by Shey Stahl
Way to make me feel like a complete asshole.
Despite all this, it didn’t change my feelings or way of thinking as this (indulging in too much alcohol once again) ended in me sleeping with my best friend. Wasn’t that what I wanted all along? Yeah, it was but just the thought of “friends with benefits” to Jameson Riley was freaking me out a little, okay, a lot. But then I thought about how much I wanted this. I didn’t want to be just another pit lizard to him; I would be more if it killed me trying. Stupid logic I know but fucking sue me. I was a woman on a mission.
Jimi had bought a Citation Bravo Jet last year, which made traveling for their entire family easier. Half the time Jimi was on the opposite side of the United States from Jameson and that made the jet nice.
The Riley’s still kept a home in Elma but they also had a home in Mooresville and Jacksonville Beach.
Jameson had recently started having a home built near his parents in Mooresville, or Dirty Mo as we referred to it.
Unfortunately, the house he was having built on Lake Norman, wasn’t supposed to be finished until December. This left him staying in his parent’s home.
He hated it.
When we walked outside the hotel to get the car Alley had rented for Jameson to get back to Mooresville, I burst into laughter.
Jameson, well he was not laughing. “You have to be kidding me.” He threw his bag down next to the Dodge mini-van and kicked the left rear tire.
Growling, he pulled out his cell phone to call Alley.
“You’re such a fucking bitch!” He shouted and snapped the phone shut. Turning towards me, he glared. “Get in.”
I couldn’t stop my laughter but eventually I got in when threatened to leave me there if I didn’t stop.
Much of the drive to downtown Charlotte was spent with Jameson complaining about the speed in which the mini-van refused to do, how he hated living with his parents, how he was going to get Alley back and if I thought anything was going on with Emma and Aiden.
Remembering my pact with Emma, I denied the accusations and conveniently changed the subject to something sexual.
He was easily distracted when the subject involved sex, what man isn’t?
“What did you mean when you said it’s been a long time?” I suddenly blurted out.
Jameson choked on his water he’d just taken a drink of. “Huh?”
My cheeks flushed in embarrassment and I whispered, “Nothing,” pretending to look out the window, avoiding eye contact at all costs.
“Don’t do that.” He snapped back at me.
“Do what?”
“Ask a question like that and pretend you didn’t.” he too avoided looking at me as we pulled into the parking lot of the SPEED studio.
“Answer it then.” I said boldly.
“It has been a long time.” He shrugged indifferently.
Looking anywhere but at him, I asked, “How long?”
Jameson groaned loudly parking next to a red SUV. “Over a year,”
I laughed...scratch that, I giggled hysterically almost to the point of tears.
“You’re such a shit.” Jameson barked at me. “And how long has it been for you?”
I stopped laughing instantly. Oh, how quickly the red flag can be thrown.
“A while,” My cheeks burned.
He brought his right hand up to my heated cheek. “Don’t get shy on my now, honey.”
Damn him.
“A year, maybe longer,” I mumbled suddenly finding my hands very interesting.
I snuck a glance over at him and his face scrunched as if he was trying to think of something and then reached for his Simplex hat on the dashboard. “With who?” he asked quietly putting the hat on. Almost methodically, he adjusted the fit to the way he preferred it.
It was my turn to choke, but not on water, on my own breath at this question. “Huh?”
“You heard me.” Though the hat concealed his expression slightly, his eyes narrowed at me.
“You don’t know him.” I knew this answer wasn’t going to work but I tried anyways. I could hardly admit to myself that I slept with Mike, the guy who squealed like a pig when he came, let alone tell Jameson.
Jameson shook his head slowly, his eyes penetrating. “That’s not what I asked.”
It was useless. He’d get it out of me anyways.
“Mike Tanner.” I finally said after a moment of silence.
“Where’d ya meet him?” He reached over the front seat for the posters in the back.
“Skagit. He was racing outlaw late models there one night when I was there with Tommy.”
Jameson was quiet, eerie quiet, sitting next to me. The only sound was the squeaking from the sharpie marker as it drug across the posters. His jaw was clenched, body tensed. I could see the muscles in his jaw flexing.
“Who was your last?” I tried breaking the silence.
“Couldn’t tell you,” He signed one more poster and then shoved them inside a white plastic Simplex bag. Still not looking at me, he shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “I never got her name.”
I’ve known Jameson for over eleven years; I could tell he was irate by the way he slammed the door of the mini-van when he got out. Why he was so upset over this was beyond me.
I’m sure it had something to do with Mike being a race car driver. I should have lied and said he was a construction worker or something but Jameson and I don’t lie to each other. We never have.
I felt badly for this poor Kim woman who was stuck doing the interview with Jameson. She started on the wrong foot by flirting with him.
What did Jameson do?
He said and I quote, “That’s unprofessional,” in a sharp demeaning tone and then follow it up with, “Besides, you’re not my type,”
And to think she still has to perform an interview after that.
