Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (40 page)

Exhaling heavily, he slid to one side nestling me against his chest.

I liked the nestling. Nestling was good.

We laid there quietly staring at each other, listening to the sounds of the wind and the occasion crack of thunder. The soft sounds of our breathing mixing with the sounds of the storm filled the salty air between us.

What was he sorry for? What did he say to me in Italian? I have to know, it’s driving me fucking mad.

“What did you say to me?” My words seemed to hang for a moment like the air between us seized.

“Huh?” His brow furrowed his gaze upon me, eyes guarded.

“In Italian, what did you say and why do you never finish what you’re going to say to me when we’re
...
” I motioned between our bodies.

His breathing increased and then he swallowed as though it was difficult to say. With my chin resting on his chest I could feel his heart beat quicken. “I
...
uh
...
” he pushed me gently from his chest and rolled to his side looking at me, his green eyes burning into my own. “Is this
...
what is this between us?” he asked, his voice was different, low and anxious, wary even. His eyes searched my own for any indication he could get.

“Friends with benefits
...
I
thought
.” I responded quickly.

“Is that all it is to you?”

“Is that all it is to you?” I countered without answering.

He was quiet for an entire minute, believe me, I counted all excruciating sixty seconds.

I have rarely seen Jameson struggle for words. He usually possessed an elegant poised grasp of most situations and his suave confidence bordered on cocky most of the time. Even when completely furious, he was never at a loss for words. Until now.

When he spoke, I was surprised at how tense and unsteady his voice had now become. “No
...
it’s not.”

My heart was beating a million miles an hour, thudding loudly in my ears. The blood was rushing rapidly throughout my body spreading like a summer wild fire. “It’s not for me either.” I agreed. “What did you say to me in Italian?”

His eyes closed and then slowly opened as though he was giving himself a pep talk. “What do you feel for me?” he asked softy, damn near inaudible.

“What?” My eyes searched his.

Still, I couldn’t tell him.

He sighed softly. “Sway, what is this for you? Don’t tell me you don’t feel something more for me. Don’t tell me this is just sex anymore, because it’s not Sway. I see it in your eyes—I feel it when you touch me. You
feel
something more for me.”

“It
never
was just about sex for me, Jameson.” I stated as a tear slipped down my cheek. He reached for my face brushing it away with his thumb. I could feel the trembling in his hand return. “What did you say?”

“I said,” he blinked quickly, his gaze falling to his hands. When his eyes returned, they were lustrous. “I said
...
I didn’t mean to fall in love honey.” The shock on my face must have registered because he hastened to add. “I’m sorry.”

“You fell in love, with me?” I gasped. I was expecting something along the lines of; I like you more than friends but not love!

He gave me a tentative but uneasy smile. “I did, I’m sorry.” His eyes dropped. “I know that I can’t be the man you need. I’m not
good
for you. I know that. I knew what I was getting myself into but I
had
to know. I had to know what it was like, to be like this with you, as though you were
only
mine—even if it was for only three weeks.”

“Huh?” I looked at him as if I had no idea what he just said. I really did have no idea what he said, or at least I couldn’t comprehend it.

I think my plan wasn’t my plan at all. I was so confused.

What just happened?

The confusion might have been because I was hyperventilating, and there was a serious lack of oxygen going to my brain once again.

“Are you okay?” he asked sitting up to look at me, his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder.

“I
...
how,” I drew in a much needed breath fumbling over my words and thoughts. “long have you
...
um
...
loved me?”

“A while,” He answered and placed a soft kiss on my shoulder. His fingertips danced lightly across the skin above my collarbone.

“How long?” I snapped.

“My grandpa used to tell me
...
you don’t give up what you know to get what you don’t know.” Jameson said softly, his eyes dropped to our hands.

Not understanding how that had anything to do with this, I asked again. “How long Jameson?”

“I couldn’t tell you, Sway.” He shook his head his hand fell from my shoulder and rested against the bed. “I’ve tried to look back and pin point a time but I think it just happened, gradually. Way before this started.” He pulled me against his chest. “I think it started when we were kids and just slowly developed over time. I avoided it for the longest time, pretending I didn’t feel that way but it just got to the point I couldn’t ignore it any longer. When I saw you in Charlotte, I knew I couldn’t
...
I just
...
had to know. It was hard enough letting you go after Dayton. I had to do something.”

