by Amy Sparling
She puts her hands on my shoulders and leans up, kissing my neck.
“Fuck,” I breathe, closing my eyes as her tongue flicks across my collarbone.
I lean on one elbow and slide my free hand down her side. When I reach her leggings, I tug them down. She bites her lip, almost hesitantly, but then she wiggles her butt to let me pull them off. I leave her panties right where they are but I look her in the eyes as I slip my hand under the lacey waistband.
She gives no sign that she wants me to stop, so I rub her mound with my hand, slowly and rhythmically. She closes her eyes and moves her hips in tune with my hand. I lean forward and kiss her neck while I stroke her clit, slipping one finger inside.
She is wet and ready for me, but she still gasps. I kiss her, open-mouthed and hungrily, as she continues to rock against my hand. I ease in another finger, keeping my thumb on her clit. She shudders and bites my lip. I keep stroking her as I lean down and place my mouth over her tank top, sucking through the fabric as I feel her nipple harden. She groans with pleasure, and her breathing gets quicker as I curl my fingers up and stroke her g-spot.
Her legs tremble and her hips jolt as I stoke faster, continuing to kiss her nipple, flicking my tongue over her shirt. She reaches up and grabs my head with both of her hands then pulls me away from her nipple and to her mouth. Her hips continue to grind against my hand as she kisses me.
“Zach,” she breathes, her lips against mine. She’s so fucking hot I’m about to explode right here and I haven’t even taken my pants off.
“Yeah, baby?” I breathe between kisses.
She doesn’t finish her sentence. She gasps and then buries her face into my shoulder, her hands clenching into fists on my chest. Her entire body shakes, and I grin, satisfied with making her come. I slide my hand out from her panties and lick my fingers clean.
Her eyes widen as she watches me, only this time they’re filled with desire. She’s still panting, and she throws her head back against the pillows.
“So that’s what that feels like,” she says, almost too quietly for me to hear.
I lay down beside her, sliding my hand over her belly. “You’ve never…?”
She shakes her head, still breathing hard. “Never.”
All of a sudden I feel guilty. Dirty. Like I’m taking something from this girl that should have been given to someone more special. She looks at me and smiles. “It’s not like that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m no virgin or anything.”
I smile back too, glad to hear it, but I still don’t feel any better.
She leans up on her elbow and reaches for my jeans. “Your turn.”
As much as I want to feel her lips wrapped around my erection, I’m not sure I could live with myself if I let her do that. Bree is not like the other girls I hook up with. She’s special. She’ll be hurt if I hook up with her and then leave, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. After the summer is over, I’m gone.
“I don’t think so,” I whisper, even though it kills me to say it.
Her eyebrows furrow. “Why not?” Her hand slides from my waistband to my crotch, where she feels the length of my erection. I hold back a groan. God, she would feel so good.
I’m going to have the worst case of blue balls on the drive home, but I steel myself and do what I need to do. “Sorry,” I say, bending down to kiss those perfect lips again. I want to explain how badly I want her, and how giving her her first orgasm is my greatest accomplishment to date. But I can’t lead her on. She’s too good of a girl for me and I can’t hurt her any more than I probably already have. “Not tonight.”
Her frown fades away and she nods once. “You’re right,” she says. She pushes at my chest and I climb off of her. She takes my shirt off the floor and hands it to me. “This can’t happen again.”
Chapter 10
I yawn, and it’s that kind of huge yawn that you can’t stop no matter how hard you try. I’m in the registration tower and the races start soon. I finally finished hanging all the stupid plastic flags around the track, and I was lucky enough to avoid seeing a particular guy I didn’t want to see.
I’m about to reach for a bottled water from the fridge, but I yawn again and decide to make some coffee instead. Who cares if it’s five in the afternoon? Coffee is the only thing that will save me besides a nap, and I can’t exactly take a nap right now.
I’m exhausted and humiliated and just mad at myself. I won’t say that I’m regretful, because experiencing my first orgasm was amazing and earth-shattering and all kinds of things I can’t even describe because I don’t know words strong enough to describe something so magical. It was also something I’ll always remember. But I’m not too thrilled with the way it happened.
