Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (37 page)

I giggled feeling him part my legs with his own, his camshaft positioned for insertion. His hands traveled up my arms and over my shoulders where he stopped and pulled my hair to the side so he could place kisses down my neck.

Jameson’s strong hands then traveled down my back and came to rest on my tattooed ass. Reaching between us, he slipped himself in, his hands gripping my ass tightly.

I think this is my new favorite position.

I looked around for a mirror but no such luck, so I looked over my shoulder back at him.

The moment I looked back at him over my shoulder, his eyes darkened and he lost it,
completely
lost it. His head fell back; his eyes fell closed as a “Fuck Sway” fell from his honey chocolate jazzled lips.

Slumping forward against me; his arms wrapped around my waist. “Sorry
...
I lost it when you looked back at me.” He panted.

“It’s okay. That was
amazing
...
” I went to turn around to face him but slipped and once again fell to the ground.

Thankfully, Jameson had already pulled out because Christ, we could have lost some important parts that way.

There we both were, lolling on the tile floor, covered in sticky sweet and laughing at each other.

“Should we clean this up?” he asked, motioning to the mess around the kitchen as he licked some chocolate from my finger.

“Probably, but—” I began but was interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening.

Jameson and I both gaped at each other in horror that we were naked, covered in sticky sweets, in his parent’s kitchen.

This by far transcends anything that’s happened in the last two weeks.

Jameson luckily reacted first reaching for clothes in any way he could, throwing my shirt and jeans at me, screw the underwear.

I went to put the shirt on when I realized the funbags were still covered in chocolate syrup.

Shit.

While I was trying to wipe them off Jameson stopped me. “Fuck Sway, just put your damn shirt on.” he snapped staring down at the funbags in all their chocolate glory.

“I’m covered in syrup and my tank top is white.” My eyes focused on his camshaft. It was
very
obvious what we had just been doing. “It’ll just soak right through my shirt.”

“Doesn’t matter!” his voice was frantic. “they are opening the door. Put your shirt on and stop staring at me.”

Pulling my shirt over my head, I forgot all about the chocolate and the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra.

Not only was I not wearing a bra but I wasn’t wearing underwear either. Nope, they were on the floor next to the fridge that Jimi was
now
standing.

He hadn’t looked down yet, instead his eyes were fixated on Jameson leaning against the counter with no shirt on, completely sticky and smirking.

This couldn’t have looked much worse.

Yep, transcends everything.

Jimi glared towards Jameson. Still not on speaking terms, Jameson offered his own glare. “What the fuck happened in here?”

Nancy walked in setting bags of groceries on the counter while I picked up the whip cream bottle from the floor.

Jameson tried to nonchalantly kick the honey away but their eyes fell to the floor when Jameson once again, slipped on the floor and falling sideways against the stove.

I giggled.

What else was I going to do?

“Never mind—I don’t even want to know.” Jimi shook his head stepping into the kitchen. His foot stuck to the floor when he stepped. “Okay
...
why is there fucking syrup everywhere? What the hell happened in here?”

By that point, I could hardly breathe I was giggling so much.

Jameson cracked under the pressure joining in with the giggles and ran his sticky hands through his hair, causing it to stick straight up.

“Uh
...
we
...
made waffles.” Jameson finally answered holding up a burnt waffle.

“It looks like a bunch of fucking four-year old girls made waffles.” Jimi replied looking to me for an answer. I couldn’t offer much more than a squeaked giggle snort and eventually a nod.

In the midst of all this, the chocolate had now mixed with the whip cream I was covered in seeping through my tank top. All this did was made it look like I was leaking chocolate milk from the funbags.

Jimi averted his eyes to the floor, away from the chocolate milk, only to see my hot pink bra at his feet.

Let me rephrase my previous statement, this could look worse.

Nancy looked down when Jimi finally chuckled. “Clean this mess up.” He was still laughing when he walked away.

“Jameson, my goodness, can’t you keep your hands off poor Sway for one morning.” Nancy chided pushing his shoulder and shaking her head slowly as though she was thoroughly disappointed in her son. “Here Sway—I’m sorry my son has no control.” She apologized handing me my bra and then looked back at Jameson. “Clean this up, Jameson.”

Tossing a towel his direction, she noticed his hip.

I giggled again when she grabbed him to get a better look. The tattoo was low enough that you couldn’t see it ordinarily when he didn’t have a shirt on but his shorts were unbuttoned and hanging rather low on his hips revealing the chiseled curve.

So there in plain view, running vertically up the cut line of his hip, were his tattoos on display for his mother.

