by Stahl, Shey
“Yes I turned it on.” Jameson lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead. “Stop that. You’re distracting me.”
“I do not fucking care at this point,” was his annoyed response.
You’d think he was the hormonal pregnant bitch these days.
It took some time for them to notice the spider. After all, they were asleep. Once they did...it was a clusterfuck.
Emma leapt off the bed screaming from the room ranting about the biggest mother-loving spider she’d ever seen. Aiden, not so manly, screamed like a four-year old little girl and all but climbed the wall to get away from it.
Jameson and I laughed so hard we couldn’t breathe, let alone stand on our own two feet.
We ruined the whole damn thing but hearing Aiden scream like that was totally worth it.
Jameson pointed at Aiden. “You...scream...fuck...” he couldn’t finish and crumbled to the ground laughing again. I joined him.
Emma was pissed when she realized the spider was actually fake.
“Jameson!” she screamed kicking him. “You better run fuckface because when I catch you, I will chop off your dick!”
Jimi and Nancy heard the commotion going down on the second floor of their home and came up to see.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Nancy said holding back her enraged daughter. “No one is cutting off any dicks tonight.”
Jameson laughed again as a glaring Jimi kicked his leg.
“I don’t want to clean up the blood. I’m tired and I’m pretty sure that would bleed a great deal.” Nancy finished, her rusty curls fell over her shoulder when she had to shag a lunging Emma.
“He put a spider in my bed!” Emma complained.
Nancy, eyeing Jameson, seemed to consider her complaint for a brief moment. “How did he put a spider in your bed?”
“I don’t know...it’s right there.” She pointed to the crushed spider.
“That’s not a spider, that’s a toy.” Jimi huffed. Considering it was three in the morning, they clearly were not pleased about being woken by this. “Stop acting like goddamn children and go to sleep!” he seethed stomping down the stairs.
“We should buy another home.” Nancy followed. “They don’t seem to want to leave.”
“Fuck that.” Jimi slung his arm around his wife. “We’re kicking the assholes out tomorrow. Too many assholes in one house. We need less assholes.”
And to think I’m about to have one of these crazies in six months. Must be out of my mind.
I turned toward Jameson who was still laughing lying on the floor. “You do know that your sister schedules all your meet and greets, right?”
“So?”
“Next thing you know you’re going to be doing them in shopping malls surrounded by teenage girls.”
He cringed. “Fuck that.”
As he walked past toward his room, he kicked her door.
The next morning, the tension between Jameson and Emma was much the same but what was amusing to me was Jimi, as always. He was good for a laugh or two.
Gathered around the dining room table eating breakfast, we attempted to act civil.
“Hey, don’t do that.” Jimi barked giving Jameson a pointed glare.
“Do what?” We all looked over at Jimi.
“Touch her.”
“Why?” Jameson scoffed pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate and keeping his arm around my shoulder. “She’s my girlfriend. My hands have been places you probably don’t want to know.”
“Jameson!” Nancy balked at her son’s crudeness. “Not at the table.”
Jimi was undeterred. “You already knocked her up in my kitchen. Nothing is happening on this table.”
We were all quiet. You could have heard a pin drop.
It took every ounce of self-control I could muster, not to giggle at that point and give everything away along with my embarrassment.
“You didn’t...?” Jimi’s eyebrows arched, his fork pinged as it dropped against his plate.
“Do you want me to lie to you?” Jameson asked.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t.” Jameson laughed, not convincing.
Images of his attack on me, on this very table, inundated my mind.
Hot damn that was a good time.
Jimi threw his napkin on the table in complete disgust for his son. “I hope you have a little rusty haired shit just like yourself.” His glare shifted to me. “Sorry Sway, but you’re screwed.”
As the days past in Mooresville, we moved on from our pranks and it was time for Bristol and Jameson’s first race back. We had concerns with being a short track but Jameson showed no signs.
Though I was going with him to Tennessee, I couldn’t stay for the race on Monday. I needed to leave on Friday night in order to be home for the Northern Sprint Tour and then the World of Outlaws came to town on Sunday.
I hated missing the Bristol race as tickets for that race sell out two year in advance, but this was the biggest event at our track. I needed to be there.
It only meant two days away from Jameson as he’d be flying to Elma after Sunday’s race to catch the Outlaw race and the fair on Monday night.
Every year we had the “Big E Weekend” that consisted of racing, parades, fireworks and the best tasting food around. This also meant I had a ton of work to do too. Between insurance waivers, scoring, driver sign-ups, hospitality schedules, payouts, it would be a mess if I wasn’t there to help. In turn, that’s where I was needed.
Jameson was driven and pushed himself every day in order to make the Atlanta race.
Once his cast was removed and the broken ribs healed, NASCAR cleared him to race again. The main concern was still his lungs, which recovered well but still sparked coughing fits from time to time. He had meticulous plans for regaining strength, muscle and weight he had lost. Knowing Jameson, I had no doubt this would happen.
My only concern for him was this being a short track and a night race. Bristol Motor Speedway was a half-mile track with 36° banking, though it’s been debated it’s only 26°. Either way, it’s steep. There is stadium style seating surrounding the concrete track with two pit lanes allowing all sides to catch the action.
