Black Flag (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  I licked my lips again, he slowed going over a speed bump.

  “You stop that,” he growled.

  “Ah honey, you know you want me.” I mimicked licking my lips once more for the hell of it.

  “I want you badly.” He grinned. “Always do.”

  My cheeks heated watching a group in the infield as they partied near their campsite. They all raised their drinks of choice when they saw who was in the golf cart and yelled something along the lines of, “Whew Rowdy Riley!”

  We grinned at each other and rode in companionable silence as we drove around the outside of the pits, through the entry gate and then around the other side of the venue, toward the grandstands.

  Jameson turned off the ignition, removing the keys and tossed them in one hand. “Come on Joanie—let’s go to the sock hop.”

  I walked a few steps down into the grandstands of Bristol Motor Speedway before turning my face up into the moonlight.

  This was no sock hop, but it was better. After a few minutes, I felt him come up behind me, stopping inches away. I smiled, enjoying the warm summer night against my skin, happy to be here with him, alone.

  His hand brushed along my hair as he stepped closer, his body touching mine from head to foot. I sighed, feeling content and leaned back to increase the contact between us.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He murmured, his arm finally coming around me. “Your skin glows under the moon light. It’s breathtaking.”

  “It’s the hormones.” I turned, my eyes remained closed, wrapping my arms around his neck and keeping my head angled up for his kiss.

  His lips felt cool for once against mine. He pulled me up off my feet holding me to his body. Being this close I could feel the erratic beating of his heart, relieved I had the same effect on him. His head angled so his tongue could enter my mouth, and I fisted my hands in his hair. He groaned in appreciation, his tongue stroking in a blatant, sexual rhythm, ravenous and restless against mine. Needing air, we eventually pulled away but he continued to press soft, wet kisses to my lips.

  Taking a seat in one of the stadium seats, he tugged me on to his lap looking over the speedway from the view the fans would see tomorrow night.

  It had been a while since Jameson had seen a track from the view.

  As we sat there, the only sounds were from our steady even breaths and the cicada in the distance.

  “I’ve always dreamed about this.” Jameson whispered into my hair.

  “Racing here?”

  “No.” he chuckled.

  “What then?”

  “Not just racing. I mean yeah, there’s that, but mostly I dreamt of being here.” His face brushed against the side of mine softly, his attention remained on the track. “Seeing my dreams come true. Having everything I ever wanted. Being here with you,”

  “And you do, have everything you ever wanted?”

  “Yes.” His voice had that familiar smooth velvet tone. He kissed the side of my forehead once. “With you, I have it all. I’m gonna make our dreams come true, just don’t give up on me, honey. I know I’m hot headed and I have an anger problem that would frighten most but I love you. I’m gonna take care of you, and our baby. I’m going to do everything I can to keep you with me forever and I will make you my wife.”

  “You act as I don’t have a choice...” I laughed.

  I felt him shrug with indifference. “You don’t really.”

  I giggled staring back at the track as was Jameson.

  “What’s it like being in the car during a race?” I asked changing subjects.

  “Uh, it’s an intense feeling that’s for sure and different than being in a sprint car race. With sprint cars, the race format is different and of course you’re in the car longer with stock cars so there’s that too.”

  “Do you get too hot?”

  “Oh yeah. You sweat something like five to ten pounds of water in each race.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yep. It’s hard on your entire body. My hands cramp from gripping the wheel but you can’t grip it too tight or you won’t feel the changes happening to the track. Sometimes it’s hard just to hang on in the beginning or re-starts when you know you gotta be on it but you’re shaking from the adrenaline.” I felt him sigh as this was what he loved. “Like I said, it’s intense and something I’ve never felt, other than behind the wheel.”

  “Can you see the crowd when you go past the grandstands?”

  “Not really. You can on caution laps but in races, no. It’s just a blur but the fact that they’re there, cheering you on is enough. People pay to see you race...it’s a hard thing to grasp at times. It’s like being a musician, pouring your heart, your soul, your sweat into a song and then people buy it and actually want to listen to it.” I felt him shift again, adjusting against the seat. “I feel that same way about racing. I put so much of myself into racing that it’s hard to draw a line between that anything else. It all blurs together eventually and you find yourself balancing on the edge of whatever line that is. Soon, you don’t know yourself without it.”

  He was quiet for a moment before he added, “I don’t like this lifestyle at times and the invasion into the only privacy I have but it gets easier. I think.”

  “Are you nervous for tomorrow?”

  Jameson had yet to actually get inside his race car since the accident other than the safety clearance NASCAR had him do with getting in and out of the car. If he wasn’t nervous, I was sure I had enough for the both of us.

  “I don’t know that I would say nervous, just anxious, I guess. I want to be back in the car.”

  Eventually conversation drifted away and we just sat there.

  Being here with him, wrapped securely in his arms, I felt safe, as though the rest of the world didn’t exist outside this bubble we were in. I was right to say we were going about this the wrong way. Ordinarily you would date, have sex, get married and then have a baby. Some even waited until they were married to have sex.

