Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (6 page)

“No
...
I was distracted.”

“Pay attention,” he placed his hand under my chin, his eyes gauging. “Chelsea’s here.”

“What?” I started to panic. What would Chelsea be doing here, in Charlotte, at a NASCAR race of all places? This was just unacceptable to me for a number of reasons I’m sure you could understand. “You mean Chelsea Adams, as in your ex-girlfriend?”

He nodded flinching at the word “girlfriend”.

“She’s here because she’s dating Tate Harris
...
so I’ve heard.” Jameson let his hand fall from my face leaning back into the couch and groaned. “I think she’s trying to make me jealous or something but
fuck
, I haven’t seen her in five years.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Jealous
...
?”

“No
...
” He gasped, his features revolted. “she can fuck every racer out there for all I care. She’s a bitch.”

“So
...
?”

“Listen,” he slowly turned his head to look at me. “I just wanted you to know she was here so you weren’t surprised if you saw her. She’s always been jealous of you and I would hate for her to start something tonight.”

“Eh, no worries buddy.” I said dismissively. “You saw what I did to Spencer earlier.”

Jameson laughed loudly. “I’d pay you a million dollars if you threw a spring at her.”

I grabbed his hand with mine shaking it. “Deal,”

“Hurry up asshole.” Alley beat against the door. “You have one minute.”

“All right,” Jameson rolled his eyes. “Be there in a second.” He looked back over at me, and then my legs. “Not what I need to be thinking about.” He murmured with a pensive frown.

The door slammed behind him leaving me wondering what that meant. I sat there for a minute before Emma came back in. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” I followed Emma towards the grid where the cars were starting to line up along pit road in the order they qualified. The setting sun provided a shin over the cars that reminded me of a Saturday night at the local tracks.

Everything on pit road kicked into high gear about three hours before the race with crews setting up shop. Most of the time pit road doesn’t cool down for about two hours after the race. It’s the most stressful part of the track and swarming with various crew members, visitors, officials and drivers.

One word of advice, don’t touch anything and don’t get in their way. They all have a job to do and one simple mistake can cost them the win. I repeat, don’t touch anything. And yes, I say this from experience in all my times spent in the pits at the local dirt tracks. This was no different. Believe me, these guys have
everything
where they want and need it. Just simply moving a hammer can set everyone off.

I wanted to stay down there until the race started and watch Jameson get in the car, something I really enjoyed about Daytona, but I decided against it when I saw Chelsea hovering around.

An encounter with her wasn’t ideal for me since I hadn’t seen her since high school.

She looked the same, honey blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. Her jeans appeared to be painted on and her shirt was so low that I thought I saw a nipple.

I hated her. Maybe despised was a better word. To put it simple, she was perfect and I was plain. She looked like she belonged on a cover magazine and I looked like I belong at the strip club at the way I was dressed.

Casually, Chelsea looked my direction eventually towards Jameson’s car but didn’t make eye contact with me. She probably didn’t recognize me with so little clothing.

Emma caught on by the look on my face. “Rub your tits on the car.”

I choked on my own spit, which is easy to do when you think about it. A quick inhale with the right amount of saliva and you’ve accomplished this. “What?”

“You know, mark your territory.” She pushed me towards the car and I stumbled against the front fender. “Rub you tits on the car.”

I spun around and slapped her across the face, not hard, but enough that I felt I got my point across to her. “There’s something wrong with you.”

Emma did have a point.

I
should
mark my territory but I wasn’t about to give that little bitch the satisfaction of realizing I was jealous. Not gonna lie, I did think about turning around but decided to keep walking towards the grandstands. There were camera’s everywhere, surely, I’d be caught and Charlie would blow a head gasket if he saw the funbags on display for national television.

Before driver introductions began Emma, Alley and I made our way to the private suite in the upper Terrace Ford grandstands. Jameson’s sponsor, Simplex Shocks and Springs, had the entire room rented out—most of which was occupied by corporate representatives but his family was also up there.

I had yet to see Jimi and Nancy so when I walked into the suite, I wasn’t surprised to see them already sitting there with Lane, who was bouncing up and down with his little Simplex hat and shirt on. He looked adorable sporting his Uncles gear.

“Where’s Aiden?” Jimi asked towards Emma, his cell phone to his ear.

“
...
uh
...
how should I know,” She mumbled, I could tell she was starting to get nervous.

“Cut the shit, Emma.” Jimi glared her direction. “Kyle needs to talk to him.”

Emma sighed in relief, visibly relaxing. “He is in the spotter stands.”

Jimi turned back to his phone and began talking to Kyle again while I made my way over to Nancy.

“I’m so glad you could make it sweetie.” Nancy swept me into a hug. “We’ve missed you.”

Over the years, Nancy Riley had become a mother to me. Since my mom died when I was only six, I needed womanly advice from time to time—Nancy never let me down.

