Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (14 page)

With the revving
aphrodisiac, I found the need to fan myself and wiggle my hips.

That earned me another
rev.

Relieved my pep talk
worked, I joined Kyle on the pit box.

“Is he okay?” Kyle
asked as I adjusted the head set.

“I don’t know yet.” I
eyed his hotdog he’d gotten from the concession stand. “Give me that.” I
snatched it away.

“Hey, that’s mine.” He
reached for it only to have his hand slapped away. “I’m starving.”

I pointed behind me
toward the pit concessions swarming with customers. “Then go get another one.”

Kyle grunted, tossed
his clipboard and got himself another hotdog.

When Jameson’s car
finally pulled onto the track, I let out the breath I didn’t know I was
holding.

He was quiet on the
radio, only answering “yes” and “no” to Kyle’s persisted questions on the
handling.

He didn’t take many
laps; the car seemed to be perfect in his eyes. So after fifty laps, he brought
it back in.

Jameson just grinned
and shook his head as he carefully withdrew himself from the car. I could
already tell his left side was sore by the way he favored it when he swung his
legs around.

“How do you feel?” I
asked. Anxiety made me feel slightly ill and ready to hurl the hotdog I
insisted on eating.

His eyes gleamed with
reprieve at me, running his hand through his wet shock of hair. “Good.” He
grimaced slightly. “I’m a little sore, you know, from the G-force in the turns.
I’ll get used to it again.”

“So
...
” I began, examining his face carefully.
He looked a little tired. He was breathing heavier than usual, but his cheeks
were flushed with healthy exertion and his eyes were glowing.

“I’m fine honey,” he
shook his head assuring me everything was okay. Leaning against the side of his
car, he set his Gatorade on the roof. “Yeah, I’m a little sore and more out of
breath than I wanna be but it felt good.” He grinned, a full on, beaming
Jameson grin, and I wanted to pin him to the hood of his car and ride him.

“Good.” I smiled
tremulously, and he leaned down to give me a quick kiss.

“Good.” He repeated his
eyes cast toward the media gathering behind me.

“I was worried about
you.”

“I know.” The smile
lingered on his full lips, and for some reason my eyes were glued to them.

My gaze was still
locked on his mouth, and he deliberately licked his goddamn lips, the little
shit.

I jerked my eyes to his
and saw he was looking at me in amusement and desire.

“Stop it,” he said
softly near my ear. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.” His eyes gestured toward
the media again and I knew our time was up.

Brushing the towel he’d
been holding across his face, he gave me a wink and turned to the press that
gathered. Lifting his hand, he ducked his head in acknowledgment of some nearby
fans cheering.

As with the previous
days at the track, I surreptitiously watched as the media asked question after
question on Jameson’s theory as to
why
Darrin Torres hit him.

He shunned most of them
with sarcasm, but a few he answered diffidently with the help of Alley.

When he was finished
with the media, he followed behind me toward the hauler so he could change and
then it was off to a nearby Ford dealer for another meet and greet.

He was right behind me,
and took my elbow when we reached it.

Jameson then pushed me
back against the side where it was private between his and Bobby’s haulers.

I paused, looking at
him quizzically, and he raised his hand to curl it around my neck. Towering
over me, I tried to repress an excited little shiver as he gazed down.

“I love you,” he said
softly. “Everything’s going to be okay, I’ll make sure of it.”

I felt happy tears fill
my eyes as I gazed at the man that was my future.

How do define being in
love? Is it a feeling, a thought, or maybe just a sensation? Do you feel it
when you touch, or kiss? Or do you sense it when he speaks?

To me, I could look at
Jameson and feel it. I could touch him and be it. Love isn’t just a feeling.
It’s thoughts, sensations, feelings, gestures, and all together they define a
word.

Love.

A word to some is just
a word. But to me, it was a kiss before a race, a nod in my direction, a wink
of reassurance and a loving embrace late at night. Love wasn’t just a word to
me
...
it was everything.

Despite being in love,
we were young and learning the hard way that nothing in life was certain. But
there was no doubt in my mind we had something very special together.

Yeah, I was crazy
irrational pigizzle and he was a hotheaded dirty talking heathen but
this
,
what we had, was worth fighting for.

In that moment, I
realized he was renewing his declaration from last night in the middle of the
paddock. The smell of racing surrounded us. The smells of our lives with
revving engines and air tools swirling through the air, but I wouldn’t have it
any other way. It was different from our time in the grandstands under the
Tennessee moonlight, but the two situations balanced what we were and had
become perfectly.

“I love you,” I said
kissing him and putting my heart, my trust, and the future of me and our unborn
child, in his hands, the only place we ever belonged. “You can be sure of
that.”

And just like that, my
dirty heathen returned like I knew he would. “I want to strip every stitch of
clothing off you and fall to my knees at your feet. I want to worship you,
right here, right now.” He pushed his hips against me, pinning me to the side
of his hauler. He smiled ruefully down at me. “I want you Sway.
All of you.
All of the time.”

I bit my lip
apprehensively. “That’s a good thing, right?”

He shook his head
slowly. “Yes,” His eyes changed, burning with love and lust evenly. “
a
very
good thing.”

