Open Wheel

by Shey Stahl

  Fearing we were gonna get caught, my eyes opened when I heard laughter. No one could see us, but it brought me back to reality. Arie was still rocking into my hips. My orgasm was nearly there, throbbing. I fought hard, not wanting my time to end with her.

  “You feel so good,” I grunted as my movements sped on their own volition, needing the release, wanting it, ready to let go. Who the fuck cared if I came in my pants? I didn’t at that point.

  She tightened her embrace, her knees squeezing together around my waist, and I lost all sense of existence.

  Until she spoke.

  “I want you to fuck me, so bad…”

  My hands on her hips moved to the nape of her neck, grasping a handful of her hair. “I could fuck you right here, and you’d never go back to him. You’d never be the same,” I warned, letting her know how it would be, had I given in.

  “Then do it,” she urged me, arching her back a little so her breasts were in my face, taunting me.

  I could. But would I?

  My orgasm was there, on the edge, one more movement and I’d let go completely. I wanted it so bad…just this once.

  Let her get you off. Do it. Just let her move once more.

  Taking a firm grip on her hips, I halted her movements, staring up at her. “Stop…I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”

  She stared at me with flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “Isn’t that the point?” She moaned against my lips. “A little release while we can.”

  “The point is you’re just teasing me again.” I shot her a glare, pushing her back gently, my mood instantly sour for the situation, because when I looked at her, something in me told me she wasn’t leaving him. With a quick movement, I had her off my lap and standing in front of me. Slowly, I stood, dragging my body up hers so she could feel the heat from mine scorch her skin. “The point is I’m fucking obsessed with this, and you’re teasing me. You’re never gonna give into me. You’re just fuckin’ with my head. You’re offering something I desperately want, but can’t have.”

  Desperately wasn’t even the right word. Seemed indescribable for what I really wanted.

  “I would offer you more…if I could,” she said, jerking back like she was shocked by the truth.

  “And that’s my point.”

  Reaching down, I grabbed my beer from the cup holder on the chair and slammed the door to my motor home.

  “The point is I’m fucking obsessed with this, and you’re teasing me. You’re never gonna give into me. You’re just fuckin’ with my head.”

  That was what he thought. I was just fucking with him.

  I wanted to tell him I was getting a divorce and I wasn’t just fucking with him. It was never that when it came to Rager. It was me not being able to let go of where my heart really belonged.

  The roar of the cars on the track during the last chance qualifier brought me back from staring at Hayden beside me, who was actually having a conversation with me.

  “You’re a bitch. You never listen to me,” she said, handing the man in front of her a bag with two t-shirts in it.

  He looked at her, as if she was referring to him, and then walked away.

  “People are weird in Vegas,” she mumbled, reaching in the box at her feet to restock the shirts.

  “He thinks you called him a bitch, and you’re saying he’s weird?” I laughed, catching a glimpse of Easton walking toward me, his sunglasses on, dark jacket over his gray Simplex Polo. The Dirt Track was located right next door to Las Vegas Motor Speedway. Which meant the Cup guys showed up for the Wednesday night races since that was the night they arrived in town usually and had nothing going on.

  “Not him…her…” Hayden peeked over the counter and pointed to a girl wearing leather pants and a string bikini top.

  “Oh…”

  She was right. People were weird in Vegas.

  SEEING HOW THE dirt track was next to the Speedway, I knew Easton was going to make an appearance, considering Rager was around. Status maybe. The idea made me a little mad because it seemed he was going for show now.

  When Easton reached us, I was in the Outlaws merchandise hauler getting ready to head back to the pits for the feature event and to post the status updates and tweets on social media.

  “You headin’ over to watch?” he asked, beer in hand, giving a nod to the track behind him. It was hard to hear him over the roar of the cars on the track.

  “Yeah, give me a minute.” And then I realized he was going to watch a main event for the Outlaws. Easton hadn’t been focused on open wheel racing since before we were married. Why now? “Are you watching?”

