Bella and the New Guy (Love on the Track Book 1)

by Amy Sparling

  “It’ll be good to have you back,” I say, trying to walk the line between friend and more than friend.

  Her phone rings. “Sorry,” she says, checking it. “It’s Kylie. She’s probably wondering where I am.”

  She answers the call and I can hear Kylie’s voice on the other line. “Oh my god, Bells. You should see Ryan. He’s all walking around like he’s some amazing badass. It’s extremely annoying. You need to tell that boy of yours to beat him next time.”

  “I will,” Bella says. “I’ll meet you at the bleachers.”

  Then she hangs up.

  “Wait…” I say, remembering what she’d said about the guy who beat me just now. “Ryan? As in..?”

  She groans. “Yeah. The guy I stupidly asked out.”

  My jaw clenches. “The guy who just beat me is the guy who turned you down?”

  She nods. “Yup.”

  I slide my palm over my face. “This is not okay. I can’t believe I let that prick win.”

  She laughs. “It’s fine, Liam. Who cares?”

  “I care,” I say. Nothing could anger me more than knowing that I was just beaten by some small-town loser who thinks he’s too good for this amazing girl in front of me. “I can’t wait for the next moto,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm and collected. “I’m going to wipe the floor with him.”

  She smiles. “Want to go sit with Kylie on the bleachers?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Can you two sit on either side of me so the fans will stay away?”

  She laughs. “We can try, but your fans are unstoppable.”

  I put my hand on the handle of my truck door, but then I pause and take a deep breath. I really, really don’t want to go out there right now. I just lost a race and tons of people will want to talk to me.

  “I wish you weren’t so short so I could hide behind you,” I say.

  She grins. “Even if I were tall, I don’t think that would work.”

  I pout out my bottom lip. “Maybe I should keep training you and make you the famous racer around here. Then you’ll get attacked by fans and I’ll get to slip away unnoticed.”

  “That’s so not happening.” She opens the passenger door and I have no choice but to follow her.

  “Why not?” I ask as we walk together. I wish I could hold her hand. I wish I could throw my arm around her and show the world that she’s my girl. But she’s not my girl. She’s just a friend.

  “I don’t race.”

  “Why don’t you race?” I ask, knowing she won’t give me a real answer.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you should race. I’ve seen the other girls in the women’s class and you’re better than all of them.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she says. “Maggie Dawson is pretty fast. So is Morgan.”

  “You’re faster.”

  She looks at me skeptically.

  “You are!” I say, bumping into her with my shoulder as we walk. “Plus, you have the best trainer in town.”

  “You certainly think highly of yourself,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “I do. I’m an amazing trainer and I know I’ve made you good enough to not only race, but to win.”

  “Too bad you’ll never get to prove that,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I’m not racing.”

  “You should,” I say. “Because I know you’d win. We should make a bet on it.”

  She gives me an incredulous look. “You want to bet that I’d actually win a race?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Let’s bet.”

  “What would the bet be?”

  I know my answer instantly but I pretend to think about it for a second. We’re approaching the bleachers and I can tell people are watching us, waiting to see how I’ll react to losing a race. I turn to Bella and keep my voice low enough for only her to hear.

  “If you win the race, then that means I win the bet, and you have to kiss me.”

  She blushes a glorious shade of red that makes my heart beat faster. I can tell she’s thinking about what I just said, picturing kissing me. I’m thinking about it too. I want it more than anything.

  She gives me a haughty stare. “And if I lose the race, and therefore win the bet, what do I get?”

  “Well…if you lose the bet, you have to kiss me.” I grin, and Bella tilts her head, anticipation hanging thickly in the air between us. I give her a look of my own and say, “And if you win the bet, you get to kiss me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I’m thinking about Liam’s wager on the whole drive home. I don’t even hear a word Kylie says from the passenger seat. Well, I do hear the part where she says Liam is “hella cute” and then chastises me for not talking about him more. Maybe I would have talked about him more if she wasn’t so wrapped up in her boyfriend for weeks and then taking over all the recent conversation time with her broken heart.

  Kylie wants to spend the night with me after the races but her parents tell her to come home so she can babysit her twin brothers tomorrow morning. I drop her off and I feel bad admitting it, but I’m relieved that she’s gone.

  Ever since Trey broke her heart earlier in the week, Kylie has been stuck to me in this annoying way. I love her, and she’s my best friend and always will be, but I need time to myself, too. I didn’t even get to ride my dirt bike all week because I was taking care of her.

  With all the thoughts swirling around in my head, I’m not really feeling the upbeat pop song that’s on the radio. I reach over and switch it to a country music station. An old slow Garth Brooks song is playing, which is perfect for my contemplative mood.

  I drive home with the music loud while I think over Liam’s bet. If I lose, I kiss him. If I win, I kiss him.

  This is by far the most I have ever been flirted with from a guy. No guy has ever been that bold or adorable when talking to me. And I’m pretty sure Liam is just messing around. It’s not like he’d make me kiss him if I were to race—but I don’t think he’d turn me down either.