  Not us, no, we started with sex, ended up dating, created a little crazy irrational baby out of wedlock and then maybe someday we’d get married. Jameson was right. Doing it this way, the crazy-irrational-break-your-heart-dirty-heathen way, was half the fun. It was our way.

  Thursday morning was another whirlwind of press and interviews for Jameson and we had yet to spend any time together since our evening in the grandstands. Around nine, I was sitting on the pit box, getting ready to watch Jameson’s first practice since the accident.

  I was a nervous wreck. I bit off all my fingernails and if it didn’t look so ridiculous, I probably would have started on my toenails.

  A group of fans drew my attention on the other side of the wall. I turned my head to see Jameson approaching. He had a sure gait of someone who was comfortable around a race track. His black racing suit was zipped down a few inches revealing his white t-shirt underneath. His helmet tucked under his arm as he reached out to sign a few autographs as he passed by a fence swarming with fans.

  Once he made it to the pit box, he swung a leg of over the wall.

  “It feels good to be out here again.” He said with a smile, taking in a deep breath of the smells surrounding us; exhaust burning, the sweet smells of octane fuel, tires, and warm asphalt. It was the smells of racing. The smells of everything he knew and had known throughout his entire life. It’s what we knew.

  “Here goes nothing,” he murmured stepping over the wall toward his car parked on pit lane. Spencer, who was checking air pressures, stood and clasped his hand over Jameson’s shoulder.

  My heart leapt up into my throat when he slid through the window moments later and began his ritual of putting on his gear.

  Was I ready for this? Was he ready for this?

  All the fear I’d felt watching the accident on television that Sunday afternoon came crashing back. The images of his body laying motionless inside the car afterwards burned into my brain and it was all I could see, all I could focus on.

  The othe
r drivers watched him having known about the accident.

  A few of them approached his car, leaned in, and said a few words to him. Jameson in turn nodded, giving them a desultory wave.

  Kyle winked offering me the headphones. “Calm him down for me.”

  Calm him down? Calm me down!

  After a few minutes, Jameson’s car was still in on pit lane.

  Instead of talking over the radio, I climbed down from the pit box and made my way to his car.

  Jameson noticed me right away and yanked the window net down, flipping his visor up. I couldn’t hear what he was saying over the rumble of his engine so I leaned inside placing my ear closer to his helmet.

  “Honey, what are you doing out here?” he asked angling his helmet so his words were less muffled. “Get back on the box. It’s not safe down here.”

  I shook my head touching the side of his helmet. “Are you okay?”

  His eyes held mine and I saw the fear drowning him. He was scared, though he’d never say it, no racer ever would.

  But I saw it. I saw it with the rapid rising and falling of his chest. I saw it in the way the determination wavered briefly.

  My hand reached inside and with hesitation covered his heart over his belts. His eyes closed, his head fell back, resting against his seat restraints.

  When his breathing slowed, I leaned closer so he could hear me.

  “You can do this, Jameson. I believe in you. Don’t second guess yourself.” I smiled and winked like he always did. Wanting to distract him and knowing the funbags weren’t an option, I settled for words. “Just think of me on the hood.”

  He chuckled and though I couldn’t see his smile, I saw it in the way his eyes wrinkled in the corners. It was my smile.

  When I turned to walk away, he revved the engine.

  Turning slowly, I looked over my shoulder and even through the window net I saw the wink before he flipped his visor back down.

  With the revving aphrodisiac, I found the need to fan myself and wiggle my hips.

  That earned me another rev.

  Relieved my pep talk worked, I joined Kyle on the pit box.

  “Is he okay?” Kyle asked as I adjusted the head set.

  “I don’t know yet.” I eyed his hotdog he’d gotten from the concession stand. “Give me that.” I snatched it away.

  “Hey, that’s mine.” He reached for it only to have his hand slapped away. “I’m starving.”

  I pointed behind me toward the pit concessions swarming with customers. “Then go get another one.”

  Kyle grunted, tossed his clipboard and got himself another hotdog.

  When Jameson’s car finally pulled onto the track, I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  He was quiet on the radio, only answering “yes” and “no” to Kyle’s persisted questions on the handling.

  He didn’t take many laps; the car seemed to be perfect in his eyes. So after fifty laps, he brought it back in.

  Jameson just grinned and shook his head as he carefully withdrew himself from the car. I could already tell his left side was sore by the way he favored it when he swung his legs around.

  “How do you feel?” I asked. Anxiety made me feel slightly ill and ready to hurl the hotdog I insisted on eating.

  His eyes gleamed with reprieve at me, running his hand through his wet shock of hair. “Good.” He grimaced slightly. “I’m a little sore, you know, from the G-force in the turns. I’ll get used to it again.”

  “So...” I began, examining his face carefully. He looked a little tired. He was breathing heavier than usual, but his cheeks were flushed with healthy exertion and his eyes were glowing.

  “I’m fine honey,” he shook his head assuring me everything was okay. Leaning against the side of his car, he set his Gatorade on the roof. “Yeah, I’m a little sore and more out of breath than I wanna be but it felt good.” He grinned, a full on, beaming Jameson grin, and I wanted to pin him to the hood of his car and ride him.