  He shrugged, glancing down at his phone in his hand. “Why not? There’s nothing else going on.”

  When I stepped down from the hauler, Easton immediately reached for my hand, taking it in his own. A crowd formed around us as we walked, all wanting to have Easton’s autograph or touch the now two-time NASCAR Champion.

  He was polite, as usual, but I had to get into the pit stands to start taking care of announcing the line-up on Twitter. Letting go of his hand as he signed autographs for a group of women, I walked ahead to the haulers to grab my radio and then to the pit bleachers.

  By the time I made it there, Easton had finally returned and sat next to me. “Sorry about that.”

  Are you really?

  Shrugging, I took my phone in my hand. “It’s fine, Easton.”

  “Ladies and gentleman…” Jerry started the introductions of the drivers as they rolled one by one onto the half-mile clay oval track. My dad had snagged fast time for the night, but because of the inversion, he’d be starting fourth. That left Rager on the pole and Axel beside him on the front row.

  Though he wasn’t going to race this year, Lily had up and filed for divorce on him and took the kids since what happened at Volusia. It left only racing for him. Judging by his attitude, it’d done a number on his aggression and drive to be the best.

  “He’s racing now?” Easton asked when we sat in the bleachers, gesturing with a nod of his head at Axel as he and Rager lined up side by side.

  “Yeah.” I really didn’t feel the need to explain everything that happened in Volusia. And I doubted he cared at this point.

  The race ran like the last few, mostly green and dried out in the first few laps, leaving one line of racing. Rager was dominant, just like he was in the heat race and hot laps.

  My knees bounced, trying to contain my nerves when I noticed Rager was winning. I held my breath when he came out of turns one and two and down the backstretch into three and four for the win.

  Some thought—like Easton—racing these cars was easy compared to being in one for four hours.

  When you raced sprint cars, you go all out for twenty minutes. It was nothing like stock cars where you were in the car for two, sometimes three or four hours. You had twenty minutes tops to make your move and win. And you needed to win. There was no way around it. You had to win.

  If you’re not winning, you’re out of a ride. It was just the way it was.

  When the checkered flag was thrown, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Easton watched me closely. For what reason, I wasn’t sure. Probably trying to see what my reaction was going to be.

  I didn’t go down to the track when Rager brought his car back around to retrieve his trophy and talk to the media.

  “I’m heading out.” Easton gave a nod to the pits of the Speedway where Rager was now standing, watching us. “You staying at the hotel, or with me.”

  “At the hotel.”

  Kissing me, more intimately than needed, he said nothing more and began to walk off.

  That pissed me off, because really, was this all necessary?

  “You know,” at my voice, he paused, turning his head to look at me, “I don’t really understand what this is about. Is it about keeping secrets, or trying to make him jealous? Because I really can’t tell now.” Pushing my hair from my face, I waited, gauging his reaction.

  His glare w
as masked by the sunglasses, his hands shoved inside the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t care if he’s jealous.” And then he nodded to the pits. “Have you fucked him already? I know something’s happened by his reaction when I kissed you.”

  “You care if he’s jealous,” I said, ignoring his comment. “Don’t lie.”

  “I’ll stop lying when you do.”

  I was so tired of this I didn’t even have the energy to react to him, but I did reply. “Fuck you, Easton.”

  “Nope.” His laugh was cynical. “You won’t do that either.”

  Would it be too much to ask if he was hit by a car in the pits and unable to walk? Maybe then he wouldn’t be walking away all the time, trying to purposely have the last word.

  Turning around, I made sure the hauler was locked and then rounded the corner into the pits to find Jerry.

  “Where’s your husband going?” Rager asked, sarcasm lacing his voice.

  You mean my soon to be ex-husband?

  Drawing in a heavy breath, I let it out, preparing myself for what he was going to say. Since last night when he shoved me off his lap, after which I might add was the best fucking orgasm of my life, he hadn’t spoken to me.