Nancy shook her head again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with these kids.” She mumbled mostly to herself. “I
really
hope you two get married someday since you can’t stop humping in my house and branding yourself with each other’s names.” She slapped him on the chest. “Clean up.”

“Yes, mom,” Jameson laughed and started cleaning up.

I reached for another towel to assist when Jameson leaned down near my ear. “Did my mom just say hump and marriage in the same sentence?”

“Yep,”

While we were laughing we overheard Jimi on the phone with Alley. “What do you mean he drew a dick on the wall
...
you mean like a man dick
...
Christ
, I swear, these kids are not mine.”

On Tuesday night, we snuck out Charlotte to watch Justin and Tyler test sprint cars. It was a change from the sticky sweet day mostly because we were clothed. I had the biggest bruise sprawled across my hip from where I fell from the counter but other than that, the day was still providing laughs for us whenever we recalled Jimi’s reaction.

Jameson and I sat there on the tailgate of his Ford F-250 watching the cars whip around the track kicking up a cloud of dirt that hovered over the track in a thick layer. After a few laps, the cars came back into the infield where Tommy took notes. Jameson made his way towards them as Justin offered his feedback to Tommy.

Looking out over the track, I was reminded of how simple racing used to be for him. Now, it was far from that.

Heavy footsteps caught my attention, my eyes scanned the distance for the listless that contrasted the bellowing thunder of the engines that filled the air just moments ago.

Jameson approached with a beer in hand. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly when he heard the sharp growl of a 410 sprint roaring to life. The sound really was addicting.

Securely seated next to me once again, we watched the car drift smoothly through the turns. My focus was more on Jameson as he observed the way the cars jerked sideways on the front stretch.

His long fingers grasped the neck of the beer bottle gauging a group of bystanders waiting for a glimpse of him. It seemed news spread that Jameson was here. Reality was waiting for him.

Instead, he looked beyond them bringing the beer to his lips. Before taking a drink, he sighed. “I miss this.” He tipped his head towards the track.

I nodded knowing my remarks weren’t needed, he knew I understood.

The bottle in his hand drifted my direction. “Thirsty?”

Shaking my head, I curled my legs up to me chest wrapping my arms around them as a breeze blew across the dirt. Times like this, I understood why I saw that vulnerability in him. He longed for the clouds and drizzle of the Northwest and a time where all he knew was sprint cars as that’s where this dream of racing formed.

I still saw that side of Jameson emerge racing in the cup cars but now it was overshadowed by the dramatics of it all.

Aside from the day at track earlier in the week, Jameson had absolutely no free time during the day so that meant I spent my days with Emma.

By Thursday, I was contemplating killing myself as drastic as that sounded. I could only handle her for a few hours at a time before I needed a nap to recoup.

The only thing that made everything better was spending the evening with Jameson, wrapped in his arms, without an inch of space.

There were times late at night, after he’d fallen asleep, where I just watched him sleep. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, how much I wanted this to work, and how much I didn’t want to leave next week.

Knowing I spent the last few years attending college so I would be in a position to help my dad, I had obligations now. Charlie needed me there to help.

As it was, he only had a handful of staff there to help. When you’re running an entire track with only four people, you needed all the help you could get.

Once we arrived in Brooklyn Michigan, Jameson, putting aside the events of last weekend’s fine, was in race mode again and focused on racing. Being one of his favorite tracks his mood improved.

Michigan International Speedway was a two-mile moderately banked D-shaped superspeedway. Some even refer to it as the sister track to Texas World Speedway because of its wide racing surface and high eighteen degree banking. It’s extremely fast with the average speed entering the corners around two hundred and five miles per hour due to its wide sweeping corners and long straight-aways.

On Friday, Jameson had just left to qualify, which left me with Emma, Nancy, Alley, and Jimi in the garage area.

“Emma, honey, it’s like ninety five degrees. Take that damn scarf off.” Nancy said as she pulled on the bright red scarf Emma had been wearing since we left Pocono.

“No, that’s okay.” Emma tried to say but it was useless when the red scarf fell to the ground beside her. As luck would have it, she had her back turned to Jimi, giving her parents a full view of her Trash-R-Us token.

You couldn’t miss the sharp intake of breath both Jimi and Nancy inhaled at the sight of their youngest child’s neck.

Emma slowly turned around with panic-stricken eyes to meet Jimi’s enraged eyes.

It took him a moment to be able to speak but when he did, they entire garage area turned and gawked.

“Emma Lynn Riley,
what
the fuck is that on your neck?” Jimi shouted.

Various members of Jameson’s crew chuckled knowing what Emma had done last week. Though this was news to her parent’s, most everyone else had discovered the tattoo.