s your dad feeling, Sway? Did he—”

He stopped short of what he was saying when Jameson cleared his throat and let out a half cough that sounded strange.

Huh?

Drawing my attention back to Jameson, he shifted uncomfortably beside me. He and Tate exchanged a loaded glance before Jameson smiled down at me.

“He’s fine,” I said softly not sure what that look was all about or why Tate would be asking about my dad, or why Jameson now looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Yeah, so good luck tomorrow, Jameson,” Tate said quickly and walked away with Andy.

“What was that about?” I looked at Jameson. “Why would he ask about Charlie?”

Jameson didn’t answer right away and stared at me as if he was trying to make sense of what I just asked. “Uh... I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to know,” he mumbled and then looked at the time on his phone. “Listen...” He pulled me against his chest for a hug. “I have to get to the autograph session.” He pulled away without another word and walked with Alley toward the grandstands.

What the hell happened?

I’m so confused.

Why would Tate ask about Charlie?

Being paranoid, I decided to call Charlie but, of course, it was Saturday night and he didn’t answer.

When Jameson returned from the autograph session, he was still acting rather strange and cancelled dinner because he said he had a meeting with Simplex so that left me hanging out with Emma, Aiden, and Spencer while Jameson and Alley left with Jimi to meet Marcus.

We kept ourselves busy playing Wii Tennis for four hours straight, but that ended when Spencer got upset that Aiden and Emma were supposedly cheating and he threw the remote through Jameson’s flat screen TV in his motor coach.

I did not want to be here when that was explained, but thankfully when Jameson returned, he was too tired to notice the TV.

On race day, Jameson returned to his hot-head self once again; I’m sure the fines and probation were now heavy on his mind from the constant media attention. They forget nothing.

Not long into the race, he took his vexations out on Kyle.

“Hey, you know what would be really helpful, Kyle?”

“What?”

“Just shut the fuck up and let me drive,” Jameson seethed into the radio.

This had been going on for a while, Kyle and Jameson arguing back and forth. Darrin and Jameson were currently battling for first place in the final laps of the race. Jameson had led all but four laps so far and he damn sure wasn’t about to give up the win now.

“If he has a run, let him go,” Kyle ordered. “NASCAR is watching you.”

“I’m just racing.”

“Yeah... right.”

Knowing he was just instigating, Kyle finally stopped baiting Jameson and let him finish out the last few laps. He knew, as well as most inside the inner circle, the more you push, the more push back you get from Jameson.

“At your rear; at your door... he’s got a run,” Aiden announced. “Cole’s behind you.”

“Cole?” Jameson called over the radio.

“10-4, what’s up?” Bobby asked.

“Am I lifting out of three?”

“Not that I can see but I can’t see anything with Darrin all over you,” Bobby said. “I got an idea ... I’ll get up behind and take the air off. I’m not on probation.”

Bobby got behind Darrin, taking the air off him, allowing Jameson to pull away to a one-second lead.

“All clear, bud—coming to the white flag here,” Aiden announced. “Hit your marks.”

“Nice job Cole, fuck yeah,” Jameson praised heading into clean air. “That’s how you work together.”

“Go get ‘em dude,” Bobby replied.

“Last lap here, drive out the windshield, and hit your marks. You got this, bud,” Kyle told him, all the anger he had a few moments ago seemed to dissipate now that Darrin couldn’t catch Jameson. Bobby was all over him trying to keep away, both of them destroying any chance at catching Jameson as they were using their tires up.

Emma and I were clinging to each other in the pit box once again. I had no fingernails left and Emma was biting her lips so hard they were actually bleeding.

Kyle and Mason stood as they came out of turn four to the checkered flag. “Nice job. Nice fucking job, Jameson!” Kyle yelled in excitement pumping his fists in the air. “Way to hang in there and battle back.”

“Yeah!” Jameson screamed over the radio in his own excitement as he took the checkered flag. “Way to go, guys!”

Bobby and Darrin were still battling it out for second but Bobby pulled forward enough to come across the line about a foot in front of him.