“Jameson—” I lost it.

Falling against the mattress in a heap, I balled like a goddamn baby even as Jameson was frantically trying to comfort me.

“Sway,
oh god
, I’m sorry
...
I shouldn’t have said anything. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I fucked this up.” He chided himself. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What?” I sobbed scrambling to look up at him. “You
shouldn’t
have said anything? Christ almighty Jameson, are you blind?” I practically yelled causing his mouth to gap open.

“Huh?” It was his turn to look at me as if he had no idea what I just said.

“Jameson,” I shook my head and sat up to lean against the headboard. “I’m not mad that you love me. I’m mad that we wasted all this time because neither one of us had the brass balls to say it.”

“Did you just say brass balls and love in the same sentence.” He asked with a grin.

I slapped him across the face, not hard. “Pay attention.”

“Sorry, I got distracted by you saying balls.” He admitted with another grin.

“Seriously, you’re like a fucking child.”

He winked. “So you love me too?”

“More than you can ever imagine,” my head slumped at my admission. “It’s the pathetic pretend to like the same flavor of ice cream or music, type of love. Break your heart type love.”

He looked away when I said break your heart. “See, I’m not
...
” he paused. “we shouldn’t be together, Sway.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he half shouted in a strangled voice. “You need someone who will be there for you. Someone who can drop everything and run to you when you really need them
...
and you’re
gonna
need him.” He intoned and by the look on his face, I had a feeling he meant something by that but he continued. “You need someone who can lay in bed with you on Sunday mornings. You deserve someone who can call in sick to work, only to stay in bed with you all day. I
can’t
be that guy. As much as I want to be and as much love you, I’m
never
gonna be that guy for you. I just
...
can’t be.”

“So this was really only about sex then.” I deduced with a nod. “You knew nothing was going to change your feelings for me, that you weren’t going to give us a
real
chance?”

“Well it sounds worse than it really is when you say it like that,” He replied, his voice hard, “But
...
yes. I know I can’t offer you anymore than what we have right now.”

Sometimes, honesty just isn’t the best policy. He could have lied right then and I would have been okay with that.

“You know
...
don’t worry about it
...
let’s just enjoy our last few days of the dream.” I told him with a pathetic excuse for a smile staring off towards the candles on the dresser.

He wasn’t buying it but eventually, he gave up trying and left me alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t try to get me to talk to him, but what would I say? He basically just told me it wasn’t an option.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I felt like he used me for his own pleasure. Yeah, he supposedly loved me too but he knew damn well he wasn’t going to offer me anything more than a friendship with him. I’d never be girlfriend status—I’d never be wife status. I’d always be this pit lizard with
his
determined benefits.

Really though, how upset could I be about that when I used him for the same reason? I knew this wasn’t going to change anything and I fell anyways. I fell hard into this crazy-irrational-break-your-fucking-heart-logic.

Support group—here I come.

The next day it was back to reality and racing. I was thankful for the distraction the race weekend could provide.

The rest of the evening in Savannah, and this morning, we never spoke about what happened that night. It was probably a good thing because if I heard him say he loved me again, I’d start balling just as I did that night.

Jameson was racing in Sonoma California at Infineon Raceway, known to some as Sears Point. It was a two and a half-mile road course with a series of twelve complex twists and turns that go up and down hill. The track was noted for turns two and three that were banked on the driver’s right, providing a challenge to the driver because ordinarily the turn would be on their left.

Jameson wasn’t particularly fond of the track, as with any road course, but he managed to get the pole for the race so he obviously figured something out.

On Sunday morning, my last day of the pit lizards crazy-irrational-break-your-heart dream, we were all sitting around eating breakfast outside the teams hauler when Jameson’s phone beeped twice, letting him know someone was calling him.

He glanced down at the screen turning his head sideways. “I’ll be right back.” He whispered to me and then walked inside the hauler to take the call in private.

All of us looked at each other in confusion and then went back to eating.

About twenty minutes later, Jameson stepped out with a calloused expression. Walking past Spencer at the door, he moved to sit next to me again.

I thought he’d continue eating because let’s face it—the boy could eat. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his eyes fixated on his feet.

Concerned about the sudden change in his demeanor, I set my plate down on the table in front of me and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Who was that?”

He didn’t look away from his feet, just titled his head in my direction and whispered back. “Charlie.”