Hot Laps (29 page)

Speed – Speed is the rate of motion of an object.

I wasn’t sure what to make of seeing the Riley family all together. So far this was
my first time meeting his mother, with me fully clothed, and the rest of the clan.

His brother, Axel, was there with his wife and two boys, as well as the one cooking
in Lily’s stomach. She barely looked pregnant. Not even a bump that I saw and turns
out she was four months pregnant. Anyhow, his nephews, Jack and Jonah, were adorable
little versions of Axel except with blonde hair and blue eyes.

Jonah, the two-year-old, had these long curly eyelashes and a freckled nose. When
he looked up at you, his eyes were all you saw. They reminded me of Casten in a way.
And, sure enough, Jonah was a Casten lover.

As soon as they spotted their uncle, both boys and Abigale, who I had yet to meet
in person, came running toward him.

Jameson laughed, smiling at me. “He’s a fan favorite around here.”

He was right. Casten was a good uncle and quickly become engrossed in their little
games they wanted to play of him giving each one of them piggyback rides and crawling
on all fours to chase them around the small patch of grass next to the motor home
parked at the campsite.

In the distance was the lake but surrounding the campsite was a small fire pit, two
motor homes, and three different tents.

Willie, Dave, and two other drivers who raced for Jameson, Rager and Cody, were apparently
at a hotel closer to the track with the haulers and decided against camping.

After a few hours, I kind of understood why.

It was crazy.

Sway and Jameson had disappeared into their motor home. Axel and Lily were at the
lake with Jack, who insisted on swimming up until the very last second they had to
leave for the track. Casten was still chasing Jonah and Abigale. Spencer, Cole’s dad
who I finally met, introduced himself.

“Fuck, you really did get bit, didn’t you?” I could tell instantly he was Cole and
Lane’s dad.

Slightly bigger than Jameson, you could tell they were brothers. Same eyes, just different
colors and same hair texture, again different colors.

Spencer’s seemed darker and had some gray shades to it now; however, it was cut shorter
on the sides and messier in the front. Jameson’s was short and about the same length
as his beard he sported these days.

“You know,” I began when Spencer handed me another beer from the place I’d been sitting
since I got there. “Let me ask you something, Spencer …” I paused for the effect and
he smiled, leaning forward on his elbows his hands wrapped around the silver beer
can in front of him. “How long have you known Tommy?”

Spencer seemed to think about that answer for a minute, then shrugged, making eye
contact with me. “Since we were kids.”

“Okay … in all that time did you ever think he was smart?”

He laughed and answered immediately. “No. Never.”

“Then why is it surprising to anyone that he put a snake in Casten’s truck?”

“He’s just never done anything
that
stupid.”

See, that made sense, but knowing what I knew about Tommy, he seemed to be fairly
naïve. I honestly don’t think he knows what’s dangerous and what’s not.

Spencer made his way back to his wife after that, who was fully engrossed in her granddaughter,
Abigale.

That’s when Casten found me again and wrapped his bare arms around me. It never took
long for him to remove his shirt once he was free to…I didn’t mind one bit.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, kissing the side of my neck.

Part of me thought maybe with him being around his family I might see a different
side of him. I wasn’t sure how his family would react to me and while they all seemed
welcoming, you just never know if you’re that girl they smile at, then turn around
and roll their eyes while calling you every other slutty word they could think of
behind your back.

None of the Riley family seemed that way.

The Harris family, we were different. Walk away and we made fun of anything we could
think to poke fun at.

While I grew up around that judgmental presence, it was nice to have this laid back
atmosphere.

“You okay?” Casten asked, giving a nod to my toe.

“I’m good.” I said to Casten who moved me on his lap. It might not have appeared
appropriate, but I straddled him.

He groaned and set me beside him pulling at his shorts like Tommy had done earlier.
“Shit, this might be hard today.”

“It’s been two days …” I sighed, feeling pitiful with my foot all jacked up. Didn’t
exactly feel sexy.

“I think I can make it up to you in ways you’ll approve,” he breathed against my neck
as he leaned over and kissed the pebbled skin.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jameson walk up, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt
now and his bag in hand. “Knock it off,” he said to Casten letting his bag knock into
his son as he walked by.

Casten laughed, rocking backward slightly. “Ready for some dirt track racing?”

As I looked around, it seemed everyone was making their way over to the cars and trucks
parked in front of the campsite.

“All I can say is that if there’s a snake, or any other animal that bites me, don’t
count on me building you another fuck fort.”

He pretended to be hurt and his eyes did this slow blink. “That’s an awful thing to
say. I had nothing to do with that snake.”

He didn’t, and I didn’t blame him for it. I also couldn’t have him thinking he was
off the hook either.

