Down & Dirty
Page 20
My mind immediately goes back to a similar position we were in at our time in Moab, how he thrust into me while I was bent over the tank of his bike, my mind and body crazy with lust.
Nixon acts out the part a little too well, probably remembering the same things I am. He’s putting his nose in my hair and running it down the length of my neck, making me forget that we aren’t together anymore. I’m tilting my head for him to have a better angle and my hands tighten on the handlebar grips as my body lights up with want.
Suddenly, it feels like Nixon and I are the only two here.
My throat betrays my mind and I let out a small groan. When I feel Nixon’s lips spread into a smile against my neck I silently swear at myself. I’m supposed to act indifferent around him, damn it.
Garrett tells us that he has all the pictures of us he needs and then brings out another bike, a Yamaha four stroke, for Nixon.
What the hell. Nixon doesn’t have to strip down to his undies for this? That’s bull shit.
“Why doesn’t Nixon have to strip for this?” I ask, sounding like a pissy high school girl. Garrett gives me a sexy smirk and moves toward me before answering.
“Because babe, this shoot is for a men’s magazine and I don’t think there are a lot of men that would want to see Mr. King in his skivvies. You on the other hand,” he trails off and then holds out his digital camera to show me the images on the screen.
Wow. I’m lying on the bike with my hand in my hair and my boobs pointing to the sky. I look hot, even before the magazine has done all of the photoshopping crap. I’m actually impressed with myself that I can look that good. I didn’t know I had it in me.
“Okay, so I’m going to have you get all of your gear on and you and Nixon are going to do some riding on the track. Sound good?” Garrett asks, but turns around before I can even open my mouth.
I spin around and find that Nixon has his bike parked next to mine, wearing a black long sleeved shirt, riding pants, and a scowl that has been plastered on his face since he arrived, it seems.
“You ready to get your ass handed to you on the track, King?” I joke, trying to keep things cordial between us while we’re working. Apparently this isn’t the way to do it because Nixon kick starts the bike and rides toward the track.
I roll my eyes at his attitude and make my way to my bike. After a quick check of all my protective gear, I pull my helmet on and move my goggles into place. Then I kick start my bike and gun the throttle to the track, feeling the first bit of peace take over my body since I arrived here.
Nixon and I are trying to overtake the other on every turn and he shows off with a whip while airborne. I decide that when I hit the tabletop jump I’m going to one up him, so as soon as my bike has reached a certain height, I bring my body horizontal to the bike seat and let go of the handlebars in a Superman move.
After twenty minutes of the two of us riding and actually seeming to have fun I notice Garrett off to the side of the track, waving his hands around in the air to get our attention.
I ride over to him and kill the engine, Nixon pulling up beside me doing the same a few seconds later.
“Wow guys, I think we’re done here today. I got some great shots of the two of you and I’m sure they’ll turn out fabulously. You’re relieved of your photo duties,” he chuckles and then shifts his eyes solely to me before taking a step closer.
“Oh Emmie, I need to get your number from you,” Garrett reminds me and reaches into his pocket for his phone.
I open my mouth to speak, but Nixon’s voice booms out first.
“Fuck no she’s not giving you her number, dick head!”
I turn my head toward Nixon and narrow my eyes, hoping he can feel the mental daggers I’m throwing at him. Who the hell does he think he is, my father? Even though Garrett doesn’t need my number for dating purposes, he has no right to chase off other men when he had his chance and threw it away.
Before Nixon opened his mouth I was going to explain to him that Garrett needed my number for a calendar, but now that he’s staked his imaginary claim while denying any claim to everyone else I’m seriously pissed off.
Nixon really doesn’t like it when I’m pissed off, and this might just make him hate me.
I turn back to Garrett, who is giving Nixon a funny look, and give him a small smile. When he shifts his eyes from Nixon to me, his brows are furrowed and he looks a bit confused.
“Sure Garrett,” I rattle off my number, watching Nixon’s reaction from the corner of my eye.
When one side of Garrett’s mouth pulls up into a sexy smile, probably due to the smoke pouring out of Nixon’s ears at the moment, and I give him a smile back. Then I hear the bike behind me start and the throttle gun hard. Not even a second later, Nixon flies past us, leaving a cloud of dust around me and Garrett.
When the dust finally settles, Nixon is nowhere in sight.
“Is there something going on with the two of you?” Garrett mutters quietly.
“Not anymore,” I answer with a little more bite in my voice than I wanted. The look on Garrett’s face says he doesn’t believe me.
“I’ll have my friend call you about that calendar and I’ll give your manager a copy of the photos that we plan to use for this spread. Take care Emmie,” he swoons and then walks past me.
After we’ve both changed out of the outfits used for the shoot and back into our own clothes, Nixon and I are called into the back of the large garage where we’re supposed to conduct the interview with Charlie Zucker.
I’ve heard the name before but for some reason I can’t remember what she looks like until she walks in and takes a seat across from both of us.
It’s the clingy bitch from the grocery store that Nixon was talking to when he pretended that he barely knew me.
Fucking awesome. I’m looking forward to the end of this interview already.
