Tom can strike up a conversation with anyone, much like myself, and makes friends with the girl next to us. “Have you been to this before?” Tom asks her, finishing off his third beer of the night.
The girl, or should I say kid, grins. She looks around thirteen, nods. “Yep.”
Tom lounges casually back in his seat, leaning his body toward her. “What is it?”
She bites her lip, stifling a giggle. “Huh?”
“What’s the point?” He waves to the groomed mounds of dirt and jumps. “Do they race?”
“Well, no. It’s a freestyle event. The riders compete against each other through a series of rounds.”
I’m not even sure if he’s playing dumb or what the fuck he’s doing, but I stare at them in disbelief as he’s talking to her.
“By doing what?” Tom asks, giving her a flirty smile.
What the fuck, right? You’re thinking it too, aren’t you?
I want to knock Tom on the side of the head.
The teenage girl blushes. Why wouldn’t she? Tom Chase has game. There’s no denying that. “Tricks.”
When she leans into his shoulder, I nudge Tom. “Stop talking to her.”
He gives me his all too well-played dumb face. You know the one, his dark brows knitted together, sly smile? He’s pretty fucking good at it. “Why?”
“Well, for one, you could go to jail. And two, I’ve got plans tonight. I can’t bail you out of jail.”
“Why?”
“She’s probably not even fifteen.”
He frowns. “Nah, she’s got tits. I bet she’s sixteen.”
I glance at the teeny-bopper. She doesn’t have tits. It’s the way her hoodie fits her. Either that or she’s discovered the water bra, much like myself. “How do you not see the problem with her being sixteen?”
“I’m twenty-three. That’s not that much older.”
“In Tom years or normal people years?”
You’re laughing, aren’t you? This is a conversation we have once a week. Sadly.
And then Tom adds, “Hey, I bet you guys wear the same size bra.”
Sadly, we probably do. But I don’t have much of a comeback for him because introductions are starting. “Shush.”
The first few riders don’t catch my attention. I’ve never heard of any of these guys aside from Tiller, who they introduce first while “Got Your Money” by Ol’ Dirty Bastard plays through the stadium. It’s the perfect song for him, and the way he treats the bike like a toy beneath him is fucking impressive.
Even Tom raises an eyebrow and tips his beer, but doesn’t say anything. That’s before Tiller then flips the crowd off and sprays dirt in their faces.
Awolnation’s “Sail” blares through the speakers, shaking my chest. I’m pleasantly surprised to see it’s the “Gravity” remix though and perfect for who emerges from the tunnel to our right and onto the mound of dirt in front of us.
My heart jumps. No, really, it jolts to life at the sight of him no more than twenty feet from me. My body breaks out into a cold sweat, matching the heat in the air. It’s one thing to stalk him. It’s something else seeing him in his environment, putting on a show.
He does a series of bike flips, a couple of jumps, and then returns to the table top jump in front of us. Did I mention he’s not wearing a shirt?
It should be mentioned again because every single muscle is tight and defined and fucking amazing.
The announcer’s baritone voice draws my attention when Shade takes off again and does another flip through the air in what they announce as an alley-oop flair. “Riding a Honda out of Pasadena California. . . he cut his racing teeth riding BMX bikes in Palmdale before making a career in freestyle. He’s your 2013 X-Games freestyle gold medalist fresh off a win in Mexico City and currently ranked number one with the Red Bull X-Fighters, give it up for Shhhhhhhade Sawyer!”
I don’t hear another word because guess who’s in front of me now?
You guessed it. My dream guy.
Shade skids to a stop in front of us, his back tire off the ground in a front endo that has him sliding forward on the seat suggestively, slowly, on purpose. Who knew riding a dirt bike could be that sexy.
Hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. That’s including the time he raised his sunglasses to wink at me when I passed him in the hallway.
I’m totally thinking about fucking him on that bike now. Was that his intention with that particular move? Oh yeah, he intentionally slid down the seat like that.
Tom rolls his eyes and sighs. “Really?”
I shove his shoulder. His beer sloshes around, spilling over his knuckles. “If you’re going to be a shit, leave.”
“I’m not being a shit. Just. . . I don’t know, control yourself.”
“Oh c’mon. If you saw a chick slide down a pole like that, what kind of reaction would you have?”
“I don’t know.” He slides his eyes to his leg and then winks. “Slide down my legs and I’ll let you know.”
Again, just so you know, I don’t.
My attention is diverted to the track where Shade does a wheelie off the course and into the staging area where the other bikes are.
I know nothing about an X Fighters event. Nothing. I’m quickly schooled in the art of freestyle competition. And I say art because these guys are impressive. The event starts out with the top twelve freestyle riders in the world with a qualification round. Each rider is given a chance to ride twice while being ranked by five judges. They’re each judging them on a different aspect of their run from variety, execution, style, use of course, and the last judge goes off the three Es as they call it. Energy, excitement, and entertainment.
