Bella and the New Guy (Love on the Track Book 1)

by Amy Sparling

“This is the old score tower,” Bella says, stepping over a broken branch and shoving the door until it creaks open.

  Inside is a black and white checkered tile floor, and some barstools that face the broken window. There’s also a counter where we can sit our food. Trees shade the area and a cool breeze makes it a lot more pleasant than standing out in the sun.

  “No one comes out this far,” she says, taking a seat on one of the stools.

  “I like it,” I say, gazing around the abandoned building. It’s small, about the size of a two car garage. There are old plaques on the wall and framed pictures of famous racers from back in the day.

  “The track used to be over here,” she says, motioning toward the empty land in front of us. “Then in the nineties, they moved it to where it is now. Something about flood zones or whatever. I don’t know… my dad told me about it once. He’s been coming here since he was a kid.”

  “How long have you been into motocross?” I ask.

  “My whole life,” she says, taking a nacho chip and eating it.

  “Me too.”

  She grins. “Thanks again for what you did earlier. This is the best day of riding I’ve ever had.”

  I wish I could tell her all the things I’m thinking. Like how when she smiles it makes my heart hurt in a way I’ve never felt before. And how I think about her all day and all night, and I don’t even know her well but I want to. How the idea of dating her makes me want to throw away my whole career and just stay here in Roca Springs forever.

  But instead, I smile and say, “Anytime.”

  Chapter Nine

  This is the most freedom I’ve had in my life. Now that school is over, and I’m all graduated and adultish, my parents don’t seem to care what I’m up to. Summer breaks were always filled with freedom because both of my parents work during the day, but now it’s different. I’m older. I feel like I could disappear for a few days and they wouldn’t even notice. It’s a strange and fun feeling being an adult now. I’ll start college in the fall, but for now, my summer is motocross.

  And Liam.

  We haven’t done anything. We’re just friends. But my perception of him has changed a lot since the day I first saw him at the bike shop. While I’m not stupid enough to think he’s not at least halfway arrogant, I know there’s more to him now. We’ve been meeting up at the track every day for a couple of weeks now. Every day he rides with me and teaches me better techniques and helps me become a raster rider.

  He’s a great teacher, and I can tell that he must have worked with some good teachers when he was learning how to ride. He knows all kinds of tricks and techniques—stuff I’ve never even heard of. My lap time goes down by ninety seconds, which I never even thought was possible.

  Liam really knows his stuff, and he seems happy to share it all with me, even though he could easily set up shop and charge money for giving out lessons like this. Sometimes I think he’s just trying to hide from all his fans and that’s why he’s “training” me at the track each day. Because as soon as we split apart and go our separate ways, he’s swarmed by people who want to chat with him or get pictures. It’s kind of ridiculous.

  We both thought the fandom would die down after a week or so, and it did with the regulars. But now that word has spread online, people are traveling here from a few hours away just to get a glimpse of Liam. It’s a never-ending stream of fans who want to meet him. I think that’s why we spend so much time on the track. He can pretend he’s busy giving me tips and lessons and that means he can’t get sucked into long conversations with fans.

  At least, I guess that’s what’s going on. Liam might have been a little flirty with me in the beginning, but not anymore. He treats me like one of the guys, like he treats everyone else at this track. Sometimes I think that maybe I imagined that night when it started raining and he called me hot. That night cemented itself into my brain and I went home and thought about him for hours…made up stupid fantasies of us dating and how I could maybe change him from being arrogant and having anger issues. It was really embarrassing how far I took those daydreams.

  And yet, it was all for nothing. Liam treats me totally platonically now. We’re friends. We’re buds.

  It’s nothing flirty, and it’s nothing special.

  And if I’m being honest, it sucks.

  But I won’t let him know that.

  On Friday morning, I pull my hair into a messy bun on top of my head. I haven’t washed it in two days, but who am I trying to impress? Today is race day, so practice hours are only early in the morning and then everyone who isn’t racing has to clear out.