  My stomach flutters with the thought of kissing him. I picture leaning up on my toes and wrapping my arms around his neck, and pressing a kiss to those gorgeous lips. Lips that are usually twisted into some cocky grin when I look at him.

  As thrilling as the idea of kissing Liam Mosely is, I’m actually more interested in the other part of his proposal. He wants me to race. He thinks I’m good enough. He’s not the kind of guy who would lie about my skills just to be nice. I can tell he truly means it when he tells me I’m ready to race.

  So maybe I should race.

  I think about getting out there on the starting line and competing with the other women racers in a battle to be the fastest one. It’s scary and nerve-wracking and totally awesome at the same time.

  Maybe Liam is right. Maybe I should race.

  Maybe I’d be good at it.

  I turn down my road and see a familiar truck parked in the driveway right next to Mom’s car. No way! Brent is here!

  I check my phone in the cupholder, but there’s no new messages from my brother. This is a surprise visit from college. I park and rush inside, eager to see him. Besides Kylie, Brent is my best friend, and the greatest big brother a girl could ask for. It’s been hard having him away at college, both because I miss him and because it sucks when he’s not at the track to help me load and unload my bike.

  I find my brother standing near the kitchen island chowing down on a tube of Ritz crackers.

  “Brent!” I call out, rushing up and giving him a hug. “You didn’t tell me you were visiting this weekend.”

  “Surprise,” he says with his mouth full of crackers. “God, I missed carbs.”

  My brother has gotten a lot harder since I saw him a couple months ago on my birthday. Brent has always been into fitness and working out. He’s practically an Instagram model because most of his photos are of his shirtless torso while he’s at the gym or on the beach. But he’s even more muscular right now than I’ve ever seen him. />
  “You’re huge,” I tell him.

  “I’ve been on a cut,” he says, shoving more crackers in his mouth while he flexes his bicep. “I bet my roommate I couldn’t get down to three percent body fat.”

  I roll my eyes. “Did you win that bet?”

  He shoves three crackers in his mouth at once. “You know I did, lil’ sis.”

  Just saying the word bet sends a shiver down my spine. I think of Liam, and I think of his bet, and I think of racing.

  “Hey,” I say, reaching over and stealing some of his crackers. “Do you think I could race?”

  “Dirt bikes?” he says, which is a pretty stupid answer because what else would I be talking about.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Of course you can. By the way, I’m here for a whole week before the summer session starts, so we’re gonna hit up the track every possible day.”

  “Cool,” I say, circling back to the topic. “Do you really think I could race?”

  My brother shrugs, and then when he sees I’m serious, he lifts an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because I’ve never raced in my whole life, and you know me better than anyone.”

  Well, maybe not better than anyone, I think. Liam knows how I ride. He knows my lap times and he knows all the ways he’s helped me improve my riding skills.

  Brent puts a hand on my shoulder. I swear, even his arm feels heavier than usual. He’s all muscle right now, but if he keeps eating the junk food in our house, that won’t last for long. “Bella, you can do whatever your heart wants to do. You know I’ll support you.”

  I grin. “I think I want to race.”

  “Cool,” he says. “We’ll hit the track first thing tomorrow morning and I’ll give you some pointers.”

  I try not to laugh out loud. Brent used to race when he was a kid. He raced all the way until he graduated high school two years ago and then he quit to go to college. He’s studying finance and he wants to get some rich business job that will make him loaded. He never wanted to ride motocross professionally, and he never tried to go pro. He’s good, but he’s not great. He’s not Liam good. I really doubt there’s anything my big brother can teach me that Liam hasn’t already taught me.

  But I’m definitely not going to tell him that.

  I steal the last cracker from the sleeve and take a bite. “Sounds good.”

  It’s a beautiful summer day in Roca Springs. The track has been watered and prepped by the owner’s tractor so the dirt is all fluffy and perfect for riding. Brent’s jaw falls open when I ride my bike back to his truck. He’s leaning against the tailgate, watching me with an awed expression on his face. I stop my bike and cut the engine. When I pull off my helmet, he reaches for it.

  “Dude!” he says, his eyes bugging. “What on earth was that?”

  I can’t help but smirk. I just did three hard and fast laps around the track, clearing every single jump and riding the way Liam taught me. “Did I look good?”

  Brent’s mouth can’t seem to close. “You looked amazing!”

  I grin. “I’ve been getting informal lessons…from a friend.”

  “That must be some amazing friend,” he says, as he takes my bike and lifts it onto the stand for me. “My little sis was rocking it out there.”

  “You think I’m ready to race this Friday?” I ask as I reach for a water bottle from the cooler in the bed of his truck.

  “You’re more than ready, kid.”

  Brent has always supported everything I’ve done, except for the two weeks I dated Mikey in my freshman year. So I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s supporting me now, but it does feel good to know he has my back. And that he’s proud of me. I can tell I looked pretty good on the track. Several weeks of private lessons with a pro racer will do that to you.

  Unfortunately, Liam isn’t here right now. It’s bright and early Saturday morning and he usually sleeps in and shows up around noon.

