Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (13 page)

“Hmm,” I articulated
going limp in his arms.

He threw his head back
and laughed. “Come on Joanie, I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Lead the way
Chachi
.” I rolled my eyes, gathering my will and wiggling
from his arms.

I felt him come up
close behind me, pulling my hair to one side, exposing my neck. “You’ll like
it, I promise,” he murmured sucking on the skin at the juncture of my shoulder
and neck. Goosebumps erupted all over my body.

“You just think you’re
hot shit, don’t you?” I teased as he walked me to the golf cart in front of his
motor coach.

“What can I say?” His
smirk was smug and arrogant. “You just bring it out in me. It’s your fault,
really.”

It took all of my
meager control not to drop his pants right there in the drivers compound and
give him the best mother loving micro polishing he’d ever had. Only the fact
the media would be all over that stopped me from doing it. It would be worth it
for the look on his face. He wouldn’t be so smug then, would he? I gave a
superior sniff, lifting my chin and swept into the golf cart.

He waited until I was
seated before he came around the other side.

I watched unabashedly
as he walked around leering at me as he slid his
Oakley
sunglasses halfway
down his nose and then winked.

Jameson slid inside,
turning the key in the ignition and grinning at me. He raised one brow over the
frames of the sunglasses. I glared and rolled my eyes at the game he was
playing with me.

He just smiled, turning
his attention to the parking lot.

Out of the corner of my
eye, I noticed the hand that wasn’t on the wheel rise up to run languidly
across his chest.

I narrowed my eyes in
suspicion. I knew what he was doing. That hand then slid across his chest and
slowly down his stomach. He rubbed his belly lazily, back and forth, from one
hip to the other. I had turned to face him, distracted. His face was perfectly
bland as his hand lowered to slowly run along his camshaft, pausing to give a
firm squeeze and then stroked himself once.

“Stop that!”

“Ah honey,” He tipped
his head toward me. “
you
know you want it.”

“You suck.”

“Well,
you
could.” He gestured south with his eyes. “I’m up for it, as you can see.”

“You wish.”

“Yeah, I do,” he
muttered, lifting his hips slightly to adjust himself keeping one hand on the
wheel.

I licked my lips again,
he slowed going over a speed bump.

“You stop
that
,”
he growled.

“Ah honey, you know you
want me.” I mimicked licking my lips once more for the hell of it.

“I want you badly.” He
grinned. “Always do.”

My cheeks heated
watching a group in the infield as they partied near their campsite. They all
raised their drinks of choice when they saw who was in the golf cart and yelled
something along the lines of, “Whew Rowdy Riley!”

We grinned at each
other and rode in companionable silence as we drove around the outside of the
pits, through the entry gate and then around the other side of the venue,
toward the grandstands.

Jameson turned off the
ignition, removing the keys and tossed them in one hand. “Come on Joanie—let’s
go to the sock hop.”

I walked a few steps
down into the grandstands of Bristol Motor Speedway before turning my face up
into the moonlight.

This was no sock hop,
but it was better. After a few minutes, I felt him come up behind me, stopping
inches away. I smiled, enjoying the warm summer night against my skin, happy to
be here with him, alone.

His hand brushed along
my hair as he stepped closer, his body touching mine from head to foot. I
sighed, feeling content and leaned back to increase the contact between us.

“You’re so beautiful.”
He murmured, his arm finally coming around me. “Your skin glows under the moon
light. It’s breathtaking.”

“It’s the hormones.” I
turned, my eyes remained closed, wrapping my arms around his neck and keeping
my head angled up for his kiss.

His lips felt cool for
once against mine. He pulled me up off my feet holding me to his body. Being
this close I could feel the erratic beating of his heart, relieved I had the
same effect on him. His head angled so his tongue could enter my mouth, and I
fisted my hands in his hair. He groaned in appreciation, his tongue stroking in
a blatant, sexual rhythm, ravenous and restless against mine. Needing air, we
eventually pulled away but he continued to press soft, wet kisses to my lips.

Taking a seat in one of
the stadium seats, he tugged me on to his lap looking over the speedway from
the view the fans would see tomorrow night.

It had been a while
since Jameson had seen a track from the view.

As we sat there, the
only sounds were from our steady even breaths and the cicada in the distance.

“I’ve always dreamed
about this.” Jameson whispered into my hair.

“Racing here?”

“No.” he chuckled.

“What then?”

“Not
just
racing. I mean yeah, there’s that, but mostly I dreamt of being
here
.”
His face brushed against the side of mine softly, his attention remained on the
track. “Seeing my dreams come true. Having everything I ever wanted. Being here
with you,”

“And you do, have everything
you ever wanted?”

“Yes.” His voice had
that familiar smooth velvet tone. He kissed the side of my forehead once. “With
you, I have it all. I’m gonna make our dreams come true, just don’t give up on
me, honey. I know I’m hot headed and I have an anger problem that would
frighten most but I love you. I’m gonna take care of you, and
our
baby.
I’m going to do everything I can to keep you with me forever and I
will
make you my wife.”

“You act as I don’t
have a choice
...
” I laughed.

I felt him shrug with indifference.
“You don’t really.”

I giggled staring back
at the track as was Jameson.

“What’s it like being
in the car during a race?” I asked changing subjects.

“Uh, it’s an intense
feeling that’s for sure and different than being in a sprint car race. With
sprint cars, the race format is different and of course you’re in the car
longer with stock cars so there’s that too.”

