The Champion (Racing on the Edge) (46 page)

All that being said, Jameson knew my body; he knew it
well. So when I wasn’t really into it that night, he knew.

Some people like to tell you they have the greatest sex
life ever. Others tell you they never have sex and that it is horrible when
they do. I guess it depends on who you talk to. Luck of the draw? Or luck of
the Irish?

Who knows. But in reality, everyone has different
obstacles in their relationship that sets them apart from their friend’s
relationship.

Maybe you fight about money, kids, work, or even the act
of having sex.

The thing is it’s not always going to be mind-blowing sex.
Even with Jameson and I, two people who were sexually attracted to each other
from the beginning and have always had a strong sexual chemistry. There are
times when it doesn’t work, when we start and don’t finish or times when I
don’t get off and he does. It’s marriage. Leg cramps, sore, tired, kids
screaming all day, bills to pay, with all those daily obstacles running through
your head, sometimes it’s not easy to shut out the rest of the world and just
be in the moment with your other half. I get it.

Jameson, he doesn’t always understand that.

He stilled above me, searching my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” I replied innocently.

Jameson seemed to sense the lies in my facial features
and rolled off me.

“Sway, you’re faking it.” He said as though I offended
him.

“No I’m not.” I also tried to sound offended but I’m not
sure that worked. After all, he knew I was faking it and I’m pretty sure he
knew I was lying.

“Don’t lie to me.” he got off the bed and pulled his
shorts on. “I can’t believe this.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“I’m overreacting? How many times have you faked it?”

This was turning out badly. “I haven’t been faking it.” I
repeated trying to buy some more time to think of a better lie.

“Did I do something wrong? Is it me?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” I said pulling up the
sheets. “I just
...
have a headache.”

Nice one Sway. Real fucking original.

He didn’t acknowledge more poor excuse.

“I’ve always been able to please you.” He mused. “At
least I thought I was.” He started to mutter. “Maybe I’ve lost my touch.
Oh
my god
...
I’ve lost it. I turned
thirty and I’ve lost it!”

“Jameson, it wasn’t you.” I climbed off the bed a moved
to sit next to him on the floor now.  “Let’s try again.”

He looked at me with a shocked expression and pointed
toward his now soft camshaft. “Do you honestly think I’m ready to go again? I
think I need Viagra?” he said the last part almost like a question though I’m
sure it wasn’t meant to be one.

“This is getting ridiculous.” I grabbed his face between
my hands. “It. wasn’t. you.”

He was about to say something else when his phone rang.
He sat there glaring at me, actually glaring at me over this before getting up
to answer the phone.

“Yeah
...
no
...
because I don’t want to
...
no, you do it
...
leave
me alone
...
all right fine, bye.” He
slammed his phone shut. “Fucking Spencer,” he grumbled.

“Who was that?”

“Spencer,” he replied pulling his shirt over his
shoulders without looking at me, he made his way toward the door. “I’ll be back
later.”

“Where are you going?” I asked timidly.

“To the shop,”

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“They’re loading the cars for Knoxville and noticed
Cody’s was leaking oil. We must have cracked the cover when we changed gears.”

“Oh
...
”

He was about to walk out the door, but slammed his fist
into the wall and came back over to me. He bent down close to my face and
kissed me.  “We’ll talk about this when I get back.”

“About what?”

“My performance,” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I
lost it.”

“I’m going to tell you again asshole, that wasn’t your fault.”

“We’ll still talk.”

Shaking my head at my crazy husband, I curled up and was
asleep a few moments later. It was late by the time returned but in the
morning, at breakfast, he felt the need to discuss it further.

“About last night,” he looked up at me as he ate a slice
of bacon. “That’s never happened to me before.”

“Daddy, can you put the head back on my Barbie?” Arie
asked him shoving her Barbie next to his pancakes. He did and she skipped off
to the living room where the boys were watching cartoons.