  “When you’re with him…do you think of me?” His voice lingered, wrapped around my mind like the suffocating vise it was for me these days.

  And then I was pissed. I was so tired of this shit between the two of them, most of which I was probably creating myself.

  I shoved against Rager’s chest, trying to create some distance, but he was drunk—fresh off the win—sleepy-lidded eyes and pink cheeks, so he pushed back, trapping me against the side of the hauler. “I know you do. You want me, and you know he’s not good enough.”

  “Rager…” I sighed, sinking into the cool metal against my back, a place I’d always felt comfortable around. Until now.

  “Why are you with him?” His lips barely moved over the words, his eyes penetrating my soul with their depth. He knew things I didn’t even need to say.

  “What?”

  “I heard you.”

  “Heard me? What are you talking about?”

  He swallowed over what seemed like a lump in his throat, his feet shifting, but his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re not happy.”

  It took me a moment because my mind raced to try to understand what this was. Last night he pushed me away, now he was here, trapping me against his hauler, demanding I tell him I wasn’t happy. My eyes focused on his, my brow scrunched in determination. “I think you’re bi-polar. What the fuck was that last night? And now you’re asking me things like this?”

  He shrugged. Fucking shrugged like any of this was normal or made sense.

  “We ready?” Lane asked, coming around the corner, gesturing to his truck. “Time to celebrate Vegas style!”

  Rager stepped back from me and gave Lane a nod, and then began to walk away.

  I went to walk away myself, then looked back at Rager, watching his retreat.

  His hands were in the pockets of his cargo shorts, head bent forward. Turning, maybe knowing I was watching him, a smug smile came over him. I knew what that meant. There was still a tenderness present, letting me know he cared, but there was an expression, something about his words I didn’t understand. It was in the way his eyes shifted to mine. But still, there was a faint condescending smile present.

  Couldn’t ignore that either.

  WE WERE IN Vegas, so obviously we were going to party. My biggest mistake was thinking that I could be around Rager and be drunk at the same time at a club of all places. It never worked out for us. Look at last night and the camp chair. Exactly my point.

  It started slowly, one drink at a time. With every drink, I told myself, stop, you’re getting in too deep. Don’t do this.

  Rager seemed to be thinking the same thing, but it didn't stop him from downing shot after shot.

  I stayed away from him, sitting by Casten and Hayden until I couldn't get the bartender’s attention.

  Standing, I nodded to the bar. “I'll be back.” Casten and Hayden paid me no attention.

  When I made it to the bar, I attempted to flag down someone to get a drink, but didn't have much luck. I must have stood there for ten minutes when I felt him approach me from behind. I knew exactly who it was. I knew because of the way my body reacted around him. It was never subtle. Sweaty palms and shaking hands, but I steadied my breathing to keep from giving myself away. It usually started with my heart pounding, and then my body would tremble all over, just from the feelings for the one man I would never have. Rager.

  “What?”

  He pushed against me, his hips against my ass, arms around me and resting on the bar in front of me. “Do you think of me when he's fucking you?” By the scent of his whiskey-warm breath, I knew he’d been drinking too much tonight.

  “Stop it.” I turned around so my back was pressed against the bar, our chests touching. He exhaled, I inhaled, the same dance we always did. His lazy lids closed, then slowly drifted open, giving me that shocking blue that held me under its captivating power.

  “Don’t you see…I would if I could?”

  Rager was drunk. Shit-faced. Completely. And when he was drunk, he was bolder, said things he didn't mean, or, in some cases, had the courage to say what he did. “Can he get you off like I can?”

  My lips pursed as I tried pushing back on his chest, but he wasn’t having it. “Why are you saying these things to me tonight?”

  “Because I want to know why you keep coming back. You say it’s where your heart is…but what about mine?”