“Nice job everyone,” Jameson said in the cool down laps. “Cole, you’re the man! I owe you one.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’ll finish second any day if Darrin doesn’t win.”

Jameson laughed.

Of course, my hormones were flaring when Jameson did a burn out right in front of us in the infield.

There was nothing this pit lizard loved more than burnouts. Well, now I was lying, but they did get me going.

Once in victory lane, Jameson did his usual jump into his pit crew, his post-race interviews and posed for the insane amount of pictures.

We were walking toward the media center where he had the contender’s conference when I finally got a chance to congratulate him.

“I’m so proud of you,” I told him giving him a squeeze around his waist, his arms draped over my shoulder.

“Thanks, I think you’re my good luck charm,” Jameson said leaning over to kiss my head.

Alley, who was in front of us, pushed a group of reporters aside so we could make it through the crowd.

“Nah, it must be all the sex,” I whispered. “It’s relaxing you.”

“It’s definitely helping,” he nodded giving me a squeeze, a soft chuckle fell from his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to let you leave. I’ll never survive without you.”

“You’ll be fine. I hear Dana’s available.”

He growled in my ear shivering. “Don’t ever joke about that. She is fucking crazy.”

“What are you going to do?” You couldn’t miss the curiosity in my voice.

“Count down the days until I see you again,” he answered immediately.

“Well, you—” I began, but was cut off by Darrin walking toward the media center.

Jameson’s grip around my waist tightened when he noticed him.

Darrin noticed the possessiveness and let out a dark mischievous chuckle. “I’m not after your girl, Riley, I’m after you.” His eyes shifted to me. “She’s tempting though.”

My hot-head reacted before I even realized what was happening.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Jameson snarled pushing Darrin against the doors to the media center, his forearm nudged under his throat. “I will only warn you once.”

“Relax, Riley,” Darrin said in a strained tone. “Like I said, she’s not what I’m after.”

Jameson pulled him back and slammed him against the metal doors again. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, I’m warning you,” Darrin struggled against him pushing back.

Before Jameson could do anything else, crew members from both teams fought to drag Jameson back.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind Jameson?” Kyle shouted in his face. “What don’t you understand about probation?”

“Get off me!” Jameson snapped pushing the door open to the media center.

The contenders’ conference was hardly even about the race.

All the media cared about was the confrontation going on between Jameson and Darrin. They were eating this juvenile bullshit up and Jameson and his quick fuse weren’t helping.

It was late by the time we were on the jet back to Mooresville, but I was surprised to see Jameson’s family took a different jet home. Usually they’d fly together.

Jameson was quiet as I expected.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he didn’t win by the way he was acting. He seemed so different, but I also knew he had a great deal of stress these days.

“I need to leave next week after Sonoma,” I told him lounging in the oversized captain’s chairs. “I was going to fly home after the race.”

He leaned his head back staring out the small oval window, his hands rested folded in his lap. “That’s why we’re going somewhere, alone.”

“What do you mean, alone?” I asked shifting in my seat to look at him.

“Alone. No one knows but me and Wes, the pilot,” he clarified glancing over at me with a grin.

An alarming amount of giddiness followed. You’d think I’d been asked to prom. “Do I get to know where?” was my first response.

“Nope, not until we’re there,” Jameson chuckled at my enthusiasm. “I can’t take any risks. Personally, I’d prefer it if no one else catches us or sees us naked, ever again.”

The last time with his dad getting a view of the fun bags, was the final straw for Jameson. So now, there we sat, my last week of the pit lizard’s dream, on a jet to God knows where.

I was so excited it was as though I was about to burst into giddy pit lizard delight flames. Thankfully, I didn’t.

“I have one condition.” Maintaining my image of control, I reached for my water next to me nonchalantly. “And it’s an important one, so listen up.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Where ever we are going, no clothes are allowed once we’re behind doors.”

Jameson started unbuttoning his white button down shirt yanking it aside. His hands rested on either side of the armrests on the chair I was sitting in. He was hovering now and I loved the hovering.

“Why wait until we get there, honey; let’s start now.”