by Joya Ryan
“Thank you,” you say.
“Anytime, baby.”
You kiss me again. My hands find your ass and I rock you against me. A little gasp hits my mouth and now it’s my turn to smile.
“Any interest in joining the mile-high club in first class?”
“Don’t we have to be in the air for that?” you ask.
I shrug. “Semantics.”
Your response is another kiss and pulling at my shirt. As I start tugging your clothes off and feel your skin against mine, a feeling I can’t quite understand comes over me.
I’m happy.
So damn happy I feel something else creep in…
Hope.
#
“I feel like you never leave this place,” I say to you as I pull into view of Mic’s bar. I know we’re being discrete, but after a long day of airplane sex, I’m not going to drop you off at your house, only for you to walk to work at Mic’s, when I could easily give you a ride. We decided that if I just pull into the big gravel lot around back, no one would really see us, and it would be fine.
“That’s because the only time I’m not here, I’m with you,” you say with a smile.
I like that idea. I know it’s not a hundred percent true, but I like it. I wish you spent all your free time with me. God knows I’m going to have the taste of you on my tongue for the rest of the day and it’ll be a chore to think of anything else.
We approach Mic’s bar and I turn to go in the back way, but not before I see the front parking lot packed with cars. Some of which are Humvees from the base. That Air Force base is an hour away and, every once in a while, some of the military guys come in to the bar or to town on a weekend. Whatever was going on tonight must be a group thing because it was clear they travel in packs.
You notice this too.
“Looks like I’ll be waiting on military tonight,” you say.
I nod, wondering if you have a thing for guys in uniform. One of the women I used to date said that to me once. She ended up fucking a few of the Air Force guys. That was back when I was younger and thought monogamy was a real thing. Part of me still hangs onto hope that it is. Heat rises up my neck, thinking of you fucking a military guy. Do you like a guy in uniform?
I hate these newfound questions and worries I have. I shouldn’t care. Hell, I shouldn’t be in as deep with you as I am. But I am. And I do care.
I pull around back.
You kiss me quickly on the cheek. “Thanks for today. It was fun.”
I nod and you hustle out of the truck and into the back door to the bar. No one is around. No one can see our little exchange. I kind of wish someone had, though. Maybe it’d make this feel more real.
Maybe it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.
Maybe it would ruin us both.
I pull around to the front of the bar. I could use a chat with my sister. She is going through something lately and, if I’m being honest, so am I. I haven’t thought about racing much. Or the future. Other than when I get to see you again. My head isn’t right. It’s all wrapped around visions of you. Everything else has fallen secondary. Which probably isn’t good. Because this race coming up matters. It would not only qualify me for the Vegas Invitational, but put me on the map as a racer, make me more money, get me out of Mojave and to Vegas more.
Maybe…
All the fucking maybes in my life are starting to drive me crazy.
Whatever the reason I park and walk into Mic’s bar doesn’t matter right now. Because if I have to ask myself one more time if it’s because of you, my addiction to you, or the fact that I hate and love whatever the hell we’re doing…I may go fucking nuts.
So, for now, I tell myself that I want to stay to talk to my sister and am interested in what the hell all the base boys are doing here.
I walk in; Mic is behind the bar. A cluster of guys in casual clothes surround her area. It’s clear they’re all military. From the tight T-shirts to the short haircuts, they look like a boy band on steroids.
I raise my chin at her and walk her way. She gives a look of surprise, then an exhausted smile. Mic is uneasy. She’s never uneasy. She can handle base boys, a packed bar, even drunken idiots. So, why does she look like she’s seen a ghost? I glance around quickly. I don’t see you yet. You’re probably still in the back getting ready for your shift.
I move my way to the bar, right next to the group of guys.
They all look at me for a moment.
“How’s it going?” I say, slowly making eye contact with my sister.