  “What?” Around us, the music pulsed to the rhythm of my rapidly beating heart from having him this close. I never had this reaction around Easton.

  “Can’t you see that it’s not even me loving you and you loving him anymore?”

  I don’t love him. I love you. Always.

  “Then what is it?”

  By the look on his face, he didn't even know.

  “It’s about me not being able to leave you alone.”

  “Try.”

  “Don’t you think I would if I could? You control me! I'm tired of it. I hate what this has done to me. I’m so fucking sick of this and making it worse. But I always come back to you. Every fucking year…weak, pathetic, and in love with someone who fucks with my head.”

  The bartender finally appeared. “What’ll it be?”

  I turned, immediately. “Shot of tequila.”

  “Make it two,” Rager said, low-toned, reaching around me to place a twenty on the bar. When the shots arrived, I took mine, as did Rager.

  Squeezing my eyes shut at the burn, I slapped the shot glass back down and turned to face him again, liquid courage firing me up. “If you hate what it's done, why don't you find someone to fuck around with? I know you do.”

  It was meant to be a low blow and he took it that way.

  “I’m curious...Do you get a thrill out of torturing me? Is that it?”

  My face crumbled at his words, he saw it, too. Shocked, blinking rapidly. “Jesus, you just become an all-around dick sometimes, don’t you?”

  Rager tossed his own shot glass on the bar. It slid off the side and onto the floor, shattering behind the bar, his eyes nearly pleading. “Don’t sit here and tell me I’m the asshole when you’re fucking torturing me. You know you are. And you’re married, but yet you’re here, giving me these looks. It wasn’t as bad when you weren't around, but when you are…I can’t think.”

  The bartender jumped back at the sound of the glass. “Hey, you're paying for that!”

  Rager never acknowledged the bartender, instead, his eyes remained locked with mine. “Fuck it,” he grumbled, turning around and leaving me standing there alone.

  With a heavy sigh, I went back to the table and grabbed my purse.

  “Where are you going?” Axel asked, his eyes on the empty whiskey glass in front of him.

  “To bed.” I was still pissed at him, too.

  Dad had
booked a handful of rooms for us. Thankfully, I had my own at the Mandalay Bay, but guess who else had one there?

  Rager.

  And he was walking toward me with a blonde on his arm.

  “Wear a helmet,” I muttered as he walked past me, his shoulder bumping into mine.

  “Hey!” he called after me, his tone sharp and demanding. Like the dumb-ass I was, I turned around and looked at him, my hands on my hips. He smiled condescendingly, and then turned, walking backward and raising his hands up like he was welcoming me, but really provoking. “I have needs too…” Pausing, he nodded south, our eyes caught and it showed so much more than the crudeness that was about to follow. “You gonna suck my dick?”

  Turning on my heel, I didn’t give him the opportunity to see my face or reaction to those words.

  Taking three shaking steps, he laughed, low and tortured. “You’re still fucking married, aren't you?”

  Without turning back around, I raised my hand up over my head and flipped him off.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Who’s that?” the girl in front of him asked, barely able to hold herself up as she walked down the hall, stumbling.

  “Just a girl. She don’t matter.” The girl giggled and I snuck a peek back at them before rounding the corner, his arm around her. “Which room is yours?”

  My heart ached to understand this.

  Just a girl.

  I wasn’t just a girl.

  He and I both knew that I was nowhere near being “just” a girl to him. I was the definition of torture as far as he was concerned. I was the vice that held him from ever moving on.

  Pressure Compensator – A device that equalizes the internal pressure of the motor with the external pressure of the environment.

  PART OF ME wanted to go home after Vegas. Not only because of Rager, but also Easton. He wasn’t making anything about this separation any easier.

  It was the next morning when Bailey and Hayden forced me to do a spa day with them at the Bellagio; that I nearly caved on what was going on. Hayden was good at getting information out of anyone, much like Casten. No wonder they were a good pair.