With it being a night race, tempers flared. Tempers I didn’t want Jameson involved with during his first race back.
On Wednesday, we arrived in Tennessee and met with an even bigger surprise in the garage. Our surprise, the driver who had replaced Darrin Torres for the remainder of the season.
Mike Tanner.
Jameson’s reaction was to avoid him, which was the right thing to do.
What Mike did was the wrong thing to do. He approached Jameson and me standing in the garage, waiting for his car to be released from inspection. The inspection process in the garage occurred many times throughout the race weekend and focused on all aspects of the car from fuel to aerodynamics to be sure they were in line with the NASCAR rulebook.
Stationed securely to Jameson’s right side, Mike walked toward us.
“Jameson.” He greeted and then turned toward me. “Hey Sway—how are you doing these days?”
You couldn’t miss the denigrating tone he used when he acknowledged Jameson.
“I’m fine.” I snipped. I was furious that he would so blatantly the fact that I was with Jameson.
Idiocy is the only word I could think to use for his next move as he leaned in closer and whispered in my ear. “Why don’t you leave him and come have some fun like we used to.”
My hothead reacted pushing Mike away from me against the bay doors. “Listen to me you son of a bitch.” Jameson spat moving closer towering over Mike. “I will only warn you this one time. Stay away from Sway.”
Mike just stared at him with a blank expression, searching his eyes. Maybe he was trying to see if he was serious or maybe he was just that stupid. Regardless, the lack of respect Mike showed, doubting his intentions, only impelled Jameson.
“I’m not scared of you, Jameson.”
“You w
ill be.” Jameson replied in a no-nonsense tone.
Auspiciously, Spencer walked into the garage before the argument could escalate any further. “Hey Jameson,” his resonant voice carried throughout triggering other drivers and team members to look over. “Alley is looking for you.”
Jameson remained set, his jaw clenched, before he spun on his heel to face Spencer. I couldn’t hear what he said but he whispered a few words to his brother and then pulled me along with him.
“You should have learned your lesson by now.” Was the only advice Spencer offered Mike before I was too far away to hear anymore.
Jameson continued to drag me along like a caveman. His hand in my own was trembling slightly from the adrenaline; his expression remaining frightening.
When we made it back to the motor coach in the infield driver’s compound, his arm wrapped possessively around me as a group of men walked past and smiled toward me.
I giggled. “Maybe you should just piss on my leg too.”
“Maybe I should.” He snapped back at me tilting his head toward me. “Maybe other men won’t fucking test me then,”
“That’s gross.”
“Well, you said it.”
“I wasn’t serious. What’s the matter with you?”
He didn’t say anything as he let go of my hand, leaning against his motor coach. His eyes fell to the ground when he realized how ridiculous he was reacting to all this.
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
Jameson snorted, his eyes still fixated on my hand he reached for. “How can I not be? He slept with you and now he has the audacity to approach you in public, right in front of me. How else am I supposed to feel?”
Stepping toward him, I raised my hand to rest against his cheek. He sucked in a shaky breath and met my eyes when I spoke. “Do you have any idea what it’s like loving Jameson Riley, knowing that every pit lizard and garage groupie out there wants him and would give anything just for one touch, just like I did?”
His eyes narrowed with repudiation. “Do you have any idea what it’s like loving Sway Reins, the woman that with one look; could melt any man’s heart with her eyes?” Jameson breathed inches from my face holding me to his chest. His hand came up to touch my cheek gently.
“Must be hard,”
He pressed forward. “Hard indeed,”
“This turned you on?”
He hung his head in shame. “No, you turned me on.”
“Sad.” I shook my head guiding his lips to mine. “Come here you possessive pervert.”
We didn’t get a chance for things to heat up before Alley returned looking for Jameson. “Stop that.” She barked slapping at us tangled together. “Jameson, you have an interview in ten minutes—get moving.”
Interviews were always exciting so I decided it would be beneficial if not entertaining to attend. Sitting along the side of the stage with Alley, Jameson, Kyle, and Jimi did the first press conference since the accident.
Just a few minutes into it, I was impressed by Jameson’s calm manner. They questioned him endlessly on his thoughts on Darrin, all of which he answered with vague responses.
What stunned both Alley and I, was Jimi’s reaction to his thoughts on the wreck.
Jimi wasn’t a man of many words in the public eye. Never had been. Over the years, he managed to avoid press at all costs, until now.
“I will not sit back and watch another driver try to kill my son,” His tone final. “These two have been battling all year and I’ve let it go but Darrin will be held accountable for his actions if I have to sue NASCAR myself.” Jimi threatened triggering a loud cheer from the crowd gathered in front of the stage.
The reporter then turned his questions to Jameson once again. “Jameson,” my eyes scanned toward Jameson who was slouched in the director’s chair completely relaxed. “You and Darrin have been battling all season long with each other like Jimi said. Now that he’s been suspended, what do you think your chances are for a championship here in your first full cup season?”