Even the time I started my period in class in the eighth grade, she was there to take me to the store for tampons and even showed me how to use the damn things since the kid behind the counter at the mini-mart couldn’t show me.

This was also not something I would allow Charlie to do.

Could you blame me?

It looked as though a homicide took place in my underwear. I hardly wanted to share that with anyone let alone
my dad
. I had a hard enough time convincing myself I wasn’t dying. I honestly thought I was bleeding internally.

“I’m glad I did too.” I sniffled against her shoulder letting an emotional tear or two slip. “I hate being away from everyone.”

Before I had a chance to really have an emotional breakdown, Emma nudged my shoulder.

With a good amount of enthusiasm, I stood up and looked down towards the center of the track in time to see Jameson approach the line of drivers waiting to be introduced and Lane running towards me.

“Auntie Sway!” he screamed.

I reached down and picked him up. “Hey buddy, how are you?” I tickled his sides and he squirmed in my arms, letting out a small giggle. “Look, who’s that?” I pointed towards Jameson who walked onto the stage as the track announcer said his name.

“Jameson Riley, driver of the No. 9 Simplex Ford!”

The entire place erupted with screams that was almost deafening as they caught a glimpse of Jameson approaching the stage.

“Where my daddy at?” Lane asked Alley as I handed him over to her.

“He’s in the pits buddy,” she ruffled his honey-dusted hair. “If you watch closely right there you can see him when uncle Jameson pits.” She pointed to Jameson’s pit stall. “He will be the one carrying the jack.”

Spencer was on Jameson’s over the wall pit crew who took the jack around both sides of the car during the pit stops.

Smiling, I took a deep breath when Lane started rambling on about Jameson and how he was going to be a race car driver just like him someday.

My focus wasn’t with this adorable boy but with greatness below making his was on stage. Jameson stopped, waved to the crowd and then made his way from the stage, the vulnerability undulating from his quick humble exit from the overpowering crowd.

This was all so new to him that he hadn’t had a chance to adapt to it. He stumbled through his freshman season so far, though he was doing well, he wasn’t interested in politics of it all and the ever present curiosity into his alluring mystique. Racing, for Jameson, was an outlet for so much more than anyone would ever understand.

Taking in the sights before me, though I mentioned this before, I hadn’t realized just how popular of a driver he had become. Just his demeanor today indicated the change.

Everywhere I looked people wore hats, shirts, jackets, and foamy fingers all with his name and number.

My best friend
was
a super star.

Once driver introductions were finished, the National Anthem was sung, jets flew overhead, and the drivers were in their cars, I put on the headset Jimi handed me.

When I was in Daytona, I didn’t get to listen to his in car audio and I was a little disappointed so Jimi let me listen this time. Emma and Alley followed suite in putting on their headsets.

Lane wanted to listen but Alley made it clear Jameson had a potty mouth so he couldn’t listen.

The kid pouted for a good ten minutes just like his father. Lane and Spencer’s personalities were spitting images of each other but Lane resembled Alley with his honey blonde hair and blue eyes.

Eventually my favorite saying was announced over the speakers: “Gentlemen, start your engines!”

And the defining roar that followed vibrated my entire body even in the suite. There’s something to be said about forty-three cars starting their engines at the same time. The smell, the rumbling in your chest when the engines revved, I was in race car heaven.

“All right boys, let’s have good race here. Keep focused.” Kyle said over the radio talking to Jameson and the crew. “It’s a long race, let’s keep our heads.”

All the over the wall crew, the spotter, crew chief, car chief, and driver could speak to each other throughout the race. The only people who spoke directly to Jameson during the race though were Kyle, Aiden since he was the spotter, and his teammate Bobby Cole.

Kyle was able to talk to Jimi if needed, Mason Bryant the car chief who delivered orders to the crew, and other drivers crew chiefs. Kyle also had direct lines to the engine specialist, Harry, and the tire specialist Tony. From time-to-time, engine or tire issues were brought up throughout the race and Kyle could get advice from them when needed.

The cars were making their way onto the track when Terry Barnes, one of the announcers with ESPN tapped into Jameson’s radio. “Hey Jameson, it’s Terry, you copy?”

“Yep,” Jameson said, the radio cracked echoing static.

“So kid, you got the pole, think you got a chance?”

“I think we do. It’s a long race and lot can happen but we’ve got a fast race car.”

God his radio voice was even sexy.

“Well—good luck kid,” Terry said. “It’s a long race, take your time.”

“Thanks.”

Jameson was quiet on the radio for a lap as he warmed the tires and talked with Bobby who was starting third behind him. I watched closely as he scrubbed the tires in a back-and-forth controlled swerving motion they used that warmed and softened the rubber on the tires. They did this for better traction and speed.