SCORE (A Stepbrother Sports Romance) (38 page)

“So he really just wanted to keep me from seeing anything bad?” I muttered. I felt crushed. How could I have harbored this resentment against him for so long when all he did was look out for me?

“That’s right, angel.” She smiled at me again. “Remember, racers are just people. People that do an unreal job. They’re not more or less arrogant, immature, or anything else than the rest of the planet. Sure, some are cheating assholes, but some are nice guys. The worst thing about dating a racer is you both know he’s going to get hurt at some point, and no matter what you say, he won’t admit to it.”

“So I’ll never get him to quit racing?” I asked her.

“Not if you want to keep him. He’ll have to quit on his own,” she said. “You might persuade him to quit, but he’ll hate you for it eventually.”

So all this time I’d assumed the worst about people like James based on some misunderstood behavior of my father’s. I felt, simultaneously, like a great weight lifted off me and a terrible hole grew in my chest. I could be free, free to love and enjoy life with James, but it hurt when I thought about the way I must have made him feel. What if I’d driven him away? All my resentment towards him because he was a racer was unfounded, yet I’d been kicking him for it all along.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, it all sank in. I hated myself for misjudging my father. I cursed myself for projecting that onto James, a man I could be in love with. Tears rolled down my face as I tried to get my head around all the choices I’d made in my life, all the people I must have hurt, thanks to these walls I’d kept myself behind.

***

I stayed with my mom until Sunday, then headed back to Austin. I was trying to pluck up the courage to tell James how I felt about him, but I had no idea where to start, what to say, or if he was even still interested in me. I felt like shit for not responding better to his gifts, but above all, I wanted him to call and tell me he still wanted me. I desperately wanted to call him and tell him I couldn’t wait to see him, but that last part of me wouldn’t allow it. I still didn’t want to show weakness, and I wanted to be chased.

On Monday, I was at work when lunchtime rolled around. I was trying to decide where to eat when I got yet another delivery. It was small this time. I tipped the messenger and sent him on his way, then opened the package to see I’d just received my lunch: a hamburger, fries, and one of those little mini bottles of champagne. There was a card that read ‘A delicacy where I come from.’ I couldn’t help smiling when I thought about the room service he’d ordered on that amazing first night.

I called him again. I had told him to quit with the expensive gifts and come up with something real. This package couldn’t have cost more than ten dollars, but it stirred up all the right emotions. That first night together clearly meant as much to him as I was now realizing it had meant to me.

“So, what are you doing this weekend?” I asked him as soon as he’d said hello. He must have been able to hear the smile in my voice.

Sucking air in noisily through his lips, he replied, “Bad news. I have to be in Argentina on Thursday.”

“Argentina, huh?” I quipped. “I haven’t been there in years.”

James

That changed everything. Summer would be there. I could switch right back into being excited about the race. The only problem was that the anticipation of her joining me made it hard to focus.

Still, Argentina was an amazing country, with a vibe and feel totally different from anywhere in the States. The small town of Termas de Río Hondo was known for its hot springs and spa resorts, but over the last couple of years, it had been revamped by having to host the annual Moto GP at the nearby track, or Autódromo. No grand hotels here, but there was a pretty nice spa called Los Pinos, about fifteen minutes from the circuit, which I usually booked team JSR into, but there was no kind of central hotel hub like you might find at races in major cities.

The local airport definitely felt newer and more modern since we were there last year, but the best car I could rent was still only a Nissan Maxima. As the team arrived, we unloaded the truck from the cargo plane, sorted out transport for everyone, and got on with the business of racing.

Friday was my first opportunity to get on the track. I had a nice morning session, getting everything dialed in. During my first lap after lunch, I went into turn seven a little too aggressively and slipped on cold tires. In the grand scheme of things, it was no big deal. What I wasn’t going to tell Keith and Ray was that I’d been daydreaming about Summer when I should have been concentrating on riding. Like all my other thoughts about Summer, these were none of their fucking business.