Jameson nodded, his eyes focused on the microphone as he tugged on the bill of his hat. “You know...we had a shot before the wreck.” His head skewed slightly toward Jimi. “Now...it’s hard to say. We missed three races and took a massive hit in the points but Warner Leddy did us a huge favor by getting in the car at Watkins Glen and Michigan. I have an excellent team and sponsor who supports me. We have amazing cars with Riley Simplex Racing.” He reached for the water in front of him and took a quick drink. “If we can manage top ten finishes and stay consistent, I think we still have a shot at it but all those aspects have to line up to do so.”
“Why do you think Darrin wrecked you after the race?”
Jameson let out a sarcastic laugh. “That’s a question you should ask him. Only he knows why.”
We knew Darrin’s motive but we didn’t know why he was so intently focused on it. He was obsessed and I had a feeling it wasn’t truly over between Jameson and Darrin.
Phillip was working on bringing a lawsuit forth with reckless endangerment but with lack of details surrounding the accident, they didn’t have much to go on.
While the prehearing conference was held last Monday, it wasn’t looking promising. What most failed to realize was when you raced in the elite levels of NASCAR, you followed the rules governed by the sport. Besides that, most fines issued by NASCAR were beyond any fine Darrin would have received if the accident occurred off the track. You had to prove without a doubt to the courts that Darrin’s actions were inherent to the sport, something that would be difficult.
Another thirty minutes into the press conference, I left with Alley and waited back at the motor coach for Jameson.
Once there, I spotted Aiden stepping out with a sandwich his southern grin boyish.
“Hey,” I said nodding my head toward him with my own grin. “You spotting for him tomorrow?” I couldn’t help myself and giggled.
“It’s a day race.” Aiden scrunched his nose. “I think I’ll be okay.”
The night race in Bristol was not Aiden’s favorite. He once paid Tommy $1000 to spot for Jameson if it was going to be a night race.
At Bristol Motor Speedway, in the heat of August, perched on the towers outside turn two; the bugs would swarm by the millions.
Apparently, last year they had this big debate where Aiden basically refused to go up in the tower on night races in the South.
Jameson would get a kick out of this and would say something along the lines of: “If you hear Aiden’s voice crackling—he just swallowed a cicada.”
Poor Aiden even went as far as wearing a ski mask pulled down over his mouth so the bugs would say out. It was that bad.
I wasn’t inside the motor coach long when Jameson returned with my favorite smile plastered across his face; abnormal for an afternoon with the media.
“Hi,” I mumbled against his lips, my legs wrapped around his waist.
He laughed. “Well, hello there beautiful,”
I grinned, lowering my legs from his waist and sliding down along his hard body.
He groaned, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “I missed you,”
Though it had only been less than a half hour that he was gone doing his interview with Track Pass, I still missed him.
He pressed his hips into mine, a smile tugging at his lips as he stepped back. “Yeah, been a whole twenty minutes.”
“What?” I pouted, pretending to be hurt. “You didn’t miss me?”
He put his hands on my waist, under my shirt, pressing his body along the length of mine. I was crushed between him and the side of the motor coach.
“I missed you every minute...” he breathed, nuzzling my jaw and licking my lower lip. “Every second,” His tongue lapped behind my teeth, soft, hot, and wet. “I was away from you,” He fisted his hand in my hair and deepened the kiss. He missed me all right.
“Hmm,” I articulated going limp in his arms.
He threw his head back and laughed. “Come o
n Joanie, I wanna take you somewhere.”
“Lead the way Chachi.” I rolled my eyes, gathering my will and wiggling from his arms.
I felt him come up close behind me, pulling my hair to one side, exposing my neck. “You’ll like it, I promise,” he murmured sucking on the skin at the juncture of my shoulder and neck. Goosebumps erupted all over my body.
“You just think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” I teased as he walked me to the golf cart in front of his motor coach.
“What can I say?” His smirk was smug and arrogant. “You just bring it out in me. It’s your fault, really.”
It took all of my meager control not to drop his pants right there in the drivers compound and give him the best mother loving micro polishing he’d ever had. Only the fact the media would be all over that stopped me from doing it. It would be worth it for the look on his face. He wouldn’t be so smug then, would he? I gave a superior sniff, lifting my chin and swept into the golf cart.
He waited until I was seated before he came around the other side.
I watched unabashedly as he walked around leering at me as he slid his Oakley sunglasses halfway down his nose and then winked.
Jameson slid inside, turning the key in the ignition and grinning at me. He raised one brow over the frames of the sunglasses. I glared and rolled my eyes at the game he was playing with me.
He just smiled, turning his attention to the parking lot.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the hand that wasn’t on the wheel rise up to run languidly across his chest.
I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. I knew what he was doing. That hand then slid across his chest and slowly down his stomach. He rubbed his belly lazily, back and forth, from one hip to the other. I had turned to face him, distracted. His face was perfectly bland as his hand lowered to slowly run along his camshaft, pausing to give a firm squeeze and then stroked himself once.
“Stop that!”
“Ah honey,” He tipped his head toward me. “you know you want it.”
“You suck.”
“Well, you could.” He gestured south with his eyes. “I’m up for it, as you can see.”
“You wish.”
“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, lifting his hips slightly to adjust himself keeping one hand on the wheel.