I gave him a glare and then allowed him to carry me to the truck.

We left for the track around one that afternoon. The track, about an hour from the
lake, was out in the middle of nowhere, dry and dusty. When you entered the grounds,
a white sign with black letters led you inside the grounds of the half mile D-shaped
clay track.

Welcome to Devil’s Bowl Speedway

I’ve been to dirt tracks before so this wasn’t my first time. It was my first time
to Devil’s Bowl and Texas Nationals. I’ve been to nearly every NASCAR track at one
time or another as well.

And this was my first time with the pit experience, too.

While everyone seemed to have something to do at the track, I stayed seated in a chair
next to Jameson’s hauler watching everything. Occasionally someone would come by me
and ask if I needed anything, but other than that, I was on my own.

Casten was helping his brother, who’d apparently blown a motor the other night in
El Paso.

It was hot and if I wouldn’t have been wearing a sundress, I probably would have spread
my legs to allow a breeze up there, had there been one.

Eventually, I got bored and walked over to them standing beside Axel’s car they’d
just replaced the engine in.

“What are they doing?” I pointed at the ground beside Axel’s car. “What’s that box?”

“They’re putting heat in the engine.” His chin rested on my bare, sunburnt, shoulder.
The faint scruff of his jaw scraped against me. “Methanol, the alcohol they use in
the engines—”

Menthol? Finally, a term I knew. “Like cough drops?”

Casten, now dressed in black shorts that matched the rest of the team and a JAR Racing
button down short sleeved shirt, lifted his chin and turned me around to face him,
his brow quirked in both confusion and amusement. “Yes, like cough drops. They just
put the cough drops inside the engine and it starts.”

He was joking with me. Ass.

I shook my head. “Never mind.”

I tried to walk away but he grabbed my shoulders bringing me back against his chest
and wrapping his arms over my chest holding me there. He kissed my shoulder again.

“Alcohol, not cough drops, but methanol which is what sprint cars run off of. You
know, like your piece of shit Corolla runs off gas or ethanol, well, sprint cars use
methanol.” He kissed my earlobe and then continued. “Alcohol burns very cool. The
engines don’t need a lot of cooling either because they don’t produce a lot of heat
internally. So with a sprint car,” he gestured toward Axel’s car once more, “when
they get out on the track it’s a sprint, usually under twenty-five laps and fewer
than that in the first part of the night. They need the engine to be up to temp by
the time the green flag is thrown.”

“What happens if it’s not, you know, up to temp?” I shifted my hips and, in turn,
rubbed my ass against him. You can guess his reaction. He pressed forward giving me
a good indication that he was enjoying it.

“Well, if an engine isn’t up to temperature and race ready,” he pressed forward once
again. I sighed. The heat of the day, the smell of him wrapped around me, it was all
so wonderful. “It causes premature failure, or premature wear.”

Tommy walked up to us, beer in hand and smiled at me, then winked. “It’s like not
waiting until a woman is wet. You go out there and expect power when it’s cold and
you’re asking for problems. No one likes a
dry
track either.” He winked again. “We like ‘em
moist
and
slick
.”

Oh my God.

Tommy and Casten exchanged a look I couldn’t see and then I felt Casten smile. “It
also reduces start up wear on the engine and produces maximum horsepower as soon as
they’re on the track.”

“How long does it take to get them up to temperature?”

Tommy, who was beside Casten, let out a laugh and then walked back over to Axel who
was looking at us curiously. I heard Tommy holler over the sound of the sprint cars
rumbling two pits down. “He’s telling her about putting heat in an engine.”

Axel rolled his eyes and walked between the haulers and up the hill to watch track
preparation.

“Hour and a half,” Casten finally answered.

I turned this time in his arms to look at him. The sunlight blinded me but I saw enough
to know he was smiling down at me. “Good thing I don’t take that long.”

“Very good thing,” he reached forward and grabbed me by the hand and into him. “Let’s
take a walk.”

I knew exactly where we were going. That announcer’s booth he showed me earlier.

And I couldn’t fucking wait.

Casten had a key to the announcer’s booth, how I don’t know and didn’t care. There’s
something about doing it in public that’s thrilling for any girl.

When you’re strung out on pain pills and beer, it’s just that much more exciting if
you ask me.

Once inside the booth, I was on my knees and tugging at his belt. He had no objections
and let his shorts fall to the floor around his ankles. Slowly, I palmed down his
dick, excited to have it in my mouth once again.

No objections from him.

“Fuck my mouth!” I said around him, gurgling and gagging, but still doing everything
I could to get it all in my mouth. Casten slumped forward, his hands on the table
behind me and then started moving his hips. With one hand securely supporting him
and had the other wrapped around the back of my head slamming himself inside my mouth
repeatedly.