“Good, boys are in for the weekend,” she offers quickly, as if it’s her responsibility to give them a reason for being at her bar. Yeah, my sister is nervous about something. The guys aren’t threatening. I’m not getting that vibe. No one is in danger from anything beyond possible douchery. But Mic is clearly hiding something.
Her eyes dart to the dark-haired guy with tattoos peeking down his arms.
“You know each other?” Tattoos says to Mic, then looks at me.
“My brother,” she offers.
I glare at the guy. Who the hell is he to ask who I am? Mic deals with base boys once a month whenever they stray from the base to grab a drink and look for a lay. But her demeanor with this one guy is different. Like something is written all over her face, but the ink has been smeared and I have no clue what it says.
My sister has a secret, and I’d bet my left nut and all four tires on my race car that it has to do with tattoo guy.
I see you walk up from the back to the bar and your eyes land on me. I smile. I can’t help it. Your face is cute when you’re surprised.
I look away to find Mic also staring at me. Her brow raised.
Looks like Mic thinks I have a secret too.
She’s right.
Just like I’m right.
Mic and I may have more to discuss than I’d realized.
“Brother?” Tattoo says. He faces me and grins. “The racer brother or the mechanic?”
So, this guy knows about me and Trade. Which means he’s chatted enough with Mic for her to tell the details about her life. Which she never does with customers.
“Racer,” I say.
“We’ve heard about you,” Tattoo says. “Got some bets going on the race coming up.”
“You have skin in the game?” I ask.
“One of our boys is an amateur racer.”
“I can fucking hear you,” a military guy with an extra short buzz cut says.
I glance at Buzz Cut and ask, “You’re racing next weekend?”
There are five guys total. Two guys I’ve raced before, but they come in from around the state and we host once a year. This particular race is a big one since sponsors are coming and Vegas is on the line. I’m not surprised a military guy is coming.
“Yeah, I am. Best in my unit,” Buzz Cut says.
I raise a brow. I’m the best in the state, but I hold my tongue. I see you out of the corner of my eye ushering around to tables and staying busy taking orders and filling soda drinks. You glance at me. Keeping me in your sights. I like it.
I don’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. My silence clearly annoys Buzz Cut and Mic glances between me and Tattoo.
“Wanna preliminary race?” Buzz Cut asks me, then drains the rest of his beer.
I frown at him. Did he just say that? He clearly picks up on my questioning look and continues.
“You know, little mini race right here, right now.”
“What, in a fucking potato sack?” I ask.
“With our cars, smartass. You’ve got a track here. Let’s do this.”
“The track isn’t open for assholes to fuck around on after a few beers,” I say.
“I’ve had one beer,” Buzz Cut defends. “And you have an entire desert right out back of this bar. Let’s do it there. Lay down markers. Unless you’re a chicken-shit?”
“How old are you?” Mic chimes in, glaring at Buzz Cut. Buzz Cut just laughs.
�
�I’ve two-hundred on my boy,” a military guy yells.
“Me too,” another one says.
“I’ve got that on my brother,” Mic says. “Two-hundred says he’ll beat your ass by over a second.”
Ooooh’s ring out in the bar. I catch your pretty blue eyes as they hit mine. You’re watching this all go down. I feel strong after being with you. I also want to impress you. Because I’m a fucking idiot and do care what you think of me.
Tattoo whispers something to Mic. I can’t catch it. But my sister says, “You’re on,” as if she just took a secondary bet.
“Two-hundred,” I say. Buzz Cut nods. “Right out back here.”
Buzz Cut nods again.
“Done,” I say.
Cheers ring out. The bar is packed. I haven’t even scanned half the people in here. But apparently, we’re hitting the road.
“Old school style, road cars. Not race cars,” Buzz Cut says. “Pure speed. Straight line. Winner takes all.”
I have faith in my truck. I have no clue what this guy drives. But I also know the desert.
“Done,” I say. I have more confidence in four wheels than I’ve had for myself over the years.