“Do you get too hot?”

“Oh
yeah.
You sweat something like five to ten pounds of water in each race.”

“No shit?”

“Yep.
It’s hard on your
entire body. My hands cramp from gripping the wheel but you can’t grip it too
tight or you won’t feel the changes happening to the track. Sometimes it’s hard
just to hang on in the beginning or re-starts when you know you
gotta
be on it but you’re shaking from the adrenaline.” I
felt him sigh as this was what he loved. “Like I said, it’s intense and
something I’ve never felt, other than behind the wheel.”

“Can you see the crowd
when you go past the grandstands?”

“Not really. You can on
caution laps but in races, no. It’s just a blur but the fact that they’re
there, cheering you on is enough. People pay to see you race
...
it’s a hard thing to grasp at times.
It’s like being a musician, pouring your heart, your soul, your sweat into a
song and then people buy it and actually want to listen to it.” I felt him
shift again, adjusting against the seat. “I feel that same way about racing. I
put so much of myself into racing that it’s hard to draw a line between that
anything else. It all blurs together eventually and you find yourself balancing
on the edge of whatever line that is. Soon, you don’t know yourself without
it.”

He was quiet for a
moment before he added, “I don’t like this lifestyle at times and the invasion
into the only privacy I have but it gets easier. I think.”

“Are you nervous for
tomorrow?”

Jameson had yet to
actually get inside his race car since the accident other than the safety
clearance NASCAR had him do with getting in and out of the car. If he wasn’t
nervous, I was sure I had enough for the both of us.

“I don’t know that I
would say nervous, just anxious, I guess. I want to be back in the car.”

Eventually conversation
drifted away and we just sat there.

Being here with him,
wrapped securely in his arms, I felt safe, as though the rest of the world
didn’t exist outside this bubble we were in. I was right to say we were going
about this the wrong way. Ordinarily you would date, have sex, get married and
then have a baby. Some even waited until they were married to have sex.

Not us, no, we started
with sex, ended up dating, created a little crazy irrational baby out of
wedlock and then maybe someday we’d get married. Jameson was right. Doing it
this way, the crazy-irrational-break-your-heart-dirty-heathen way, was half the
fun. It was
our
way.

Thursday morning was
another whirlwind of press and interviews for Jameson and we had yet to spend
any time together since our evening in the grandstands. Around nine, I was
sitting on the pit box, getting ready to watch Jameson’s first practice since
the accident.

I was a nervous wreck.
I bit off all my fingernails and if it didn’t look so ridiculous, I probably
would have started on my toenails.

A group of fans drew my
attention on the other side of the wall. I turned my head to see Jameson
approaching. He had a sure gait of someone who was comfortable around a race
track. His black racing suit was zipped down a few inches revealing his white
t-shirt underneath. His helmet tucked under his arm as he reached out to sign a
few autographs as he passed by a fence swarming with fans.

Once he made it to the
pit box, he swung a leg of over the wall.

“It feels good to be
out here again.” He said with a smile, taking in a deep breath of the smells surrounding
us; exhaust burning, the sweet smells of octane fuel, tires, and warm asphalt.
It was the smells of racing. The smells of everything he knew and had known
throughout his entire life. It’s what
we
knew.

“Here goes nothing,” he
murmured stepping over the wall toward his car parked on pit lane. Spencer, who
was checking air pressures, stood and clasped his hand over Jameson’s shoulder.

My heart leapt up into
my throat when he slid through the window moments later and began his ritual of
putting on his gear.

Was I ready for this?
Was he ready for this?

All the fear I’d felt
watching the accident on television that Sunday afternoon came crashing back.
The images of his body laying motionless inside the car afterwards burned into
my brain and it was all I could see, all I could focus on.

The other drivers
watched him having known about the accident.

A few of them
approached his car, leaned in, and said a few words to him. Jameson in turn
nodded, giving them a desultory wave.

Kyle winked offering me
the headphones. “Calm him down for me.”

Calm him down? Calm me
down!

After a few minutes,
Jameson’s car was still in on pit lane.

Instead of talking over
the radio, I climbed down from the pit box and made my way to his car.

Jameson noticed me
right away and yanked the window net down, flipping his visor up. I couldn’t
hear what he was saying over the rumble of his engine so I leaned inside
placing my ear closer to his helmet.

“Honey, what are you
doing out here?” he asked angling his helmet so his words were less muffled.
“Get back on the box. It’s not safe down here.”

I shook my head
touching the side of his helmet. “Are you okay?”

His eyes held mine and
I saw the fear drowning him. He
was
scared, though he’d never say it, no
racer ever would.

But I saw it. I saw it
with the rapid rising and falling of his chest. I saw it in the way the
determination wavered briefly.

My hand reached inside
and with hesitation covered his heart over his belts. His eyes closed, his head
fell back, resting against his seat restraints.

When his breathing
slowed, I leaned closer so he could hear me.

“You can do this,
Jameson. I believe in you. Don’t second guess yourself.” I smiled and winked
like he always did. Wanting to distract him and knowing the funbags weren’t an
option, I settled for words. “Just think of me on the hood.”

He chuckled and though
I couldn’t see his smile, I saw it in the way his eyes wrinkled in the corners.
It was my smile.

When I turned to walk
away, he revved the engine.

Turning slowly, I
looked over my shoulder and even through the window net I saw the wink before
he flipped his visor back down.