  “Good.” I smiled tremulously, and he leaned down to give me a quick kiss.

  “Good.” He repeated his eyes cast toward the media gathering behind me.

  “I was worried about you.”

  “I know.” The smile lingered on his full lips, and for some reason my eyes were glued to them.

  My gaze was still locked on his mouth, and he deliberately licked his goddamn lips, the little shit.

  I jerked my eyes to his and saw he was looking at me in amusement and desire.

  “Stop it,” he said softly near my ear. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.” His eyes gestured toward the media again and I knew our time was up.

  Brushing the towel he’d been holding across his face, he gave me a wink and turned to the press that gathered. Lifting his hand, he ducked his head in acknowledgment of some nearby fans cheering.

  As with the previous days at the track, I surreptitiously watched as the media asked question after question on Jameson’s theory as to why Darrin Torres hit him.

  He shunned most of them with sarcasm, but a few he answered diffidently with the help of Alley.

  When he was finished with the media, he followed behind me toward the hauler so he could change and then it was off to a nearby Ford dealer for another meet and greet.

  He was right behind me, and took my elbow when we reached it.

  Jameson then pushed me back against the side where it was private between his and Bobby’s haulers.

  I paused, looking at him quizzically, and he raised his hand to curl it around my neck. Towering over me, I tried to repress an excited little shiver as he gazed down.

  “I love you,” he said softly. “Everything’s going to be okay, I’ll make sure of it.”

  I felt happy tears fill my eyes as I gazed at the man that was my future.

  How do define being in love? Is it a feeling, a thought, or maybe just a sensation? Do you feel it when you touch, or kiss? Or do you sense it when he speaks?

  To me, I could look at Jameson and feel it. I could touch him and be it. Love isn’t just a feeling. It’s thoughts, sensations, feelings, gestures, and all together they define a word.

  Love.

  A word to some is just a word. But to me, it was a kiss before a race, a nod in my direction, a wink of reassurance and a loving embrace late at night. Love wasn’t just a word to me...it was everything.

  Despite being in love, we were young and learning the hard way that nothing in life was certain. But there was no doubt in my mind we had something very special together.

  Yeah, I was crazy irrational pigizzle and he was a hotheaded dirty talking heathen but this, what we had, was worth fighting for.

  In that moment, I realized he was renewing his declaration from last night in the middle of the paddock. The smell of racing surrounded us. The smells of our lives with revving engines and air tools swirling through the air, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. It was different from our time in the grandstands under the Tennessee moonlight, but the two situations balanced what we were and had become perfectly.

  “I love you,” I said kissing him and putting my heart, my trust, and the future of me and our unborn child, in his hands, the only place we ever belonged. “You can be sure of that.”

  And just like that, my dirty heathen returned like I knew he would. “I want to strip every stitch of clothing off you and fall to my knees at your feet. I want to worship you, right here, right now.” He pushed his hips against me, pinning me to the side of his hauler. He smiled ruefully down at me. “I want you Sway. All of you. All of the time.”

  I bit my lip apprehensively. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Yes,” His eyes changed, burning with love and lust evenly. “a very good thing.”

  I moaned and his mouth clamped down on my neck, taking a hard sucking bit, as goose bumps shivered across my skin. He knew exactly what would clench the deal for me, not that his words before hadn’t already thrown in the checkered f
lag, but the growling of his voice when he spoke “very” sent me over the edge.

  4. Back Marker – Jameson

  Back Marker – A car running off the pace near the rear of the field.

  Beep...beep...beep

  “Damn it!” I punched the alarm clock off the night stand. “Stupid fucking alarm,”

  After missing a few races, my body seemed to have gotten used to the extra sleep. Now I didn’t want to wake up.

  Beep...beep...beep

  Since punching it didn’t work, I chucked it across the length of my motor coach, hoping it did the trick this time.

  Beep...beep...beep

  Apparently not.

  I was sure at that point the goddamn thing could be bombed and still make that atrocious noise.

  “Goddamn the person who decided it was a good idea to get up early. Goddamn the person who invented alarm clocks. Goddamn the entire fucking world right now!”

  I continued to mumble unintelligently about all the people and inventions over the years that I thought deserved to be stuck down by lightening. It made me feeling slightly better about having to get up at five AM for an interview instead of being with Sway today.

  I understood completely that she had an obligation to the track. With Charlie going crazy lately, I needed her there to keep things under control. I received daily calls from Mark Kelly, our track facilitator, about all the things going wrong. I was beginning to think running a track, managing a sprint car team and racing full time on the cup series might be a too much but those were just thoughts.

  I had Wes, the pilot of our private jet, fly Sway home last night after we went out for dinner and spent some time press forging. I couldn’t get enough of her and her amazing libido. Knowing the influence she had at me, I glanced down when I felt the burn in my stomach.

  Yeah, I wish buddy but there’s no crankcase to bore today...but tomorrow, that’s another story.

  After taking a quick shower to wake up, I got dressed for my interview with ESPN. Just as I was wishing I had some coffee, Alley was knocking on the door.