Black Flag (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  Being a World of Outlaw driver, he too had his fair share of pit lizards but Ami was far from that and good people in my book.

  “How’s Jameson doing now?”

  Ami and I sat down on the edge of the hauler ramp watching the guys get the cars ready. “Cranky when things don’t go his way but he’s healing since the accident,” My gaze over the cars fell on Jameson walking toward us. “He’d never say it, but I think he is still not feeling that well...but he’s managing. I think it’s more of him being angry that it happened in the first place.”

  Ami seemed to understand and let me vent a little to her. It wasn’t like I needed to vent, but she also understand the frustrations that follow when your other half is a racer. They kept so much hidden underneath that helmet at times it was hard to get through it. She knew that.

  “You’re really great for him.” I told Ami motioning to Justin just as Tommy smacked him in the gut with a spare shock when he saw Justin trying to adjust something on the engine.

  “He’s pretty special to me.” Ami beamed looking over at him.

  “Hey Ami,” Jameson bumped into her shoulder. “When did you get here?”

  “Just a few minutes ago,” She wrapped her arms around Jameson for a hug. “I’m glad to see you out here.”

  “Me too,” Jameson pulled back to kiss her cheek. “It’s been a while.”

  To some girls, a kiss on the cheek would bother them. Not me. I knew the bond we all held with each other. Ami would never make a move on Jameson just as I would never cross a line with Justin or any other driver or team member. It’s just the way it was with us.

  Alabama blared through the loud speakers carrying through the pits with the wind.

  Ami was distracted by Justin dumping ice on her after that. With the heat today, I had half a mind to sit my fat ass in the cooler full of water and Gatorade.

  “Hey dude, there’s Quincy Saller.” Justin pointed toward the well-known outlaw owner.

  “He hates me.” Jameson said taking a drink of his Gatorade in hand.

  “How do you do that? You’ve been here all of five minutes.” Tommy mocked Jameson.

  He shrugged. “It’s a talent I guess.”

  Playful Jameson was out tonight, dancing around behind to the beats of an upbeat country song. Dressed in his racing suit that formed nicely to his toned physic, he swayed his hips slightly with a wiggle and then slid across the hauler, repeating the same move on the other side.

  I threw my head back in laughter at his country dance he just made up as did Ami.

  His lips slid over my shoulder. “This reminds me of that summer.”

  “Me too,”

  His gaze on me remained playful and I couldn’t look away. He blinked, dark lashes casted a shadow on his cheeks. My eyes focused on his sun kissed nose, the same freckles I traced when we were younger present.

  “Come here,” his slow, husky voice drew me to him as he motioned with his head to the hauler behind us.

  The sprint car hauler wasn’t too much different from Jameson’s cup hauler but there were a few differences. The biggest difference was where the cars were located when they transported them. In a cup hauler, the cars were stored above with the team electronics and work area below.

  In a sprint car hauler, the cars are stored in the rear near the door almost similar to those toy haulers people use to haul around dirt bikes. Same concept.

  When they unloaded them, it left a large work area for them. Most electronics were kept up front creating on office up there. They usually hauled two cars to each race, extra wings, a few engines, shocks, torsion bars, springs, rear ends, tires and axles. All ready to repair a wadded up race car.

  The spare wing and numerous other parts were hauled to the infield prior to the feature events in case they needed to make changes during the two-minute break they allowed to get back to racing. Though it’s the south where most feel life is slower, sprint car racing was fast paced, adrenaline fueled and hot tempers. It was dirt track racing. It was where the local guy could compete with legends. It was where the man who worked 8-5 all week could get his next fix. It was where clay met rubber.

  “What are you doing?” I asked when he closed the door behind him. There was no air conditioning inside the hauler either. With the humidity, closing the door made it like a sauna.

  “Getting my girl alone,” he said lowering his voice. “She has been far too sexy today strutting around the pits. My engine has reached the rev-limiter.” His lips brushed against my neck as he spoke the last part, arms leaving me as he walked backwards toward where all the spare parts were stored. A sly smile slid across his lips.

