Motorhead

by Kate Gilead

  At the thought, a shiver of excitement goes through me. Without meaning to, my foot pops the throttle and revs the engine.

  One shot of gas…then once again.

  Mark turns his head to look at me quizzically.

  I give it another shot of gas and smile.

  He gives his engine a little shot of gas too and answers my grin with his own.

  Oh, boy. Challenge accepted.

  Freddy gestures to Gilda to go into the barn and tells her to ‘lie down’ and ‘stay’. She obeys instantly, and he closes the door after her so she’ll be safe inside from the cars, noise and dirt.

  Freddy moves to stand in front of our vehicles now, and, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the buzzing of the engines, he says: “Okay, you two. This is NOT a race. I repeat, this is NOT a race. This is just for fun now, okay?”

  Mark and I look at each other and rev our engines, grinning.

  I call out to him: “Last one back to this line buys the other one a drink?”

  “That’s it? I think the last one back should do a lot more than that,” he teases.

  “We’ll have to negotiate that later, then,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Okay…but just the one lap. I want to play with you, baby, not against you.” There’s that wolfish grin again.

  “May the best driver win!” I blow him a kiss.

  Freddy holds his hands up. Shaking his head, he says “Really? You wanna race? Okay…Jesus. Wait for my count down then…lemme know when you’re ready.”

  “Ready,” Mark and I call out it out simultaneously, and then laugh, both giving our engines little shots of gas.

  God, this is fun! I had no idea how delicious it could be to play racing games with a sexy beast like Mark.

  “Sheesh,” Freddy says, “alright, alright. Wait for my count!” He moves to the side of the track. I see him taking his phone out of his pocket. He fidgets with it for a second, then holds it up. Aha! He’s going to record this. Great, we’ll have a photo finish!

  “Ready on three,” he calls out, “One…”

  Mark and I both rev the engines.

  In that instant, just as it always happens, my mind empties itself.

  I’m staring straight ahead, no longer thinking about anything except my hands on the wheel and my foot on the throttle.

  “Two,” Freddy calls out.

  Time slows down and seem to stretch out, leaving my mind resting comfortably in that place where action happens without thought.

  My favorite place.

  “Three!”

  I hit the gas, making my buggy leap forward and fly down the straight-away towards the first, distant jump.

  It handles like a dream.

  I forget that there’s anyone else around. I forget that I’m racing, I forget everything except driving for the sheer pleasure of it.

  And driving this vehicle is nothing if not sheer pleasure.

  The huge tires and sensitive suspension make it feel like it’s floating around the track. The tires have great grip and the track is so well-groomed, I barely feel anything until I approach the first jump.

  I give it plenty of gas, so that the buggy maintains momentum going up the hill. It responds like a tiger, leaping up the hill and––whooooosh––up, up and away I go, grabbing so much air that for a brief, shining moment I can’t see anything except sky.

  Woo-hoo! Exhilarating!

  And when it comes back down, the buggy bounces on its tires and grabs the surface of the track without hesitation.

  Leaning on the throttle, I curve the wheel so that the buggy takes the sharp turn handily, raising a rooster-tail of dust in its wake.

  That sense of exhilaration expands to engulf me. The rush of speed and the sound of the wind and the engine filling me with that joyous light, that bright white light that driving fast always sparks…like nothing else…and the rest of the lap flies by in a blur of speed-induced endorphins.

  I’m only dimly aware of Mark’s presence with me on this course. It’s more of a bodily awareness, and my body, at this moment, extends to include the vehicle I’m driving. It’s like I can simply feel the position of Mark’s buggy relative to mine, without having to look for him or think about it.

  On the final straight-away towards the finish/starting line, I give it full throttle and flash past Freddy, who’s standing on the flagman’s platform, waving the checkered flag and holding his phone up.

  As I brake my vehicle and shudder to a stop in a cloud of dust, I come back to myself, to my full, normal, thinking awareness.

  Mark’s right there, his buggy next to mine.