We hit the ground at about sixty miles per hour, and I slid along on my butt into the gravel trap, placed there specifically to slow sliding bikes and riders before they hit the tire wall. Laying still on the sharp stones, I wiggled my fingers and toes to make sure everything still worked. So far, so good. I picked myself up and dusted myself off. My leathers had no holes, and I seemed to be okay, so it could have been worse. Except I’d have to wait for a recovery truck to come and haul my battered bike back to the pits.

The problem with gravel traps was that when careening bikes flew through them, they tended to pick up a few pounds of loose stones in their engines, which could make it a little difficult to get them started again. That was racing, though. The wait for recovery meant we missed out on a lot of the practice session, so I cursed myself for not being entirely focused on the job at hand. Still, I couldn’t stop wishing Summer would get here. At least then I wouldn’t have to keep wondering when it would happen.

Back in the pits, Ray and Keith berated me for falling off, while Other James busied himself fussing with my number-two bike, making sure it was ready to go. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It just meant we had to start from scratch regarding suspension settings and gearing, all of which gave me a few minutes to look forward to Summer joining me later. Damn, I couldn’t stop picturing her here with me. I couldn’t stop feeling aroused and imagining us together. Most of all, I was screwing up this race because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I needed to get a grip.

She hadn’t told me which day she was flying in, and she wouldn’t let me pay for her flight. She insisted on making her own arrangements. I couldn’t wait for her to join me, though. It had been two weeks, and I still felt as excited to see her as when we first met, grinning like an idiot every time I thought about it. I had a chance to discover all those new things about her. Her past, her future plans, her favorite places to go, exactly where she liked to be touched…

Keith kicked my foot, breaking me out of my reverie.

“You do know I’m your boss, right?” I asked him.

“Yeah, whatever. Just get on your fucking bike.”

*****

It was Friday night, and she still hadn’t arrived. We went for dinner as a team, but the guys noticed I was withdrawn and quieter than usual. A couple of times, Keith and Ray mocked me as a lovesick puppy, ‘taking the piss,’ they called it. It’s a strange English custom that seemed to involve many unfeeling and heartless remarks at my expense, all designed to make me feel like they actually cared. It did work a little, but I was still disappointed. I was starting to feel lost without her, panicking that she may not be coming after all.

Rays of sunshine beamed down onto the outdoor pools of Los Pinos spa to indicate the dawn of Saturday, and despite a couple of tender heads among my race team, we had morning practice, followed by a timed session in the afternoon to determine grid position. The early morning sun was soon replaced by clouds, and a light rain fell for most of the morning, which meant few of us went out. Racing in the rain is no fun, at least as far as I was concerned. And, with it forecast to be dry in the afternoon and on Sunday, there was not much point wasting the tires or fuel. Plus, as Ray pointed out, we didn’t have any more bikes if I wrecked another one.

I sat in the little kitchenette in our truck, trying to watch TV. I studied footage from last year’s race, trying to see where the fast boys found extra drive or went into turns deeper. Only it wasn’t working. It started as idle thoughts, feelings, and sensations I had experienced with Summer that first night together. But my mind turned to less pleasant wanderings. I really knew very little about her. I quickly dismissed thoughts that she might be some sort of femme fatale serial killer or sadistic psycho as ridiculous, but I then started thinking about her reluctance to let anyone in and these strange rules she had. Was I actually condemning myself to a relationship with a self-serving, selfish bitch I was going to have to jump through hoops for, just to have a quiet life?

I shook my head, trying to rattle loose all the dark thoughts so they would drop away. I told myself I was just being crazy. Yet the reason I’d been so happy for so long was by staying away from relationships. Was I about to fuck all that up? And had I been happy all this time? I thought so, but I’d never felt as good as when I was with Summer. My head started to spin and I began to feel sick. It was a relief when Nick came in to tell me Keith needed me outside.