Jameson could be a real jerk when he wanted to be and his demeanor could turn on a dime. Having experienced this first hand on many occasions, I sort of felt the need to apologize to everyone he encountered and tell them it was my fault, don’t take it personally but I didn’t. I just simply sat back and watched the hot possessive angry side of Jameson emerge for nothing more than pure entertainment value.
Waiting for the interview to began, I observed his behavior much like I did last night. These interviews, the press and media, weren’t part of the lifestyle he wanted.
His passion and immeasurable talent for racing created a life for him that he never asked for. A life and a following bigger than he could imagine, maybe ever wanted to imagine.
“Jameson,” Kim began crossing her leg over the other in the large director’s chair she was sitting in. “Can you tell us how you got started in racing? You’re only twenty-two, when did you start racing?”
I can just imagine how many times he has told this story over the years.
Jameson shifted in his chair and sighed before he began to tell his story, a story I knew firsthand as I was a huge part of it.
“Well let’s see, I started racing quarter midgets just before I turned five. My dad was racing in the World of Outlaw series so I learned a lot by watching him and the other drivers.”
“I heard you raced sprint cars too.” Kim smiled. “When did you start racing those?”
“I was eleven. My dad moved me up to sprint cars but not fulltime because you had to be sixteen at most tracks. So I continued racing midgets and sprints when I could. When I turned sixteen, I began racing on the Northern Sprint Tour and the USAC Silver Crown Series as well as the USAC Midget’s.
“The day I graduated my older brother, Spencer, his girlfriend at the time, Alley, my younger sister Emma, and my...” Jameson’s eyes met mine. “Best friend, Sway, traveled East with me. I raced in the USAC Divisions and The World of Outlaw series collecting trophies and winners checks just big enough to make it to the next track. I raced anything I could whether it was my car or for Bucky Miers and Monty Evans, both long-time friends of my dad.” Jameson leaned back
further in the chair. “I drove; Spencer worked on the car along with a few of our buddies that would help out. Emma, Alley, and Sway helped in any way they could. That summer we ended up capturing the USAC Triple Crown title which is a national title in all three of the USAC divisions.”
“And those are?”
Jameson chuckled. “Well USAC runs three national divisions of midgets, sprints and silver crown cars, all open-wheel. If you win the championship in all three divisions, you get the Triple Crown. To date Bobby Cole, my teammate, and me, are the only drivers who’ve ever won it.”
“Wow,” she seemed shocked. “That’s impressive.”
Jameson just nodded taking the compliment about as well as he took her flirting.
“So the Triple Crown paved the way?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He gave a contemplative nod. “From there, I was able to land some sponsors that smoothed the way to bigger races with better payouts. In January of 2001, I met Tate Harris at the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals in Tulsa through my dad and Bucky. He introduced me to a representative with Simplex Shocks and Springs just about the time my dad was thinking of starting a NASCAR team and from there the rest is history.”
“Is your family still a big part of the operation?”
“Yeah, my dad is the team owner. My mom and sister run my fan club. My brother is on my pit crew.” Jameson’s eyes shifted back over to mine. “It means a lot to me to have my family nearby. It reminds me of what’s real.”
“I hear you just started your own sprint car team this year too? How’s that going?”
“I did. Right now, I have two cars racing in the World of Outlaws. I have my buddies Tyler Sprague and Justin West in the cars. They used to race USAC with me growing up. They’re doing an amazing job.” Jameson leaned forward and took another drink of water.
“Do you still race sprint cars when you can?”
He laughed. “I try but Simplex doesn’t like it all that much. It’s a liability issue on my part if I was to get injured while doing it but...dirt track racing is where I came from. It’s a part of me and I refuse to let that go.”
“Once you go dirt you never go back sort of thing?” she teased.
Jameson laughed softly staring at his feet as he pulled his hat down further shadowing his eyes. “Yeah, I guess that’s the saying.”
“So let’s talk about this season. You won your second start in Rockingham; you won the Winston and another on Saturday night at the Coca-Cola 600! Do you think you have a chance at the cup title this year?” Kim asked.
“I think we do. The win last night put us only sixty-three points behind Darrin Torres. I wasn’t sure how competitive we’d be in our first full season with it being a new team but I think we have a shot at it.” Jameson said nodding his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Now we heard NASCAR dropped that hefty fine they handed out on Saturday night. Can you tell us about that?”
“There’s not much to tell.” He shrugged. “As far as I know, the fine was dropped because the test turned out to be inconclusive.”
I think she knew he wasn’t going to give her the inside scoop so she finally let up.
“Well Jameson, thank you for coming and good luck with the rest of the season.”
Jameson stood, shook her hand politely, and then headed for the door without another word.
Once we were back in the car, I realized his mood was still the same.
He didn’t look at me, just drove towards Mooresville. The drive wasn’t long but eventually we started talking again.
Half way there, Jameson plugged his iPod into the stereo and put it on shuffle. He had a vast music collection of Van Morrison, Eagles, Linkin Park and every song by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
One particular song, Simple Man, came on and Jameson began to sing along.
