There’s this place I go where nothing else matters. Not sponsors, or endorsement deals. Not commercials or judges, or the need to perform and be someone I’m not anymore. I don’t have people asking me what my problem is. I don’t think about Rhya out here. I don’t think about how she changed everything in one second.
I don’t think about anything, just a track. Dirt. Jumps. My bike. The thrill of dreaming up a trick or a jump. Reworking jumps, making new ones. . . nothing clears my head more than this.
I know I have a meeting this morning, but I want to get a new landing built before the rain hits this afternoon so I can practice my triple. I’ve been working on it for a few weeks now, and I’m still in the foam pit stage, but I need a softer landing on dirt if I’m going to start practicing the landing soon. So here I am, adding more dirt.
Anytime we do a new trick in freestyle, you practice with a foam pit landing. It’s still not fun having a 250-pound bike land on you, but it beats the hell out of a broken neck or blown-out knees and ankles from greasing a landing.
Just as I’m loading another bucket full of sand onto the excavator, I can see Scarlet marching her way across the track, her phone in hand, wild hair blowing in the wind.
I chuckle to myself at the sight of her trying to trudge her way through the dirt without falling.
We just got back from Paris yesterday morning, and she was so jet-lagged from the flights she went straight to the guest house, and we didn’t see her until this morning.
Now she’s on a mission to get me to a meeting in LA to model our new jersey line and for some photographs for the magazine and ads.
Roan, Tiller, and I started a clothing company together this last spring, and I’ve yet to hold up my end of the deal. Which is apparently modeling the shit we design. The company, S3, has apparel and riding gear.
Scarlet makes her way to the machine and stands beside it, her hands on her hips. I don’t know why this girl is getting under my skin, but she is. I don’t know whether I should hate her, fire her, fuck her or smile. She evokes all those emotions in me at the same time.
She holds up her phone, screaming out, “It says here you’re supposed to be. . . .”
I can’t hear the rest of what she says over the rumble of the engine. I turn it off and growl, “I don’t want to go to that.” Because I don’t. I’d much rather spend the rest of my afternoon out here.
Scarlet stares up at me, and I wonder what’s going through her head. Her arms cross over her chest, and I have a great view of her tits pushed together now. You know what I want to do? I’ll give you an honest answer here. I want my cock sliding between them. “Get off the tractor.”
I love it when she bosses me around. Here she goes dragging a smile out of me again. “Make me.”
“You’re pissing me off. Get off the goddamn tractor.”
She’s blunt but Christ, her demand sends a jolt through my body and straight to my cock. I want to tell her, “bottle that rage, baby, and take it out on me in my bed later.”
I can’t get over this reaction I’m having to her. Maybe because no girl has ever talked to me like this before. They’re all scared of me.
“It’s called an excavator,” I point out and swing my legs around so I’m facing her. “And you can’t tell me what to do.”
Determination furrows her brow. “Yes, I can. You hired me to do a job, and I’m going to do it.”
I’m tired of her looking at that damn thing and then telling me what to do. It needed to go. “Give me your phone.”
She tilts her chin up to meet my gaze. “No. Way. Get down from there.” I try to take her phone from her only she stuffs it down her shirt and into her bra like that’s going to stop me. “Now get your ass in gear. We have to be in LA in an hour, and with traffic, it will take that long to get there.”
Goddamn her. She’s so fucking bossy.
She’s not as quick as she thinks though and the moment I jump down from the tractor and chase after her, I grab her by the waist and yank her back into my chest. Wrapping my left arm around her arms to pin them down, I then reach inside her bra, cop a feel of her breasts in the process and take the phone.
I let go, because she shoves her ass into my groin and when you’re not expecting it, it doesn’t feel all that pleasant.
Trying to catch my breath since one of my nuts took a blow in her ass shove, I step back away from her and hold the phone above her head. “Looking for this?”
A glisten of perspiration forms on her nose from the heat of southern California. Seeing her sweat causes my dick to twitch because damn, I’d love to see her covered in sweat, my hands fisted in those unruly curls. . . fuck.
Her small hands curl into fists. She looks like she’s on the brink of punching me. “Give me that, Shade.”
Christ, look at her face. Determined set brow, thinned lips, those adorable freckles dusting her scrunched-up nose. . . I’ve definitely pissed her off.
I wink. “Blow me and I’ll give it back to you.”
She sees no humor in my request and literally blows in my fucking face.