  I pack up my stuff and load my dirt bike into my truck, which is starting to make this weird clunking sound when I drive. My old truck was Brent’s high school truck. He got a new one when he went to college and I got this. It’s ten years old and has over a hundred thousand miles on it, and it’s all dinged up on the outside and worn out on the inside, but at least I’ve got wheels. My mom had tried to buy me a sensible car, but I told her you can’t haul a dirt bike in a car.

  So me and my clunky truck make our way to the track. I’ve already gotten my dad’s money worth from my season pass. I’ve been here every single day since school got out, and so has Liam. (not that it matters.)

  I pull into the track and park near that old oak tree at the edge of the property. It’s my favorite place to park because most people park near the bleachers. Here, I’m alone and can change clothes in peace. That’s one sucky thing about being a woman motocross rider. I can’t just strip naked to change into my gear.

  I wear spandex boy short underwear and a sports bra. I tug on my riding pants either while I’m sitting in my truck, or while standing on the side of my truck if no one is around. Then I quickly slip off my tank top and put on my jersey. A lot of girls don’t mind flashing around their torsos and sports bras, because it is kind of like wearing a bathing suit after all, but I always feel weird.

  Guys have it easy in this regard. They walk around shirtless in boxers and no one cares. I’m surprised to see Liam’s shiny blue truck parked at the track when I get here. He’s in my spot, which I’ve started calling “our” spot over the last week because he parks here too. But he’s normally not here until noon because he says he’s not an early riser. I check the time on my dashboard. It’s just after nine in the morning.

  Liam is sitting on his tailgate, wearing black surf shorts and no shirt. I’m trying to play it extremely cool here, but it’s hard. Liam is gorgeous. He’s got that racer body, all tight ripped muscles and golden tan. He must have had his hair trimmed last night because the sides are short and shaved, and the top part is crisply cut. It looks really good. Like male model good.

  And here I am with two-day old hair, an old T-shirt and cut off shorts. I am not the kind of girl who should be checking him out right now. I’m so out of his league, it’s not even funny.

  “Good morning,” I say, walking up to him. His bike is still in the back of his truck, and he hasn’t unpacked anything yet. He must have just gotten here.

  His expression brightens when he sees me. “You weren’t kidding. You get here early.”

  I shrug. “What else do I have to do all summer?”

  “Sleep in late,” he says, sliding over on the tailgate. He pats the spot next to him and I feel a flutter of butterflies release from my stomach as I move to sit down.

  “Sleeping in late is boring,” I say with a shrug. I stumble over my words, because after that brief smile he gave me, Liam’s expression darkened quite a bit.

  “No hot dates keeping you up late?” he says. I snort out a laugh, wondering if maybe I just imagined that weird look on his face just now.

  “No hot dates,” I say. “It’s not for a lack of trying.”

  He turns toward me. “Oh?”

  I shrug. “I asked out this guy not too long ago. He said no.”

  Liam frowns, his bottom lip jutting out in the cutest possible way. “What kind of guy would turn you d
own?”

  “He’s a big fan of yours,” I say with a sarcastic chuckle. “His name is Ryan. He was all googly-eyed at you when he first met you at the track.”

  Liam rolls his eyes. “Ugh.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  He’s quiet for so long that I’m pretty sure something is bothering him. Especially since the track is empty and it’s the perfect time to ride and yet he’s making no attempt to do so.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “I’m sick of the fame.”

  I look over at him and he’s watching me, those dark eyes looking directly into mine. I have no idea what to say to that.

  He holds out his cell phone, which has been in his hand this whole time. My heart does this little leap in my chest because I think he’s going to ask for my phone number.

  “Read it,” he says.

  Okay so, not my phone number. His phone browser is open to a motocross gossip website. I skim through an article titled Liam Mosely – from Bright Lights and Big Trophies to Slumming it in Roca Springs, Texas.