  I’m not sure if it was intentional, but at that moment, I didn’t care.

  “Come on honey, I got a few minutes to kill.”

  He waited for me to draw up alongside him, and instead of turning away; he continued to walk backwards, his smirk only getting bigger.

  That smile got me every time. It was the same smile he had the night we met in Elma, the night he won Knoxville Nationals, the night he won the Chili Bowl, and that night he won me in Charlotte.

  It was my smile.

  “Do you remember that first night in Charlotte?”

  “Yeah,” I swallowed. “why?”

  He shrugged pushing me back further into the parts area. “I think about it a lot. It changed everything between us. Something I’d been holding onto for months was decided with one look.”

  “One look?” I gasped remembering the night, the way he felt against me, the race, the bar, and the way his body hovered over mine. The way it felt when he entered me for the first time, knowing our relationship would never be the same. Oh, I remembered all right.

  “I remember the way you looked in victory lane...”

  His mouth moved to my lips, just for a second, taking me off-guard as he slid his tongue to mine, and his moan made my skin tingle.

  His hands moved to my hips, fingers grasping tightly, pushing into my skin as my shirt lifted slightly, then it was gone completely by impatient hands. “I thought about you that entire race,” he continued, the light layer of stubble on his chin scratched my jaw as he drug his lips back to the corner of my mouth. “The way your eyes lit up with each touch and the fire between us...I know you felt it too back then.”

  I nodded. It was all I could do. My fingers gripped the front of his shirt as my breathing became shallow.

  “Fuck, I remember what it felt like to be inside you for the first time, the noises you made, and the grip of your fingers in my hair.” He exhaled slowly. “You felt so good, you drove me crazy.” His teeth nipped at my neck reminding me he was still here, the feel of his tongue was a brief reprieve to the haze of the heat. His fingers went to the waistband of my jean shorts and mine went to his race suit pulling it down. Next was his t-shirt and that was gone too within seconds.

  “What’s gotten into you?” My hands gripped into his hair so tight I incited a groan from him.

  “Must be the heat,” I knew he wasn’t just referring to the heat between us.

  I moaned, or at least I thought I did. Some kind of noise escaped but was quickly swallowed by his mouth as he curled his free hand into my hair pushing my face almost painfully to his. He shifted all his weight forward. We fell back against the shocks on the wall. Jameson smacked his head on the rear end hanging above us. It didn’t stop him though. H just winced slightly, rubbed the spot and continued.

  His steady hands pulled my panties down, palms ran up my bare thighs before his body pressed into me. Watching me with half lidded eyes, he nipped at my wrist and then moved back to my neck.

  He pressed forward, assembly prep completed and it was time for some align boring.

  And then...we heard Tommy.

  Jameson’s head fell forward.

  “Damn it.” His shoulders hunched as he seemed completely defeated. His sigh heavy with annoyance.

  “Where’s Jameson?” we heard Tommy ask Justin who was apparently ou
t there too. My cheeks flushed at what he must have heard. He had to of heard.

  Justin laughed. “We found his pants in the hauler.”

  Jameson chuckled remembering that he dropped those near the door earlier today.

  “Where’d the rest of him go?”

  “Beats me,”

  “You’re helpful.”

  “Never claimed to be,”

  Knowing this wasn’t happening, we both sighed and untangled ourselves right before Tommy peeked his head inside and laughed when Jameson kicked it shut. “Get out of here.”

  Tommy cackled leaving us to right our clothing.

  When we finished and stepped outside, Tommy, Justin and Tyler all stood with smiles.

  “Do you honestly know how many times I’ve seen this boy’s ass over the years?” Tommy asked Justin holding a wrench in his left hand and a beer in the other.

  “Don’t answer that.” Jameson bellowed from the front of the hauler trying to find his helmet he’d tossed aside earlier.

  They all got a good laugh out of our disappearance, as did Ami. She smiled wiping some grease from my shoulder. “It’s really hard to get it on in there. Tommy is always walking in.”