He had an amazing smooth but raspy voice that could leave any woman a puddle of oil in his drain pan. And let me tell you, he could do one hell of an Eddie Vedder baritone.
This particular song was one of Jameson’s all-time favorite songs. It was a relaxing and held a special meaning for him. He always said he listened to it when he needed to remember where he came from and as I sat there and listened to him singing along, the truth behind the lyrics was easy to see.
A few verses caught my attention, similar to the Purple Rain song and I knew there was nothing behind him singing that particular verse louder that the rest of the song but again...a pit lizard could dream.
My hand was resting lightly on my knee when Jameson shifted in his seat reaching for my hand, pulling it to his lips to place a tender kiss on it. “Does it hurt?”
“Huh?”
Does what hurt? My crankcase? Yes.
“Your hand,” He clarified.
“Oh that...uh...no, not really,” I smiled briefly. “You owe me a million dollars though.”
“Pft,” Jameson shook his head. “I said a spring, not your hand.” He kissed my knuckles once more. “Though I am proud you punched her. I would have but it’s frowned upon to hit a woman.”
“Frowned upon? Really?”
This seemed to have broken the ice between us again and the rest of the drive was filled with laughter and witty remarks, our usual selves.
We arrived back in Mooresville around ten that night and Jameson’s mercurial mood had returned.
Now, he was now planning his attack on Alley for the mini-van and walking in on us.
If there’s one thing I could say about Jameson and his practical jokes on people, it was that he never did them half-assed.
We eventually agreed upon a plan of action and called Kyle to have him order it, insisting on the part being overnighted.
On the way to his parent’s house, we stopped by Burger King because we were both starving. I was so exhausted by the time we got there and thankfully, Jameson’s parents weren’t home so we didn’t have to explain why I’m there, well for tonight anyways. I was sure there would be questions when I arrived in Pocono with him.
His parent’s house was huge. It literally reminded me of something you’d seen on MTV cribs, only built for a racing family.
The house was situated on fifteen acres, complete with a quarter-mile oval track in the backyard, a pool that could house the Olympics and enough bedrooms to accommodate a small village.
Once we got upstairs, I headed towards the quest bedroom at the end of the hall when Jameson grabbed me by the arm and slammed me against the wall. Not rough, just enough that he took my breath away for a second.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jameson asked with his lips at my ear. His tongue darted out and then he nipped my lobe with his teeth.
“I...to...uh...the guest room?” I mumbled breathlessly watching his intense eyes find mine.
“Wrong.” He picked me up bridal style caring me into his room on the third floor.
Once in his room I couldn’t tell you what happened when the door closed. I couldn’t tell you what happened when we broke his bedroom door. I couldn’t tell you what happened when we fell through the closet door onto the floor. I couldn’t tell you any of this because I was in such a state of overdrive by this man that I was actually delirious and incoherent.
When I woke up the next morning, I wondered why I was on the floor in Jameson’s closet surrounded by broken furniture and clothes that had been ripped off hangers.
It was a disaster.
At least I had my bra on, well half on with one funbag free falling.
Somehow, I feel like less of a slut with a bra on...stupid. So stupid.
Tucking the free falling funbag in, I surveyed the rest of myself. I was wearing one of Jameson’s ties around my neck, which was not all that concerning. I could just about imagine what that was used for, and I was also sporting a pair of his boxer briefs.
How and why I was wearing these random items was a mystery to me.
I glanced around the large walk-in closet and was rewarded with an absolutely magnificen
t sight.
Jameson Riley, naked, laying on his back.
Nothing and I mean nothing was more beautiful than the sight before me. I started at his face; his messy hair looked like he had just done some press forging in...a closet the entire night.
His beautiful face looked content; his lips pushed out into an adorable pout. His defined chest and amazing ripped stomach, the sculpted cut lines of his hips that lead down to the biggest mother-loving camshaft ever engineered.
Christ almighty he was a sight.
I’ve seen a few...okay only three but this one topped them all, including the few I’d seen in porno’s Alley and Emma forced me to watch in high school.
How did that fit in me? Was a very concerning thought I had.
I brought my knees up to my chest and curled into myself, comforting my crankcase and wondering how she hadn’t exploded yet.
I realized once I did that particular curling move that I was paying the consequences of our press forging (a process where you forge hot metal between dies in a press to make the metal stronger). I commonly referred to press forging as aggressive sex. If you have ever seen metal press forged, it’s very aggressive.
My legs burned, they felt like I had just tried out to be a Navy Seal or something similar and my crankcase was feeling a little like it just housed the biggest mother loving camshaft ever engineered.
And judging by the shaft my eyes were currently fixated on, I’d say that happened, more than once last night. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.
Until Jameson’s light laughter startled me.
My eyes quickly darted to his to meet his amused expression in embarrassment.
He stretched slowly and put his arms behind his head. “Like what you see?” He asked with a smug smile.
“Eh...I’ve seen bigger.” I quipped and quickly ran into his bathroom in hopes to get away from him.
That was one race I was not wining.
Our debate about him being small officially ended when he has me pinned against his shower wall.