The top seven riders advance to the finals automatically while the bottom five are placed with round one, which is considered the sudden death round. All their tricks must be right side up except for one trick called the joker where they’re allowed to do anything they want.
One rider from the sudden death round makes it to the finals where the riders go head-to-head with each other (winning over at least three of the five judges) until finally one winner is crowned.
For the next few hours, my mind and thoughts are all over the place. The sight, the sounds, the complete silence when a rider flies through the air followed by an incredible roar as their bikes hit the ground.
It’s when Shade’s in the final round, having come up from the sudden death round, is paired head-to-head with his brother Tiller that my attention is all on him.
While I watched him in the earlier round, it’s in his final run that he gains my attention completely. Okay, he had it all before, but there’s definitely something different about him in this run. Like he’s laying it all out for the sake of the win.
The announcer catches my attention when he says, “Next up, Shade Sawyer. This is the run he’s looking for. Wow, look how high he was on that bike flip! You just never know what he’s going to do. This guy is a maniac!”
You can see the hunger in his riding and the way he throws the bike and his body around effortlessly. He’s amazing out there, dialed in right from the start like he knows every inch of the course, every bump and rut. This is the first event they’ve ever had in Seattle, so this both surprises, and excites me to see his determination and dedication to his run.
He starts his run with a double no-footer Can Can, so they tell us. I don’t know the names of any of the tricks until the announcer shouts them out to the roaring crowd who are on their feet cheering him on.
He isn’t finished either. After landing the first trick, he shoots down a tunnel, then comes flying through the air with what they tell us is a superman. Kicking his feet out behind him, he then lifts his legs high in the air, his boots hanging back over his body, two feet above his torso, like a scorpion getting ready to strike and then holds it, for what seems like eternity and time stops for me.
This is why he does this, isn’t it? To feel weightless in a heavy world. The bike sails across the open air and here Shade is practically doing a handstand on the seat. It’s acrobatic and impressive and fucking dangerous. My panties are wet just watching.
He pulls his legs back onto the bike, grabs the handlebars and hits the ground perfectly.
Tom glances at me, shaking his head. “Dude’s impressive,” he remarks, finally giving Shade credit.
I can’t wipe the smile from my face. “Told you.”
The thing is, he is impressive, and he’s also incredibly sexy on the bike. The way his hips move when he lands, it all screams for the control he has over the situation and his body.
And that, my friends, translates into me thinking about having sex with him. In detail.
Oh yes, I’m totally breaking into this guy’s hotel room.
Shade wins the event, his brother bowing to him as the audience reaches epic levels of noise, but I’m not entirely convinced this Shade is any different from the mess of the man I saw in his hotel room back in January, the one with his head in his hands, the one mourning the loss of his friend.
He takes his helmet off and smiles briefly, the camera’s catching it, but the smile never once reaches his baby blue eyes I’m captivated by. I bet it’s been a long time since one of his smiles has lit up his entire face. I know because it took me years after Asher to remember feeling like my whole body smiled.
Despite the lack of attention Shade has on the win and the reporter asking him questions, I take notice in the restlessness of his posture, the scowl on his face, no doubt a product of his lifestyle and the loneliness its created for him.
Sure, you’d think by looking at this guy, he’s been working hard. He’s holding onto some degree of professionalism and the intensity needed to be an elite athlete. But then he takes the helmet off and you’re reminded, while his body and ability are still here, his mind isn’t. Beneath the helmet is a chaos very few will understand.
And here’s where the crowd gets a taste of something I already saw coming.
“Shade. . . ” A microphone is shoved in his face. “The media has been going on and on about you being on a downward spiral. There’s been a lot of talk that your performance is being affected by the recent difficulties in your personal life. Looks like you’ve moved on with no problem even after the recent suicide of your childhood friend, Rhya Morgan.”
He’s displayed on the big screen in front of us, though I have a clear view in front of me thanks to my awesome seats. Do you notice his demeanor change the instant her name is mentioned?
“Moved on?” he laughs and slams his helmet into the ground at the reporter’s feet. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
The camera jerks away before he gets out the “fuck” part, but I hear it, as does everyone else in attendance. Shade stomps away, dodging the grabby hands of the women surrounding him, and disappears into the dark tunnel behind the podium stage, avoiding everyone and anyone who attempts to stop him.
This is essentially what cements my plan to break into his hotel room. Sure, everything he did on the bike was sexy and had me crossing and uncrossing my legs in attempt to shift my clit ring a little bit more for the sake of the thrill it shot through my body, but this, the mess of a man lashing out at a reporter, leave it to me to want that guy.