Her minty breath makes me laugh.
Again, she doesn’t like that either. “Give it to me, please.”
“Fuck, that’s hot,” I groan, leaning in so my sweaty chest presses against hers. “Beg again.”
This time she growls and acts like she’s going to kick me in the balls. Instinctively, I cover them and drop the phone.
Like a game between kids, she snatches it away and takes off running. “Ha. Now let’s go. People to see and shit to do today, star boy.”
Star boy?
Goddamn, there’s that smile again. For the longest time, well, seven months, I was beginning to wonder if I could smile. Can I find happiness in anything anymore?
Pretty sure if I’m going to, it’s with this girl and her crazy curls and attitude to match.
IT’S WEIRD TO think I enjoy the rain some days. Don’t get me wrong, I live in Southern California for the sun, but it’s nice to have rain. It keeps everything from getting too dry in the summer and fires starting. We seem to battle a few each year.
“It’s raining,” Scarlet notes, kicking the windshield wipers up a notch. “I didn’t think it rained here.” And then I hear a chorus of horns behind us as she cuts off the third person today.
“It does sometimes.” I glance over my shoulder, half expecting wrecked cars behind us. She can’t drive for shit. “You do realize you just cut like five cars off with your illegal lane change there?”
Scarlet waves her hand dismissively and reaches for her coffee. “They’ll be fine.”
I have a feeling she didn’t drive a whole lot in Seattle and never in California where we don’t really abide by speed limits. It’s more like a suggested limit that no one pays attention to.
I don’t know why I’m starting a conversation with her. Maybe to distract her in an attempt that she’ll calm down and drive like a normal person and not jerk the wheel so much while it’s raining. You don’t know how many times I’ve closed my eyes and accepted my death in this forty-minute drive so far. So I ask, “Do you miss Seattle?”
She looks over at me, knuckles tightening on the wheel, then back to the road as we once again come to a stop just before we’re coming into LA. “Yes. I love the rain and I miss my coffee.” She flicks her cup. “Your coffee is horrible here.”
I shrug. I don’t notice the difference in the coffee, but I’ve heard if you’re from the northwest, you know the difference. It’s like being from Columbia and expecting the coffee to taste the same in the states. It doesn’t.
“What about your friends? You miss them?” It seems weird to me that she’d up and leave her life in Seattle for this job. But let’s focus on me for a minute. Remember the tractor incident earlier when she denied me? Yes? Okay. I’m asking this question for a reason. I want to know if she has a boyfriend back home.
Do you hear the distaste in my voice? Scarlet doesn’t. What I’m really asking is who do you fuck? Cause it ain’t me, sadly.
I can’t see her eyes because I’m looking out the window. Thankfully the car we’re in has tinted windows because I don’t want anyone to see me riding in this car with such a bad driver.
“I miss Mila,” Scarlet finally says. “Tom. . . .” She pauses, and I think she knows she has my damn attention now. I whip my head around like she’s grown another head. “He’s something else. I do miss Izzy too. But she’s got a boyfriend, so does Mila. Everyone kind of has lives now, so it just sort of made sense for me to take this job and get some experience.”
I’m one-tracked. “Who’s Tom?”
“He worked at the hotel with me.”
“You fuck him?” You had to know I was going to ask that.
Scarlet tips her head at me and winks. “A good girl never tells.”
She did. Goddamn, I’m jealous of this Tom guy already.
Just when I think we might arrive in one piece to the studio, Scarlet cuts across four lanes of traffic without even looking. “Oh, there’s my exit!”
I have no idea how we didn’t die and while I was scared to death, I also kind of enjoyed it. I mean, she was plain crazier than hell, but I fucking like this chick. There is something endearing about her.
WATCH CAREFULLY AT the photo shoot. More importantly, the makeup artist’s attention to me. She’s ridiculously obvious, but it’s playing into my plan.
Now turn your head to the right. Check out Scarlet’s reaction to the woman fussing over me and touching my body.
Do you see the set scowl? The arms crossed? That’s someone acting jealous, isn’t it? Pretty sure I resembled that look on the plane the other day, didn’t I?
I decide to play it up and flirt with the makeup artist just to get a rise out of Scarlet. “What’s your name, honey?”
The woman’s brown eyes widen. “Are you talking to me?”
I look around her, then smile. Christ, she’s wearing so much makeup herself I can literally see the lines of her face cracking. “You’re the only one standing next to me.”