People head out. Mic yells at the other bartender and cook and she goes too. I hear your voice ring out, asking Mic if you can come too. I glance over my shoulder. Mic looks at me, then at you.
“Yeah, come on,” she says.
A flood of people pour out of the bar, yelling about bets and following us with cars out into the desert behind Mic’s bar. I grab my truck; Buzz Cut gets his Range Rover and pulls up to the make-shift starting point. Mic is several yards down waving her arms to show where the finish line is. Buzz Cut pulls up next to me.
“Word is you’ve lost your edge, Anders,” Buzz Cut says to me. “I hope you like Mojave because after I beat your ass right now, I’ll beat it again at the race and you can kiss Vegas goodbye.”
This guy pisses me off. Mostly because he’s clearly hopped up on Red Bull and too much testosterone. Racing takes calm and finesse. Two things I struggle with still, but I’d like to think I’m closer to it than this meathead.
I see you past Buzz Cut, on the other side of the Range Rover in the crowd. He follows my stare and sees you too. Then smiles back at me.
“Wonder what else I could take from you tonight,” he said with a douchey glint in his eyes.
Rage heats my blood.
I can handle shit talk, but never about you.
“That’s a cute car you have there,” I say to him. “Did it come with a complementary dick pump too? Gotta be rough to have a tiny cock.”
“Fuck you, Anders.”
I shake my head and we set up to race. Mic and Tattoo are down at the finish line. I see her hold up some kind of fabric. Scarf maybe? I rev my engine. Buzz Cut does the same. If only he knew the engine I have under the hood of my rusty truck. It’s not about the outside, it’s about what’s underneath that wins you races.
I smile and rev harder.
Mic’s hand shoots down and I hit the gas, spraying up dust and bolting toward the finish line. I kick it into second, then third. Hitting the gears hard until I get to ninety-nine miles an hour. A few yards and closing.
I glance in my rearview mirror and smile.
I literally left you in my dust.
I cross the line and the rush of adrenaline hits me like a slap in the chest. Fuck, winning feels good. Racing feels good. I spin a few circles in the desert and head back to the crowd. Buzz Cut and his Range Rover are already heading back that way, tiny dick and tail between his legs.
I park near the crowd, people cheering. I get out, feeling high and happy, and I want to go to you. Hug you. I scan and find you in the crowd. Your eyes aren’t even on me. You’re talking to college boy. The one you waited on the other week. The one you look right with. The one I can’t stand to see you around and it’s my own issue. My own jealousy. No, not jealousy. Envy. I’ll never look right with you like that.
You’re smart, Shay.
You’re not meant for this tiny town. You’re meant for bigger and better things. Bigger and better people. Including me.
Standing there, forcing a smile, surrounded by people slapping me on the back and a new wad of money handed to me for my winnings, I’ve never felt like a bigger loser in my life.
Chapter 8
Well, that race was a shit show. Mostly in the way that I feel like a shit after putting on a show. I have a few hundred bucks in my pocket now and the crowd shifted from racing to a bonfire in the desert out back of Mic’s bar. More people are out now. Feels like the whole damn town congregating. Trucks, six packs of beer, and a few big bonfires are taking up the dark desert a hundred yards from where I just raced only a few hours ago.
You’re around here somewhere. I can’t see you.
There are so many damn people.
Last I saw, you were walking with college boy.
Now, I’m just wandering like a damn fool, trying not to look like I’m looking for you. Mic disappeared on me too. The military guys scattered and I’m a fucking idiot. Why? Because you’re eighteen and it’s time I remember that. Who cares if you’re mature or seem older. The fact that we’re not only a decade apart in age, but you’re that young, is all that matters.
That’s what my brain keeps churning out…these gems of realization. This is not me throwing a fit. This is not me not giving a shit. This is me reminding me of the facts—
I look around near the second bonfire area. You’re not here either.