  I knock a dirt clump off my bike’s front fender. “If I’m going to race, I need a bike number,” I say, staring at my solid white number plates. I’ve never put a number on there because I’ve never needed one. Only racers need bike numbers. Plus, I can’t think of one. Every number in the world seems somehow wrong for my bike.

  “How about eight?” Brent says.

  I roll my eyes. “That’s your birthday.”

  “How about… twenty?”

  I slap him on the chest. “That’s your age.”

  He laughs. “I’m sure you’ll think of something before race day.”

  Some of Brent’s high school friends drive up a few minutes later, and they hit the track together. Brent has always been a pretty good rider, but as I watch him now, I’m finding all the little things he could improve on. Like how he sits too far back on the bike, or how he doesn’t hit the turns with enough speed.

  Liam has taught me a lot. I really hope he gets his professional racing spot back. He deserves to be a pro racer. He deserves the fame and money and the career he dreams of.

  While I’m waiting for him to show up, or for my brother to get off the track, I decide to swallow my fears and go register myself for the upcoming race. That way I won’t be able to back out of it at the last minute. I can’t help but smile as I think about what Liam is going to say when I tell him I’m officially racing this weekend.

  I can’t help but think about the kiss.

  Win or lose, I’m getting a kiss.

  I walk over to the registration building and tell Maria that I want to register for the race. Maria and I have gone to the same school our entire lives, but we were never really friends. I guess we just hung with different crowds. Hers was definitely the cooler crowd. Her dad owns the track and she’s worked here since she was thirteen.

  She gives me a knowing look. “Yeah, you just need to sign the release form.”

  “Huh?” I say. Registering requires more than a signature. You have to fill out a form and pay for it and…

  She reaches under the counter and hands me a registration form. It’s already filled out. All of it, except my last name and the signature line at the bottom. The handwriting isn’t mine, of course. It’s scrawly and distinctly boyish.

  My heart pounds in my chest. “Who did this?” I ask.

  She smirks, as if she was expecting that reaction.

  “There’s a sticky note on the back. Also, your registration fee has already been paid.”

  With butterflies in my stomach, I turn the paper over and read the pale yellow note that’s stuck to it.

  Win or lose,

  I believe in you.

  -Liam

  Chapter Fourteen

  Since my mom has me doing a lot of chores for her around the house this summer, it’s no surprise when she wakes me up bright and early on Sunday morning. She’s wearing workout clothes and her hair is in a bun on top of her face. She smiles at me while she stands in the doorway of the guest room that I’ve been sleeping in, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” she says.

  It’s a surprisingly endearing word for her to use. I’m usually just “Son” or “Liam” when she talks to me.

  “What’s up?” I say, sitting up in bed and rubbing my eyes. I barely slept last night because I was up texting Bella until well after midnight. I don’t want to get too confident, but I think I’ve won her over. She was pretty excited when she found out I had paid for her race registration. It’s a good thing too, because that move could have totally pissed her off. I wasn’t sure how she’d take it, but I’m glad it made her happy.

  I’m not trying to force my will on her or anything, but she’s a great rider and she should race. She’s talented. She’s got the skills. And when we hang out, it’s like I can tell that deep down she’s always wanted to race but she was too scared. She’s told me about how her older brother raced a lot and she thought it was her duty to just support him. She never thought she could race herself. Well, I’m here to
prove her wrong.

  Mom steps into my room, taking my mind off Bella. “There’s a few boxes of your old stuff in the garage attic,” she says.

  “What kind of stuff?” I ask. I don’t remember leaving boxes behind.

  She shrugs. “Just toys and things you had when you’d come visit me. I boxed them up when I moved from my old apartment into Phil’s house, and I was thinking you could go through it today and see what you want to keep.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. At least this chore isn’t backbreaking labor like the last few were.

  “By the way,” I say, catching her before she walks out of the room. “Phil’s kids were thinking it’d be fun to come watch me ride sometime. Can I bring them?”

  Mom smiles. “That could be fun. Maybe we’ll all go.”

  It’s been a long time since my mom has watched me ride. Maybe she watched me on TV for those few professional races I had, but she never told me if she did. She always considered motocross to be the evil sport that kept me away from her and that made me choose my dad over living with her. Maybe now some of those walls are crumbling down.

  Maybe getting forced to stay with her over the summer was a great idea. I love my mom and I hate knowing that she resented me for so many years.

  “That would be awesome,” I say. “And if you want to come to a race, I’ll pay for your tickets.”

  Mom’s smile is all pride and not the least bit anger. “Thank you, son.”

  I get dressed and head out to the garage. Like most families, Phil and my mom use their two-car garage as a storage space for junk instead of a place to park their cars. I’m lucky they had enough space to fit my dirt bike. I have to move a ton of boxes and yard decorations out of the way so I can get to the door in the ceiling that has a pull-down ladder that leads to the attic.

  It’s hot and humid and smells like stale dust and wood up here. I feel around in the dark and find the light switch, which barely helps because it’s just a little bulb for the entire attic.