  I slung my arm around her. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one.”

  “Nope, we have done things in this hauler I hope no one ever finds out about.”

  Tommy perked up. “You know, everyone thinks they’re so sneaky around here but we can hear everything. There’s no installation.” He looked between Ami and me leaning against the side of the hauler now.

  “Go easy on the beer fire crotch, it is daytime.”

  He smiled, blue eyes amused under his black hat. With his orange curls looping out just like Jameson’s usually did, he looked like a damn Halloween costume. “Yeah, okay. I will if you can keep your legs closed for one night.”

  Jameson was quicker than I was and backhanded Tommy upside the head without saying anything as they scrambled to make a few adjustments on the cars. All three sprint cars were lined up outside the hauler caked in clay.

  Tommy was distracted after that leaving Ami and I to add tear-offs to the helmets, something I always enjoyed doing for Jameson.

  “It’s racy tonight.” Justin waggled his eyebrows at Jameson as they pulled the racing suits back over their shoulders.

  “Ah-yeah,” Jameson replied with a southern draw I didn’t know he had. “Best of luck to you two.”

  The taunting was on. They were all friends inside the pits. On the track, no one was friends.

  Jameson smiled when the horn sounded twice letting us know it was time for the drivers to line up for the A-Feature.

  All this; the sounds, the sights, the laughter among the boys; it was like reliving all those summer races together one bullhorn at a time.

  Tommy made a few frantic adjustments to Tyler’s car before he pounded on the wing letting him know he was ready. They pushed the cars into line for the trucks to lead them to the track to be pushed off.

  Tommy controlled all the set-ups of both Jameson’s sprint cars as well as the one he had for himself on occasions like this. Tommy Davis was a sought after guy at the dirt tracks. Not only did he have a degree in engineering, he knew sprint cars better than most seasoned vets. Jameson had confidence in him and without Tommy; JAR Racing wouldn’t be what it was.

  This team, Tommy, Justin, and Tyler, was essentially his buddies growing up. Tommy of course went to high school with us. And he met Justin and Tyler back when he raced for USAC (United States Auto Club), a division that has three premier divisions of midgets, sprint cars and silver crown sprint cars.

  When Jameson started racing Busch and then eventually in the Winston Cup series, he couldn’t let go of his dirt side. So to keep with that, he started JAR Racing in 2002 and teamed up with Simplex, Ayers Manufacturing, and PowerPlus Performance, to field two cars in the World of Outlaw series, the premier division for winged sprint car racing in the United States.

  For being into their first year, Justin was running fifth in the points with Tyler running ninth. The best part was they were all having fun.

  And though Jimi would never tell you, he kept it going for Jameson. With all the obligations on the cup side, Jameson didn’t have time to take care of everything when the outlaws raced twice or sometimes three times a week. Jimi made sure things were done right. He knew how much it meant to Jameson.

  Tommy, Ami and I made our way back to the pit bleachers to watch the feature.

  The lights of the track burst on at the setting sun highlighting the fire breathing sprint cars on the track. The top wings, all shinny and polished, glistened as they passed by the front-stretch. Greasy food, beer, methanol, warm rubber, sunscreen, fresh grass all outweighed the paper mill smell, thank god. Inhaling deeply, I was reminded of everything I loved about this place on a Friday night at the local dirt track and the catchy nicknames it brought with it.

  They announced the drivers and their catchy nicknames they had most of their careers. Justin West was, “Wicked West” and pull off some of the wickedest slide jobs you ever saw. Tyler Sprague was “The Sleeper” and waited until the last moment to make his move. Jameson, well he carried his from NASCAR, “Rowdy Riley” and watching him race dirt, the name did him justice.

  The cars circled, thunderous and defined, the cellophane tear-offs stuck to the chain-link fence. Each with a loud pop as the lifted in the turns and then the sharp growl as they feathered through the high banked turns. The dust cloud swirled breaking just above the tree line before dissipating into the night’s air.