Maybe I do need to get my head right worse than I thought. Because I won that fucking race. I should feel amazing. Feel confident for the big race coming up. A big race I need to win. Yet, all I can think about was how I didn’t have you after this stupid display of Buzz Cut vs. Local. I don’t have you ever. Not before, not now, not after a race. A fact that I need to remember. It doesn’t matter what I win or what I do—I’ll never have you.
“Great race, Coe,” a sultry voice rings out behind me. I turn to see Layla, my ex. The one I actually liked. Kind of. We dated or fucked exclusively. She also ran off with a military guy. Figures she was here.
“Layla,” I say.
“I forgot how hot you are behind the wheel.” She smiles and takes a drink of her long-neck beer. I know that look she’s giving me. I’ve seen it. She likes winners, big bad types that she can play with until she finds someone better.
I want to tell her that I’ve forgotten a lot of things. Like her. But I don’t. Because it’s painfully clear that I’m staring down my past, and what should be some kind of future. Random racing groupies. Women wanting no more than to ride the dick of a champion. It’s been fun. And then I got wrapped up in you. Forgot that there are perks to this side of my career. Forgot that I should want to live one night at a time and one woman at a time. Only for a good time.
Should.
There’s a lot of fucking shoulds in my life. And you are one of them. I just can’t figure out if I should stay away, or if I should keep you close.
“You’re coming down,” Layla says. The term and way she said it makes my neck prick. We used to get high together. She’s seen me ride high and crash low. She was right there with me a few times. The whole process, that time in my life, feels dirty.
And she just reminded me.
Of all the things I wish I could forget…using is the number one cluster of bad choices I wish I could erase.
“I’m good,” I say.
“You just won, Coe. You should be jacked up. Instead, you’re pouting.” She reaches out and trails her finger down my chest. “I remember how to make you smile,” she says. “Take me back to your place and I’ll show you.”
Beer wafted from her breath and her speech slurred just enough to tell me she’s drunk. Really drunk. But it’s the red rim around her nose that catches my eye and I see that she’s on coke as well.
Not my problem.
“Come on,” she reaches into her jeans and gets her
keys. “Come with me.”
She’s not my responsibility…but she’s going to try to drive.
Fuck.
“We’ll take my truck,” I say. I grab her keys and start heading to my vehicle. She squeals and hangs on to me as we walk toward my truck.
#
A loud bang erupts from my front door.
Bang, Bang, Bang!
I peel myself out of bed. I feel like shit. I haven’t slept. The clock says it’s past three a.m. It’s been a shitty night and my head is pounding.
I run a hand through my hair and rub my eyes.
I don’t even care that I’m basically naked. Boxers. That’s it. I don’t even know where my pants are. It’s dark and I know my house well, but I can’t think straight. I’m tired. To my fucking bones—tired.
I reach my front door and open it.
You.
I frown. Clear my eyes.
Your pretty blue glare is wild, wet, red around the rim. You stare at me. Anger, fear, sadness. You smell like booze, bonfire, and tears. What have you been doing, baby?
“I just…I just needed to see if she’s here,” you say.
“What?” I ask, my mind slow. Who the hell are you talking about? “Are you drunk?”
“That’s none of your business,” you say sharply. “I wanna know…is she here?”
“It is my business when you’ve been drinking and you’re—”
“Underage,” you say.
“I was going to say upset. It’s not a good combination. And no one is here.”
You glance down. “I saw you leave with her.”
My mind starts to clear and the night comes back to me. You’re talking about Layla. You saw me leave with her. Hanging all over me.
“I know you dated her. Everyone knows. Some say you loved her.”
Some are wrong. But I don’t get into that now.
“You think I brought her home with me?”
You glare at me. Those pretty eyes like ice. “I’m not stupid. I know we’re nothing.”
“We’re a hell of a lot more than nothing,” I defend.
Realization hits me. You’re worried about me being with another woman. Yet you were talking to college boy. Drunk. Sad…