  It’s basically a bunch of crap that’s bashing him for being exiled to my hometown for the summer. The article talks about how this town sucks, and there’s no nightlife or fun things to do, and how the closest motocross track is a rinky-dink place for losers. I’m probably more offended than Liam is right now, and the whole article is mocking him for his plans this summer.

  “Forget them,” I say, handing his phone back. “Those sites just thrive on pointless gossip.”

  “That pointless gossip could make or break my career. I’m trying really hard here. To redeem myself… and all that.”

  I swallow. We’ve talked a lot about motocross, but not about this.

  “What are you going to do after the summer is over?”

  He takes a deep breath. “I’m going back to professional racing and I’m going to hope I get picked up for a team.”

  “You will,” I say, trying to be reassuring.

  “I’m not so sure about that.” His forearm flexes as he presses his palms to the warm metal of his truck bed. “I really screwed up. I lost my temper, and I shouldn’t have. But I have to get back there. I need to race professionally. It’s all I’ve got.”

  “Well, you know what you want to do with your life, which is awesome,” I say, giving him a small smile. “I’m starting college soon, but I still have no idea what I want to do.”

  “Well I know what I want. I want to race. I don’t want some cubicle job. I don’t want some random career…” He looks over at me. “I want to race.”

  I reach over and touch his hand. His skin is warm in the summer sun. “You’ll get your career back.”

  “Is that a promise?” he says with a slight grin.

  “I don’t make the rules,” I say, slowly moving my hand away from his. “But I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

  Whatever this feeling is between us right now, it doesn’t feel insignificant. He leans a little bit closer, just an inch or so, but it sets my whole body on fire.

  He reaches out and covers my fingertips with his. “You should race tonight.”

  I suck in a shallow breath. That is not what I thought he might say.

  I shake my head while I wait for the words to come to me. “I don’t race.”

  “Why not?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. No reason, really. I just don’t want to.”

  His finger brushes down the back of my hand and then he looks out at the track. “The next lesson I’ll teach you is how to control your fear.”

  “I didn’t say I was scared.”

  His grin could melt the rubber off my boots. “You didn’t have to.”

  Chapter Ten

  When the races begin, the track is filled with people. Every space of land has a car parked on it, and the bleachers are overstuffed with spectators. The sweet older woman who works in the score tower told me that it’s all thanks to me, as if this huge turnout of people is a good thing.

  I mean, it is a good thing, for her. For the business. They charge ten dollars per person to watch the races, so my sudden exile to this small town has made business boom. It just sucks for me because I’m forced to either be rude and tell everyone to leave me alone, or suck it up and smile politely and take photos.

  So far, I’ve done the latter. I just really wish I could do the first thing.

  But being a jerk is what got me into this mess in the first place. If I hadn’t pummeled two handsy rookies in front of everyone at the stadium, this wouldn’t have happened. Don’t get me wrong, they both deserved it for taking advantage of girls.

  I just should have done it in private.

  I get ready for my first race of the night and I see Bella standing near her truck, which is parked by her tree. She told me today that the tree is her favorite spot because it’s shady and out of the way of everyone else. She didn’t have to say it, but I know why she likes to park away from everyone else. She’s scared. Scared of being judged, or watched, or whatever it is she’s afraid of. That’s why she won’t race. Despite telling me she’s had a dirt bike since she was a little kid, she’s now eighteen years old and won’t race. I wish I could talk her into it. She would be so good and she would love it, but only if she could let go of her fear.

  As I make my way toward the starting line for my race, I lift my hand off the handlebars and give her a wave. She’s sitting on her truck’s tailgate, wearing those extremely sexy cut off shorts I’ve seen on her twice before. She smiles and waves back at me.

  It’s a simple gesture but it makes my pulse speed up a bit. Bella is so gorgeous and kind and I don’t think she realizes any of it. The way she looked when she told me about that jackass who rejected a date with her almost broke me. She deserves to be told yes. To dates. To anything she wants. That guy didn’t realize what he was missing.