  The green flag waved and it was all we could do to see the cars with the wave of dirt that blew toward us.

  About ten laps into the 40-lap main, most were hugging the bottom where Jameson and Tyler were riding the cushion of caution up top. The cars were sticking and would be considered dry-slick with a black layer of rubber laid down.

  Tyler grabbed a new line on the inside near lap seventeen, Jameson kept with his line up top and managed to knock off a few cars and hold on to third for a while.

  Jameson still had it and could hang with the guys like he never left dirt. Coming back to dirt, most thought, why would you risk it with the deal you have going with Simplex and NASCAR? Sure, Jameson had a sponsorship with Simplex that prohibited him from doing activities that could hurt him. But the thing was, dirt racing was how Jameson relaxed. Simplex knew that. In turn, they respected his decisions and trusted him to be careful.

  Honestly, I think he raced dirt again just to prove he still could. I mean sure, there was the relaxation part but he never got away from dirt for too long as it was his roots and he needed to know for himself that it still was. It was almost as if this was his reality check.

  The dirt had layered hovering over the track. As each car whipped past, the wind circled the cloud creating a vortex sucking the cars to the clay. Justin had a good three car gap on the rest of the field of twenty cars with twenty to go and pretty much checked out after that, no one could catch him.

  Before we knew it, the 40-lap feature was done with no cautions.

  Though Jameson finished third behind Justin and a local kid named Danny Utley, he was all smiles when he pulled himself from the car.

  It was moments like this, surrounded by our inner circle of family and friends, where the man who dominated on the track let his guard down. In turn, we saw the twenty-three year old kid that he was. Gone was the man who challenged everyone who questioned his skill and who told him he couldn’t do it. Present was the magic behind the wheel, Jameson Riley. Vulnerable but extremely relentless, most forgot he was a kid living his dream within the shadows of the greatness Jimi created in the world of racing.

  I’m not sure anyone would ever see him in the light I saw him in; for who he really was. But then again, would they understand such a complex man full of adrenaline and desire like he was?

  I don’t think they could.

  “You want a beer man?” Justin opened the coo
ler once everyone was back at the hauler. He held his trophy close petting it as he handed Jameson the beer.

  Jameson nodded taking the beer from Justin and then tried to steal his trophy.

  The celebration at the hauler was in full swing just like the good old days. Though we were all having a good time and sharing stories from the past, most at Tommy’s expense, something kept drawing my attention toward the shadows of the track where the lights had just flickered off but I couldn’t understand why.

  Seated securely on Jameson’s lap, he didn’t let me forget where he wanted my attention with his touches that never failed to hit me with another round of heat and desire. It wasn’t like the heat from the day had dissipated in the least and neither had our unfinished business. Now wasn’t the time though. This was about hanging out with our friends right now.

  Ami was leaned against Justin’s sprint car. His arm was draped over her shoulders and the other one holding his trophy taunting Jameson.

  “It’s not too often I beat the boss man.” Justin would say every now and then and hug the trophy tighter causing us all to break into laughter.

  Tommy had disappeared and none of us thought much of it since we had seen his attention toward a few of the pit lizards.

  When he returned, we thought some of it because Van, our bodyguard, who I’d met all of one time, was beside him. He was sneaky, stealthy even and wasn’t noticed unless he wanted to be. I personally had no idea he even followed us here but I guess maybe that was his plan all along.

  I could actually count the number of occasions when Tommy had acted his age of twenty-three. As he jogged up to us, now was one of them. “Jameson, we need to leave.”

  “Why?” His hands slid from my thighs as I stood.

  “We just do.”

  That right there confirmed my earlier theory. Darrin was here.

  A few minutes passed as Jameson stared into the distance.

  Tyler jogged over from the Simplex/Ayers tent where he’d just been. His shaggy black hair matted from the sweat of the race fell loosely over his forehead before he swept it away.

  “Hey man, uh...” his brown eyes danced around searching for words that wouldn’t set Jameson off. His hand rose to scratch the back of his head, stalling. “We have a problem.”