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

I couldn’t think of any more lies to tell him and I
really didn’t want to tell him the truth. It was stupid. I was just tired, felt
old, and I found a stretch mark yesterday. It was so retarded that I figured
he’d just laugh but
clearly
, he was over-thinking it.

“Oh yes we do.” He insisted setting his bacon down. “You
say it wasn’t me so what the fuck was it?”

“It was me
...
” I
sighed.

“Well,” he sighed too. “I think I should see an urologist
or something.”

“I think you need a therapist, not an urologist.” I stood
up. “You’re being retarded.”

He did that thing that he did when he knew I was lying.
You know the look, kind of like last night and I caved. I cracked under the
pressure.

“Fine,” I threw my arms up in the hair. “I found a gray
hair and a stretch mark yesterday.” I wailed. “the kids are driving me insane
and I might add, I think the little one has decided against toilets and uses a
litter box. That’s weird, right?” His brow rose curiously and I slumped back in
the chair. “Please say something.”

He did the opposite of what I thought he would, he
laughed so hard he fell out of his chair.

Stupid husband.

I kicked him on the way to the bathroom to look for more
gray hairs and stretch marks. The older I got, the more I got. It was an
endless cycle as time passed, and it did pass quickly.

I couldn’t understand why Jameson didn’t find this a
matter of importance but then again I didn’t think him seeing a camshaft doctor
was important.

The part that was hard for me was gaining weight.

Over the years I’d gained weight. Gravity, the fucking
bitch, wasn’t helping.

With Axel I gained around thirty pounds of which ten
never left.

With Arie, I gained twenty-five and again five stayed.
Now with Casten, I only gained twenty but then again five became a permanent
fixture.

As a result, I’d packed on a good twenty pounds that
refused to leave but, placed in a way that I could get away with it without
people saying anything. I didn’t look bad either. For someone who was always
fairly small, I looked healthy and still kept good muscle tone. The only
problem was that most of my weight gain took up residence in my ass and I
became a five-foot two version on Jennifer Lopez without the tan.

Jameson never complained. Hell no, he loved curves. I may
have been tiny, in height, but I had curves that my dirty heathen loved. After
a while, I stopped trying to lose the weight and just loved my ass. After all,
it was softer to sit on. And who didn’t love a nice soft place to sit.

Not everyone adapted my theories on a softer place to
sit.

Emma tried relentlessly to lose the weight she’d gained
with the twins but she still carried a few extra pounds. She took weight
training classes, jogged with Jameson and then when he pushed her into oncoming
traffic as she didn’t understand that jogging was his attempt at relaxing, she
was forced to just accept the fact that she had a few extra pounds.

“I just don’t see why he won’t run with me.” Emma would
say to me.

“It might have something to do with the fact that you
never shut up.” I would tell her.

“That’s a lie. I was quiet for the first mile and after
that, well, that’s just unheard of for me.”

Emma just didn’t get it.

“I feel bad for her.” I said to Jameson later that night
when I accepted my cushion.

“Why?” Jameson didn’t look up from the lap top. More than
likely he was checking the points standing and not interested in Emma.

“She thinks she has to be a certain weight.” I came to
stand behind him. My hands ran up his arms to his shoulders.

“Well that’s stupid.” He looked up at me, eyes sparkling
as they always did. “She looks great the way she is.”

I smiled running my fingers through his hair. “You’re a
good brother despite trying to kill her.”

“Uh, she tried first when she stabbed me.”

“Are you ever going to let her live that down?”

He looked back down at the lap top. “No, probably not.”

Later than night, Jameson showed me just how much he
loved those curves and comfy seat I had when he attacked me in the kitchen
after the kids had gone to bed. He also showed me that he had no problems with
his camshaft and matching me stroke for stroke.

“Fuck honey,” his eyes darkened and I knew it was over.
“get those sexy fucking legs up here.”