The sun broke through the clouds at lunchtime and began to bake the damp track dry. I sat under our little awning at our plastic tables, working through a plate of home-cooked pasta, courtesy of Nick and our race truck’s little stove, when it hit me. Through the smell of grease, rubber, gasoline and smoke, I sniffed the delicate aroma of freshly made cotton candy, sweet and promising.

“Hi, James.” Her soft, slightly anxious voice was behind me.

This was not how I pictured this moment. I spun around. Summer stood there, her hair as full and gorgeous as I remembered, her makeup light and perfect, dressed in dark tank top, short denim skirt, and brown cowboy boots. She looked stunning and effortlessly sexy, as she had the countless times I’d fantasized about her being here.

I wore scuffed race leathers with sweat baked into the lining, undone to the waist to display an old Motörhead T-shirt. My hair was a mess, I had a mouth full of pasta, and there were probably black smears of grease on my face, none of which had been in my imaginings. I chewed and swallowed as fast as I could.

“Hello, yourself,” was all I could manage. My heart was thumping in my throat and I couldn’t breathe. We stood still, facing each other, for about a decade. Was she happy she came? Was she about to tell me it wouldn’t work? Was she about to elbow Other James out of the way, grab my race bike, and rocket out of here as fast as she could? I didn’t know until, finally, her face melted into a wide smile, mine mirroring hers exactly, and we dove into each other’s arms.

She leaped onto me, wrapping her legs around me. Holding her gorgeous body against mine again brought back vivid memories of the first time I was inside her. I held her tight, kissing her neck until she brought her face in front of mine, our lips about two inches apart. Our eyes locked. I stared into those beautiful green circles for a second, and it felt as if we understood each other. Our mouths finally met. Her lips were softer than I’d ever imagined, her breath as sweet as the rest of her. Her lips parted slightly, and my tongue caressed their velvet softness. My head started to spin from the pleasure of it, and responding with same kind of helpless need, she moaned with our mouths still pressed together.

I’d missed the feel of her, the smell of her, so much. I wanted her so badly, and I could feel blood rushing to my loins as we kissed. It was like the first time. It was the first time our mouths met, our tongues touched, and I just wanted to devour her right there. We broke our first kiss.

“Holy shit!” laughed Summer, as she pressed her forehead to mine. “I’m about ready to fuck you right here!”

“I’m flattered.” I smiled back. “But not in front of the boys.”

Ray and Other James pretended they weren’t listening as they fiddled with my broken bike. Summer saw it for the first time.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I reassured her. “Listen, are you hungry?” She nodded. “Okay, come with me. We should probably talk.”

***

There was a pretty decent French restaurant just down from the pit lane used to catering to high-level racers and team owners. I convinced Summer to get on the back of the little dirt bike we used to zip around the circuit. She was not enthusiastic because of her short skirt, but when I pointed out it was about a half-mile walk, she hopped on.

“I have about another hour before qualifications start,” I told her as we entered the building. The host showed us to a table overlooking the track, and I ordered a single malt for her and a sparkling water for me. “So…”

“So…” she agreed, and we both burst out laughing.

I took her hand across the table. “I was so pleased to see you,” I told her. “I was really worried you weren’t going to come.”

“Worried?” she asked, raising a beautifully sculpted eyebrow.

“Well, concerned,” I conceded.

“Listen, James,” she began, taking on a very straightforward tone. “I don’t commit. I’ve never been in a relationship longer than six months, and I’ve never lived with a man. That was just me. But…a few things have happened over the past couple of weeks to make me rethink my outlook.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” I said as the waiter brought over our drinks and a menu. I waited for him to leave us before continuing. “The lobster bisque and steak entrecôte are pretty good here, depending on how much you want.” Summer nodded and put aside the menu. I took a breath and summoned the courage to tell her what was worrying me. “I’ve never been one for commitment either. I don’t think I’ve ever had what could be described as a relationship.”