  The gate drops and the race begins and I’m off my game. I can’t get Bella out of my mind, and I miss the holeshot to some teenager on a Honda.

  The holeshot is what you call being in first place when the race starts. All the riders are lined up at the starting gate, and when that gate drops, we all take off at once. The person who comes out in the lead has the holeshot.

  I always get the holeshot.

  But just now, I didn’t. I’m in second place. That is unacceptable.

  I grit my teeth and twist the throttle and speed past that little twerp who managed to get into first place. I pass him easily, because this is what I do. This is what I was born to do.

  I hold first place for the next six laps, but it’s challenging. This kid is determined to win, and he’s probably been training pretty hard for it. Normally this would be a piece of cake, but as each lap goes by, and each jump sends me and my bike soaring through the air, I can’t stop thinking about her. I almost hit a turn too fast because I’m looking for her when I drive by her truck. She’s still on her tailgate, still watching me.

  Is she thinking about me like I’m thinking about her? Or is she just watching the race?

  Focus, Liam.

  Finally, the checkered flag flies and the race is over and I’ve secured my place in front. But my heart is thundering in my chest. I wish I could hop off this bike, run up and kiss her. But that kind of thing is frowned upon in real life, even if it’s considered romantic in movies.

  I pull off the track and ride back to my truck, which is parked next to Bella. But she’s not there anymore. I take off my gear, surprised at how hard my heart is beating, Racing is hard work, but I’m never this exhausted afterward.

  Maybe it’s because my heart knows what I plan on doing as soon as I find her.

  While I’m at it, all full of adrenaline and confidence, I decide to make myself a better person, someone who is deserving of dating a girl like Bella. I reach into my truck and find my phone, which I’d tossed into the center console before the races begin. I open up my Instagram, which I haven’t used in a while.

  Team FRZ Frame kicked me to t
he curb because I displayed “unprofessional behavior that doesn’t comply with the family sport of motocross.”

  It’s time to change that. I don’t want to be the anger-issues jerk anymore. I open the camera and snap a picture of myself, feeling like a fool for doing it. I’m sweaty and my hair is messed up, but I’m grinning underneath the bright outdoor lights of the motocross track.

  I sit in my truck and close the door to keep any fans away, even though I don’t see them right now. Parking out here by Bella was a great idea. I take a deep breath and compose a caption for this goofy selfie.

  Hi guys. It’s me, Liam Mosely. I haven’t posted on here in a while because my life has been kind of crazy. Not gonna lie, I screwed up. I spent my whole life working hard to get a spot on a professional racing team and when it was in my reach, I messed up. I shouldn’t have fought another racer. I shouldn’t have acted like a jerk to my fans. For everything I’ve done, I’m sorry. It was wrong, and rude, and unprofessional. That’s not who I want to be anymore. Motocross is my life, my heart, and all I care about. I promise to do better. I’m so grateful for all my fans, and I won’t let you guys down anymore. That’s a promise. XO -Liam

  I can’t overthink it or I’ll wuss out. So I post the photo and then drop my phone back in the console. I have twenty thousand followers on Instagram and I’m sure the comments will blow up in a minute, but I’ll worry about that later. Apologizing is the first step to redemption. I don’t want to be known as the guy who lost his temper on the track.

  The reasons for that can’t ever be revealed anyhow, so I’ll just keep it to myself. And I’ll be better.

  I put on a smile and walk toward the crowds, which is expected of me each race day. I can’t just hide out in my truck the whole time, as much as I’d like to. I need to be here, shaking hands and making fans. That’s what’ll get me back on the team and fix my career.

  Plus, I really want to find Bella. She’s always so happy for me when I win a race. I keep thinking that one of these days she’ll run up and hug me or kiss my cheek or something, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.