I moaned and his mouth
clamped down on my neck, taking a hard sucking bit, as goose bumps shivered
across my skin. He knew exactly what would clench the deal for me, not that his
words before hadn’t already thrown in the checkered flag, but the growling of
his voice when he spoke “very” sent me over the edge.

4.
    
Back
Marker – Jameson

Back
Marker – A car running off the pace near the rear of the field.

Beep
...
beep
...
beep

“Damn it!” I punched
the alarm clock off the night stand. “Stupid fucking alarm,”

After missing a few
races, my body seemed to have gotten used to the extra sleep. Now I didn’t want
to wake up.

Beep
...
beep
...
beep

Since punching it
didn’t work, I chucked it across the length of my motor coach, hoping it did
the trick this time.

Beep
...
beep
...
beep

Apparently
not.

I was sure at that
point the goddamn thing could be bombed and still make that atrocious noise.

“Goddamn the person who
decided it was a good idea to get up early. Goddamn the person who invented
alarm clocks. Goddamn the entire fucking world right now!”

I continued to mumble
unintelligently about all the people and inventions over the years that I
thought deserved to be stuck down by lightening. It made me feeling slightly
better about having to get up at five AM for an interview instead of being with
Sway today.

I understood completely
that she had an obligation to the track. With Charlie going crazy lately, I
needed her there to keep things under control. I received daily calls from Mark
Kelly, our track facilitator, about all the things going wrong. I was beginning
to think running a track, managing a sprint car team and racing full time on
the cup series might be a too much but those were just thoughts.

I had Wes, the pilot of
our private jet, fly Sway home last night after we went out for dinner and
spent some time press forging. I couldn’t get enough of her and her amazing
libido. Knowing the influence she had at me, I glanced down when I felt the
burn in my stomach.

Yeah, I wish buddy but
there’s no crankcase to bore today
...
but tomorrow, that’s another story.

After taking a quick
shower to wake up, I got dressed for my interview with ESPN. Just as I was
wishing I had some coffee, Alley was knocking on the door.

“What?” I snapped
throwing the door open.

“Don’t
what
me.”
She pushed a steaming cup of coffee toward me as she entered the motor coach
with paperwork. “I brought you coffee.”

“I’m sorry,” I smiled
at the steaming heaven. “
thank
you.”

Settling the coffee and
papers, she had tucked under her arm, down, her brow furrowed reached for my
forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah—why?”

“I’ve never heard you
say you were sorry.”

I shrugged. “It’s
probably the last.”

“You have a busy day.”
She pushed my schedule toward me. “You have the interview with ESPN in thirty
minutes.”

I sighed focusing on
the coffee, steam rolled in waves.

I don’t think many
people realize how much NASCAR has evolved from a weekend pastime to a highly
demanding business. It’s not only Sunday that you have commitments now.

Mondays were usually
spent recovering from the race. Sometimes I had appearances on behalf of my
sponsor, signing autographs and standing for photographs. Tuesdays and
Wednesday were used for testing the cars at tracks where upcoming races would
be held. We usually experimented with the cars, finding just the right setup
that will allow a fast qualifying time on that particular track and then taking
notes of the setup, tire pressures and tire wear to then transfer that
information to race-day. Thursdays I would then fly to the track we were racing
at for the week. Friday was practice and usually qualifying, depending on when
the race would be held. If for instance the race was on Saturday night,
everything was moved up a day.

At the track, I had
various media commitments for my sponsor and then there were the interviews
from the press, radio stations, newspapers and the local track.

Saturday was devoted to
practice again, called Happy Hour. Despite the name, it was a crazy and hectic
rush to get the car ready for the next day as it was our last chance to ensure
the car was perfect. Sunday was race day. My day usually began with a
sponsorship meeting, attended by fans, where I answered questions about the day
and season or whatever else they decided to ask me.

The drivers meeting was
held two hours before the race and provided NASCAR officials the opportunity to
review important rule changes and other issues that teams had to remember
throughout the day. Following this, our team gathered for a team meeting in the
hauler to discuss what was heard at the drivers meeting since only the driver, crew
chief, and owner attend. At times, there was information that we needed to let
the rest of the team know.

Thirty minutes before
the race, driver introductions begin. Usually I walked across the track, wave
to the fans, and then go back to my car to wait for the rest of the pre-race
ceremonies to conclude.

There you have it, my
week. And guess what, when the race was over, it all started again Monday
morning.

Glancing down at the
paper, Alley continued. “Then you have an interview with
People
magazine
at nine. After that you have the drivers meeting, team meeting, introductions,
the race, and then we leave to Olympia tonight.”

I nodded showing
enthusiasm for the last part.

“Now remember,” Alley
began, “
People
magazine will ask personal questions, just
...
be
careful
. You not only have
yourself to think about, but remember Sway before you go broadcasting personal
details about your relationship.”

“What kind of details
will they ask?”

“Well, for one they
are
going to ask if she’s pregnant.”

“What should I say?”
Personally, I knew what I would say to that questions but it wouldn’t be
polite.

“I suggest you deny it
for now.” Alley reached for her keys on the table. “Sway hasn’t even told
Charlie yet. And with everything going on with Darrin
...
” her gaze held some warning. “I think
it’s best the media doesn’t find out yet.”