“Oh, uh, right.” She takes a brush and swipes it across my cheeks, her own blushing with embarrassment. “My name is Candi.”
“Are you sweet like candy?” I’ll admit, my game’s weak, but I’m only trying to get Scarlet’s attention, not Candi’s. Unfortunately, for me, my plan backfires. As if you expected anything less of me lately.
Candi holds the brush at bay, confusion plastered in her expression. “Are you seriously hitting on me? Or are you trying to get her attention?”
Yep, I suck at this lately. I frown, fidgeting with my sunglasses in my hand. “Am I that obvious?”
Candi laughs. “Yes.”
“Damn it. Think she knows?”
“No, doesn’t look like it, but I think I can help you out.”
I wink. “Now we’re talking.” And then I panic, hoping her idea of helping me out and mine coincide.
To my surprise, they do, and she simply does a lot of hair flips, shoulder touching and smiling. All the while, I discretely watch Scarlet’s face go from I’m kinda annoyed to I want to rip this chick’s extensions out.
When the photo shoot’s over, I’m shirtless and standing in front of Scarlet, smiling.
“Put your shirt on. Let’s go.”
I grin with defiance. “Make me.”
The scowl returns, and she even goes as far as putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t you want to go home with her?”
“No, why?”
Scarlet slides her eyes to Candi, then back to me. “You two seemed awfully cozy. You don’t need to come back with me.”
Oh, yes I do! “I’m good.” I wrap my arm around Scarlet, my sunglasses and shirt dangling over her shoulder now. “That is if we make it back. You’re quite possibly the worst driver I’ve ever seen.”
She looks at me, shocked, damn near appalled, and then grins as if she knows but says, “I am not. There’s nothing wrong with my driving.”
“Um, yes, you are.” I motion to the car. “But I’m starving. Let’s go to In-N-Out Burger on Venice.”
“What’s In-N-Out Burger?”
My eyes light up. “Only the best burger you’ll ever have.”
“Highly doubtful.” She blows me off, twisting out from under my arm and spinning artfully toward the car. “I live next to Lil Woody’s. I’m forever biased in the ways of burgers.”
I follow her and put my shirt and sunglasses back on. “I bet I can convince you otherwise.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I have a lot of convincing to do, more than just a burger here. Regardless, Scarlet gets us to In-N-Out, a chorus of horns and people flipping us off follow her every illegal lane change.
“You just cut that guy off back there,” I point out, only to have her roll her eyes as we launch over a speed bump in the parking lot. She has absolutely no regard for the rules of the road or the shocks on the car.
“We’re here!” she announces with a smile I can’t help fall for.
I laugh and motion to the long line at the drive-thru. “Let’s do drive-thru. I’m not sure I want people seeing me in the car with such a bad driver.”
Another eye roll. “I got us here, didn’t I?”
“Sure, you got us here, but you pissed off the entire city of LA in the process.” I shrug. “Order me a double, animal style, and a strawberry shake.”
Rolling down the window, she stares at the menu. “They only have like two burgers to choose from and no chicken?”
I raise an eyebrow and dig out my wallet from my back pocket. “Who eats chicken?”
“Some people do.”
“Well, they don’t here. That’s why it’s so good. All beefy meat.”
What do you think she does now? Do you think she laughs in my face?
If you said yes, you’d be right. And it’s fucking cute as hell. “Boy, your game is so weak.”
“It is not.”
We order the same thing, park, and I’m impressed to see she eats a hamburger. Don’t most girls only want salads. . . or chicken?
She may have made a comment about chicken, but she devours that burger just as quickly as I do.
I lift my shake from the cup holder and watch her do the same, swallowing over the last bite of the hamburger. “So. . . better than Lil Johns?”
“It’s Lil Woody’s. . . and no, it’s not better. But it was good.”
Christ, she’s hard to impress.
Taking the straw between her lips, she asks, “What do you do at night? Don’t you have parties to attend and girls to wine and dine?”
“Well. . . .” I chuckle, setting my shake in the cup holder. “I don’t recall the last time I ever wined and dined anyone, but no, I don’t go out much anymore.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
I smile. “It’s far more entertaining to me trying to convince you I’m worthy of fucking. And it’s taking up most of my wine-and-dine time.”
She laughs at me. Fucking laughs in my face. “Worthy of fucking?”
“Yep.”
And then she shrugs. As if my ego wasn’t ruined enough.