She sits down in her red wing back chair while Nixon and I are stuck with stiff metal fold out chairs and she gives us what I’m sure she thinks looks like a genuine smile. To me it just looks like she has indigestion and can’t find a way to sit comfortably.
“Good afternoon guys. How are you?” she beams, her eyes solely focused on Nixon when she speaks.
“Hey Charlie,” Nixon mutters, not giving her anything else. I watch her face fall slightly at his tone.
I don’t say anything because she’s pretending that I’m not in the room anyway, so until she asks me a question directly I’m going to sit here. I’m already uncomfortable sitting next to these two, why add to my pain by saying something I shouldn’t.
Charlie pulls out a stack of papers that I’m sure are questions that someone else made up for her to ask and clears her throat.
Her first six questions are all directed at Nixon and she’s totally sucked in to every word that comes out of that asshole’s mouth, like he invented the Botox her face is full of or something.
She finally turns her attention to me, her face pulled into a small sneer when she has to take her eyes away from Nixon for a second.
“So Emmie Black, you’ve come in first in every race so far this year and you have your fifth race of the season happening in just a few days in Houston. How do you see the rest of your year playing out for you?” Her eyes immediately swing back to Nixon while I answer.
“Well, I see the rest of the year playing out just as the beginning has,” I tell her. When I open my mouth to elaborate, she cuts me off and asks Nixon another asinine question about what his favorite candy bar is.
I roll my eyes and tune their stupid ass conversation out. These two are the last people I want to be around right now. Maybe I should see if Harlow or one of the other girls from the team wants to hit up a bar or club sometime this weekend so I can get laid and release a bit of this tension. Riding just isn’t cutting it at the moment.
“Em,” Nixon mumbles, tapping his fingers against my wrist to get my attention.
“Huh?” I eloquently say and swing my attention
back to Charlie, who looks supremely pissed off that I’ve been ignoring her rambling for the past ten minutes.
“I asked if you were currently involved with anyone at the moment.” Her voice is causing cavities in my mouth from her fake sugary sweet tone.
“Oh, um,” I stutter out. How should I answer this? Should I tell the truth and look like a sad loser who can’t keep a boyfriend, or should I try to make Nixon jealous and tell him that I am involved with someone?
I decide that option one is the safer of the two. I can’t think of anyone on the spot who I could use as a potential love interest that isn’t already married or a woman.
“I am single,” I say through a sad smile, watching as she gives me sympathetic eyes at my answer.
She decides to finally dig a little deeper at why. “Is there a reason that you are single?” The one topic I don’t want to discuss is the only one that she wants to talk about. Go figure.
“Well,” I take a deep breath before giving her an honest answer, “I just got out of a relationship and it didn’t end well. I think it will be a while before I decide to put myself back out there, so for now I’m just having a bit of fun, testing out the merchandise if you know what I mean.” I smile when I see Nixon’s body tense up beside me at my words.
“Smart girl,” she tells me and then does a top to toe scan, really looking at me for the first time. “You know you are quite the little hottie. Whoever was dumb enough to let go of you will regret it for the rest of his life.”
I smile and thank her for her unexpected kind words, glad that Nixon heard them.
“I sure hope so,” I whisper, mostly to myself but Nixon must catch it because his body goes even stiffer than before.
“Okay guys, I think that’s all the questions we have for you. Thanks for the interview,” Charlie says and we all stand to leave.
Before I can even get five feet away from them Charlie has plastered herself to Nixon’s body.
“Are you free tonight?” she mock whispers in what I think is her seductive tone. It sounds more like seagulls at the beach to me, so I think about leaving a friendly note on her chair to work on that but then realize I don’t give a shit about her and decide against it.
I glance back once to see why Nixon hasn’t answered her yet only to find his eyes are locked on mine. He looks a bit sad.
I tilt my head at him and give him the same look before breaking eye contact and power walking out of the enormous garage, hoping that he doesn’t end up with Charlie tonight but not holding my breath on that hope.
Asshole.
Chapter 29
I hadn’t seen or heard from Nixon in two weeks, one day, six hours and seventeen minutes, not that I was keeping track or anything. So when I park my truck next to my racing trailer for the local charity race and see that Nixon’s trailer is parked next to mine, I get nervous butterflies.
He is either avoiding the Black Bear training track or coming early to avoid me. After three days of Nixon avoiding the Black Bear track, I decided to quit torturing myself and trained on my own track so I could stop wondering if he was going to show up.
If my mind wasn’t on riding was going to lose my focus and get hurt and I knew it. My season was going too well to lose focus.
I don’t know why I had such a strong urge to talk to him, but I felt so confused about the way he acted at the photo shoot that I feel a need to clear things up.
Otis and I jump out of my F-150 truck and make our way toward the back of the trailer, looking out my peripherals for any sign of Nixon, but seeing none.
I round the corner, note my team making final adjustments to my four stroke and decide to get them each a drink from the concessions stand for all their hard work. It’s tricky carrying two holders, seven soft drinks in all, but I was almost back to the trailer and hadn’t spilled a drop.
As soon as I round the corner where we are set up, I see him. Correction, I see them.