  “Jesus Christ!” Freddy’s yelling and jumping up and down, waving the flag so hard that he smacks himself in the head with it, producing an audible thunk. “Ow, fuck…” he says, laughing, letting go the flag before jumping down from the platform. “That was like, a perfect tie! Fuck! Perfect! You two were nearly neck and neck all the way around the fuckin’ track, I swear! Fuckin’ insane!”

  Chapter Nine

  Marie

  “You gotta see this video,” Freddy shouts excitedly. “I sent it to ya, Mark! Check it out!”

  We let our vehicles idle quietly in neutral while Mark watches the short video on his phone. “Okay, I sent it to you, Marie,” he says, after a moment. “It’s pretty interesting!”

  I watch the shaky footage on my own phone. There’s me and Mark, at the starting line. When Freddy finishes the count, Mark’s buggy leaps forward a fraction of a second before mine. But that’s the last and only time he’s ahead. We start pacing each other almost inch for inch. Due to his outside position, Mark falls behind right before each turn, but he quickly compensates for that by throttling up, the whine of his revving engine sounding canned and tinny through the phone speakers.

  Holy shit, he’s got what my dad would call a lead foot, leaning very heavy on the gas on those turns.

  It’s a daring and dangerous move but he handles his machine well.

  Watching the two vehicles take the jumps is like watching a kind of ballet. Each buggy noses skyward and comes down simultaneously. They almost look like…I don’t know…the way a flock of birds sometimes spin through the sky in graceful synchronization.

  By the final straightaway, it’s obvious that Mark and I share a very similar, aggressive driving style, with no one willing to give an inch. Cleaving to the track closely, we both somehow maintain a tight margin between our vehicles.

  Mark seems like a really good driver. A very good driver, in fact.

  When we zoom past the finish line, it appears that the front bumpers of our respective buggies flash past at exactly the same time.

  “That’s fucking bizarre huh?” Mark says. “What do you think, Marie?”

  “It’s…yeah. Looks like we have the same driving style,” I say. “But…it was only the one lap. If we’d done a few more, there might’ve been a clear winner.”

  “True,” he agrees. “How’s about if we analyze the photo finish later and take a few more spins around the track? No racing this time, just fun.”

  “Yeah! Let’s go,” I say, and goose the gas pedal just a bit.

  Freddy climbs back up onto the race-marshal platform, and then gives us a thumbs-up.

  Mark and I steer the vehicles back onto the track, where we proceed to drive the shit out of the buggies, the way they’re meant to be driven.

  It’s the most fun behind the wheel I’ve had in ages. The vehicles are light but safe and forgiving, and just a total dream to drive!

  Tearing around the track, smiling when we catch each other’s eyes, we start off by taking turns to purposely spin out on the curves to see who can make the biggest rooster-tails in the dust.

  At one point, Mark takes off and gets way ahead of me on the straightaway. With a deft spin of the wheel, he does a 180 turn to face me head on. Revving the engine, he holds the brake down, throwing a plume of dirt from his rear whe
els.

  Even from a distance, I can see he’s wearing that wolfish grin.

  I have to grin back, wondering if he’s….OH! Yes, he is…oh my gosh…here he comes, racing straight at me…and then …vrrooom… he steers away at the last second.

  Heart pounding, I take off, leaving him to spin around and give chase. Catching up to me after the first turn, he gooses one of my rear tires with one of his front tires. I slide into the bales of hay at the side, sending a bunch of them flying. A touch of the brake and a spin of my wheel points me back at the track, and a good stomp on the throttle sends my buggy leaping ahead again. Hah!

  Playing chicken is a lot of fun, but too dangerous to keep up. We settle into driving laps for the sheer joy of it…gunning the buggies up the jumps and trying to grab some air as we clear the top…the closest thing you can get to flying in a four-wheeled vehicle.

  I’m having a killer time!

  After an hour or so, it’s time to stop. We drive the vehicles back into the barn and park them. I remove my goggles and hang them up while Freddy and Mark trundle the big doors closed.

  Freddy looks from Mark to me, and then back at Mark again, while Mark and I grin at each other like fools.

  “Welp. You’re both covered in track dust,” Freddy says, un-ironically stating the obvious. “Maybe I should’ve gone around the track with the sprayer one more time.”