I did. He was on his knees on the kitchen floor with me
spread out before him like the pit lizard days. Watching his muscles flex, he
positioned my legs on each one of his broad shoulders. His hands slipped to my
ass and squeezed.

“Don’t ever lose this.” He growled squeezing harder. It
was a good thing my ass cheeks were real or they would have popped right then.

“Oh I’ve tried. It’s not going anywhere.”

“Good.”

And those were the last words spoken before I was trying
to control my screams on our tile floor. It seemed inappropriate to be align
boring on the kitchen floor but then again, why did we put in heated floors if
not to hump on them occasionally?

Air Wrench – Jameson

I never really thought about how I would feel heading
into my tenth season in the NASCAR Sprint Cup series. Over time rules changed,
drivers changed, owners changed but one thing that remained all these years was
my support system.

My team pretty much the same as it was when I started,
aside from a few crew-members who shuffled back and forth between teams.

Our family still traveled with us. On any given weekend
at some point you’d find my wife, my kids, my parents and my siblings somewhere
at the track. We were all part of this. I think that’s why I was still in this
sport was because of my family. Without them, I honestly don’t think I could do
this each week.

My sponsor remained the same and over the winter we
signed another 5-year contract.

When I signed with Simplex, I had no idea they’d support
me throughout my entire career. Let’s face it, sponsors come and go but I had a
relationship with Marcus and Melissa now. We understood each other and they
trusted our team.

What didn’t change were the obsessed fans and pit
lizards.

It never failed—the women were everywhere at a NASCAR
race. So many times, I wished this wasn’t part of it but it was. Never wanting
Sway to get hurt, I never told her how many times I had to kick them out of my
motor coach or how many times they found my hotel room and showed up naked.

She didn’t need to hear that shit. Hell, I didn’t want to
hear it, but it was reality for me.

Dana Sloan finally moved on from stalking me to stalking
Shelby, I was pleased with this and Shelby seemed to enjoy it.

These days there was new pit lizards stalking me, and a
few of the old, Ashley being one of them.

When we were back in Daytona just before the Budweiser
shootout, she took it too far when she asked when she could go for a ride
again, in front of my daughter.

That was not okay with me.

Arie looked up at me with wide curious eyes as to why
another woman was flirting with her daddy. She may have only been seven but she
was fairly perceptive to this sort of thing. It happened that often.

“Don’t you
ever
say that to me again,” I warned
and tightened my grip on her arm pulling her away from Arie. “I don’t remember
a goddamn thing from that night. I was drunk. I woke up in a Safeway parking
lot. You need to get over the fact that it will
never
happen.”

I watched her expression carefully, my glare never
wavering. She needed to understand how serious I was about this.

“You’ll give in eventually Jameson, they all do.” she
stepped closer, her breath blowing across my face. “Just ask Bobby.”

Was she fucking serious?

I’d known Bobby since I started in cup ten years ago and
I never once thought he’d give into Ashley, of all women. Not to mention he was
married and had been for the last three years.

“I don’t give a shit what Bobby does, that’s not me
Ashley.” I told her firmly.

“Whatever Jameson,” She rolled her eyes.

“No, not whatever. You need to understand right now that
it will never happen. Stop coming on to me. Stop calling my wife, stopping
talking to my kids. Stop,” my voice continued to rise until I was nearly
yelling at her in the middle of the paddock with other team and media personnel
walking around.

“Fine,” she huffed stepping back. “I’ll leave you alone.
Just admit you had a good time.”

“I don’t even remember it. That right there should tell
you how good it was.” I knew I was hitting low but at this point, it was the
only option.

Tears pooled in her eyes and for a moment I thought she
was joking until her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You’re an asshole.” She mumbled and walked away,
finally
walked away.

You’re an asshole meant nothing these days. I heard it so
often it barely phased me anymore.

The following weekend, I caught up with Bobby just before
we began driver introductions for the Daytona 500 and asked about his
interactions with Ashley.