A suited up Nixon is sitting in a black fold out camping chair in between our trailers with none other than Jen Caruso sitting on his lap, hands grabbing at every inch of him that her probably under aged, hands can get to.
What an asshole.
He knows that Jen is the reason I was out last season and he also knows how much I don’t like her. So the big question is- is he doing this to get a reaction out of me?
Well, he’ll be waiting a long ass time for any reaction because at this moment I realize that I couldn’t care less about Nixon King. He is lower than the dirt stuck to my riding boots.
I never needed Nixon King. Sure I had wanted him, but want and need are two completely different things and I was going to show him that.
Plus, I am a bad ass bitch. I can get anyone I want and I don’t have to whore myself out like Nixon and Jen do.
When Nixon’s eyes, which have been scanning all around the area nonstop, land on me his hands are suddenly very interested in Jen’s body. He’s wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close when it didn’t seem like he gave two shits how close she was a few minutes ago. Wow, he seems a bit desperate to prove a point.
I raise a brow and give him a disapproving smirk, but go back to my task at hand. I won’t let Nixon, or any other man for that matter, make me feel like I’m missing out on something because I’m not with them.
I make my way into my trailer with the drinks, ignoring Nixon and Jen completely, and pass out the refreshments to my pit crew. After speaking with my crew chief, Adam, about any adjustments I felt needed to be made since my practice ride earlier this morning, he tells me to go to the changing room of the trailer and change into my gear.
To walk to the changing room I have to walk in between mine and Nixon’s trailers, and right past Nixon and Jen who have since started making out heavily.
As soon as I walk past, focusing on keeping my pace even and unhurried, Nixon pulls away from Jen and clears his throat.
“How did your date with picture boy go, Emmie?” he asks sarcastically, talking about Garrett. Yeah, like he actually cares.
Instead of telling him that Garrett and I got smashed and ended up having a marathon sex weekend where Garrett immediately moved into my house because he said he couldn’t live without me, I decide to give him the truth.
“Nothing happened with picture boy, Nixon. I gave him my number, which he needed for another photographer, and we both went our separate ways.” I hope my voice sounds even and uninterested in his reaction.
I walk into my changing room, proud of myself for not looking back at Nixon’s reaction when I told him that nothing happened between Garrett and me.
I decide to scroll through my iPod, looking for a good song to play before my race. I find the perfect song and, knowing that Nixon is still sitting outside my trailer, I crack open the window and crank up the sound on my speakers. I feel a small smile creep onto my face while the Plain White T’s sing about how hate is a strong word, but they really, really, really don’t like someone.
After I change into my gear, a black long sleeved riding shirt with all my sponsors logos printed on it tucked into my hot pink riding pants, I open the door and walk out. Nixon is still sitting in his chair, alone this time, and his gaze is completely focused on the ground.
I mentally shrug, telling myself that I don’t care and can make myself stronger than I was before I met Nixon. The glue that I’ve put on my heart is starting to harden.
As soon as I get close enough he reaches out and grabs onto my wrist and pulls me so hard that when my body makes it to his we have too much momentum and his chair falls, knocking him on his back with me lying on top of him.
“What the fuck, Nixon? Let me go,” I grunt out as I try to escape the punishing hold he has on my shoulders.
“I can’t sugar,” he whispers next to my ear before he softly grazes his nose over the sensitive flesh behind it. I still and close my eyes, mentally kicking my own ass for the tears pooling after hearing my nickname for the first time in weeks.
“I can’t let you go. I’ve tried so hard to move on and let you live your own life, but I can’t. I need you to be a part of me. I didn’t realize until it was too late that I didn’t want anyone but you to be by my side at night. I can’t live my life without you in it,” he mutters almost inaudibly and then softly kisses behind my ear.
The kiss is what snaps me back to reality. He did let me go. I wanted us to work, but he didn’t even try at a relationship. If he wanted a life with me then he would have at least attempted to work things out or told the other women hitting on him that we were together.
I push on his chest and struggle out of his grasp just as fast as I fell into it. When I’m fully standing I look down at Nixon’s sad, dejected face and try to talk myself out of lying back on top of him and forgiving him for every bad thing he’s ever done.
Instead I remind myself that I need to be strong for my own sake. Nixon could break me in half if I let him, and he will. He’s already shown me once that he can do it easily.
“If you never wanted to let me go then what the fuck was that whole show with Jen? If I’m that important to you why the hell would you be making out with her, or anyone for that matter, in front of me?”
He shakes his head slowly and has the nerve to look like the hurt party in this situation. “I thought that you had gone on a date with that guy from the photo shoot so I wanted to make you feel like I did. Thinking that you were with that asshole ripped me in fucking two, Emmie, and I’ve never felt like that before. I wanted you to hurt like I did.”
I huff out a laugh because Nixon’s plot for revenge wasn’t only one of the most hurtful things I’ve ever experienced, but it was also unnecessary.
“Congratulations Nixon, you’ve succeeded. I told you things that my closest friends don’t even know. You know more about me than anyone else in this world and I trusted you. Look where that got me. I gave you the most intimate pieces of me and you decided to trample all over them with your riding boots on.