  It’s true. Except for the clean, goggle-shaped area around our eyes, there’s dust everywhere. On our clothes, in our hair… and I can even feel some gritting around in my mouth.

  “Yeah, you’re pretty dirty, Miss,” Mark says. He steps towards me and peers down into my face, smiling, then brushes at my cheek with the back of his fingers. “Did you bring your bathing suit?”

  “Yes, it’s in my bag in the truck.”

  We exit the barn through the front doors, which the men close behind us.

  We hear the bing of a text notification. Freddy pulls out his phone. “Oh, crap,” he says, “It’s Darlene. She’s not coming. She just wants to curl up and watch a movie.”

  “Shit. Really? That’s too bad,” Mark says.

  “Yeah.” Freddy reads another message. “Um, she says she wants me to go over there. Would…would you guys mind?”

  “Uhh…well, no, but…the plan was, play with the buggies, have a swim and then, you know, have the cookout.” Mark says.

  “Yeah…but you don’t need me to swim or grill. You can go for a swim and cook your own dinner, can’t ya?”

  “Sure but… well, I thought we might be more comfortable having, you know, another couple around.” Mark says amiably. “You know. First date and all.”

  Freddy stares at him for a second, his eyes flashing humor. “Oh, right. Aren’t you a gentleman.” Then he turns to me. “Is it cool with you if I go watch a movie with my sick girlfriend, Marie? You two don’t have to leave. Stay, eat, enjoy the pool.”

  “Or, would you rather change plans, maybe go home and shower and then I’ll take you somewhere for dinner?” Mark offers.

  I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m okay with staying as long as it’s okay with you, Freddy. I’m looking forward to that swim,” I add, gesturing to the layer of dust all over me.

  “Cool! Well, I’m gonna take off right now, then. Help yourself to whatever you want. You bought all the food and booze anyway, Mark…so, um, you know…feel free to chow down.”

  “Gee thanks, Fred,” Mark laughs.

  “Heh. You know where the key is when you leave. Oh! And, I got that shower installed in the pool house now. There’s still no toilet, but at least you can wash off the worst of the dirt before you take a swim.”

  “What, still no toilet in the pool house? What kind of dive you running here, anyway,” Mark teases.

  “Or, I could just give ya the hose,” Freddy retorts, cheerfully. “Okay guys. Have fun.”

  He heads straight to his car, opens the door and motions for the dog to jump in. “Nice meeting you,” he adds, nodding at me.

  “You too,” I reply.

  “Catch you later. Thanks, dude,” Mark says. Then, with a tip of his hat, Freddy takes his leave.

  We grab our stuff from the truck and go into Freddy’s house. The old farmhouse consists of a big, modern central kitchen surrounded by a warren of smaller rooms. I use the toilet in the powder room off the foyer, after which I change into my bikini.

  My face in the mirror is streaked with dirt and sweat. I rub at it and get some of it off, but…yikes. Yeah, I need to wash up. Silently thanking modern cosmetics for waterproof mascara, I wrap my towel around my waist and head towards the kitchen.

  I find Mark standing at the kitchen counter, wearing a pair of swim trunks and nothing else. He lifts a bottle of water to his mouth and I stop in my tracks, stunned by his physique. The smooth, round flex of his well-developed pecs, his six-pack, his biceps and the graceful movement of shoulders make my words dwindle away in my mouth.

  God, he’s gorgeous! Just…gorgeous.

  I’ve grown up around gym rats. All the men in my family are in good shape. But to my admittedly-horny eyes, Mark blows them all away, in size, proportion and symmetry. I knew he was massively built but somehow, he looks that much bigger without a shirt!

  He’s bigger even than Callum, the biggest of my brothers. His size is almost intimidating, but Jesus Christ so fucking sexy. Damn, I can’t wait to get my hands on some of those muscles!

  “Hey,” he says, his blue eyes flicking down over my body before coming right back up to my face. He rubs his hand over his chin, making the muscles in his arms jump and flex.

  Jesus…oh God, help me. My knees suddenly feel loose as my body responds to his sheer physicality.

  Keeping his gaze steady on mine now, he says, “You look great.” He takes another swallow of water. “Shit, Marie. I ain’t gonna lie. Even with a dirty face, you look yummy.”

  I chortle. “Oh, thanks but…” I shake my head. “I need that swim. I’m…yeah, pretty dishevelled.”

  “Is that how you say “lovely” in your native tongue?” His eyes drift downwards and then flick back up again.

  He bites his lip, his smile fading as he holds my eyes.

  Oh my. The vibe in here just went from simmering to sizzling, in no time flat. Suddenly, I can hear my pulse in my ears.

  Nipples tightening, I take a step further into the kitchen, letting my hips swivel just a bit.

  He takes a swig from a water bottle, watching intently. Then he holds the bottle up. “Dunno about you, but I got a mouthful of dirt out there. Care for a bottle of water?”

  “Yes, please!”

  He opens the fridge, hands me a bottle of water and then chugs the rest of his as I down a goodly portion of my own. “Would you like some other kind of drink to bring outside? There’s soda, for the underaged among us.” He laughs.

  “Who’s underaged? I turn twenty-two in September.”

  Eyes sparkling, he says, “Oh, I dunno. Just because the law says you’re old enough, doesn’t mean you are. You’re still pretty young.”

  I grin, shaking my head. “I have five brothers. You think you’re gonna get my goat that easy?”

  He guffaws. “That obvious, huh?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Well, compared to thirty-five, twenty-two seems young.”

  “It’s old enough.” I say, primly. “Right now, I just want to get into that pool!”

  “Yeah, me too. Let’s go soak our bones.” He grabs his towel from the back of a kitchen chair on the way out.

  We exit the patio doors and emerge onto a big wooden deck, overlooking a nicely groomed back yard. In the distance, some distant lights can be seen here and there, but the neighboring properties are all a comfortable ways off. It’s a private spot, surrounded by fields for the most part. It’s very quiet, only the peaceful calls of settling birds and some crickets breaking the silence.

  The mid-July air is soft but mug
gy. Sultry, layered with Ohio summer humidity. The breeze stirs the foliage on the trees and brings the sweet fragrance of freshly blooming flowers, as well as a cool and refreshing whiff of the water from the pool.

  To the west, the sun is making its slow way into the horizon, its slanted light casting deepening shadows.

  What a lovely evening!

  Off the deck, down some steps and to the side, sits the pool, the sun sparkling off the water invitingly.

  It’s a large, custom, pool, it’s irregular, circular shape surrounded with deck chairs. On the far side, tucked under a gazebo, is a long outdoor sofa with overstuffed cushions, some chairs and a patio table. Directly opposite that is a cedar-clad structure that must be the pool house.

  “Wow,” I mutter, shooting Mark an impressed look.

  “Yeah,” he says. “He designed it himself. It’s quite something, huh?”

  The pool is all soft curves and angles, no sharp edges anywhere. A raised, softly-falling waterfall adorns one side, reflecting dazzling points of light from the sun. Underwater lights can be seen shining in shades of fuchsia, indigo and aquamarine. The lights illuminate a number of smooth, concave benches and ledges, perfectly shaped to comfortably fit human bodies.

  Near the sides of the pool, streams of bubbles emerge from underwater jets situated on either end of some of the benches. Patches of froth on the surface form, dissolve, and re-form as the jets churn the water below.

  “Let’s rinse off quick,” Mark says, leading the way to the pool house.

  Inside the cedar-smelling structure is a rudimentary shower stall, a few benches and some hooks for towels. There are lengths of piping, bits of wood and drywall plus tools and other evidence of construction scattered around.

  “Looks like the toilet is going in next.” Mark says as he turns on the shower valve. He holds his hand under the water and adjusts the temperature. “There! Perfect.” He turns to me with a glint in his eye. “I’d suggest that we have a shower together but it may be too soon in the relationship for that,” he jokes.

  I laugh nervously.

  Having so much fun with Mark racing the buggies has left my body pumped full of adrenaline. Now, being alone with him, half-naked, is making all my senses come alive. The chemistry that we have, coupled with the nearness of his body, is incredibly arousing.