And who I was with.
Ugh, I’m such an idiot.
Why did I invite him inside?
Why did I flirt and kiss and do—other things with him?
I knew it was a bad idea from the moment I climbed into his truck, but something took over me when I saw his cute grin and the way he looks at me with those eyes. When he parked in front of my house, the very idea of walking into my house and letting him drive away was too much to handle. I felt suffocated. Like I had to have him. Like I needed to kiss him. I had to scratch that itch that’s been bugging me since I first laid eyes on him.
And man, was it worth it.
Until he decided he didn’t want to take things further. How am I supposed to handle that? I mean what kind of guy doesn’t want a blow job? Sure, I was nervous and probably wouldn’t even be good at it, but I wanted to return the favor. And he just shot me down. It doesn’t make any sense.
I had tried acting like it was no big deal, like I totally agreed with him, but of course it was a big deal.
And because of the way things ended last night, I’d stayed up way too late. I laid in bed staring at the dark ceiling, thinking over all the reasons why Zach wouldn’t want me. I replayed every second of our time together, relived every delicious kiss, and I still didn’t figure out why he wouldn’t want me. As I had watched him walk out my front door, I’d secretly been hoping he would turn around, stop, and ask for my phone number. Ask for a date. Anything. But he didn’t do any of that.
I didn’t even fall asleep until nine in the morning, and then Mama woke me up at noon saying they needed me at the track.
I thought about faking sick (although sleep deprivation is kind of a sickness, right?) to skip work today, but I need the money. I also don’t want to let Mrs. Sam down since she depends on me so much.
I get paid a lot of money to hang out at the track and wave the yellow flag during the races. So for that reason, I’m here today. I’m doing it for the money.
But no amount of money will ever make me clean Zach’s house again. Mama can do that one on her own.
I tap my foot while the coffee maker gurgles and makes my coffee. Mrs. Sam slips into the building, her forehead glistening with sweat. “Girl how can you drink coffee when it’s hot as hell outside?” she says.
I yawn in reply. She rolls her eyes. “Whatever floats your boat.”
I drink my coffee inside because it is too hot to drink it outside. I down it as quickly as possible and then grab a bottle of water to take outside with me.
There’s no doubt I’ll see Zach tonight since he signed up for tonight’s race. But he’s obviously trying to avoid me as much as I’m trying to avoid him because he signed up online.
I grab my yellow flag from a bin of them and walk out onto the track. Flaggers have an important role to play during a race. There’s about ten of us, and we all stand on separate parts of the track, just off to the side where we won’t get run over.
If a racer crashes during the race, we run over to him and wave the yellow flag to warn the rest of the racers that someone fell down. When the yellow flag is out, racers have to slow down and aren’t allowed to pass each other until they’re out of the area. This makes sure no one falls over and then gets crushed by a speed
ing bike.
Sometimes I can stand here all day long and no one falls over on my part of the track. But other days I’ll be running back and forth constantly. Today, I’m at a soft corner part of the track that doesn’t get much action. Good. I’m too exhausted to think right now.
I sit on a bale of hay that lines the track. I purposely didn’t walk around today, so I have no idea where Zach is parked, and I like it that way. I don’t need the temptation of trying to find him in the crowd of people.
The races begin, and I’m so tired I can barely function. One little kid falls over in my turn and rush over and wave the flag while he picks up his bike and gets it started again. He zooms off and I go back to my hay bale. Normally, I stand the whole time, but I’m just not having it today.
I focus on the races, watching the bikes and the counting them as they go past. Normally, I don’t pay much attention, but right now I need anything to keep my mind off Zach.
The last thing I need is to remember the feel of his hand sliding down…
Yeah, I can’t think of that right now.
The sun sets and the air cools off. Most of the races are finished by now, but there’s still a few left. I dread the final race, because Zach looks sexy as hell on a dirt bike. I promise myself I won’t watch him, but it doesn’t work. He’s too gorgeous to miss. Too skilled on a bike to look away.
Zach zooms by in the lead on the very first lap. His head is down, his gaze focused solely on the track in front of him. Good. I don’t want him to see me anyhow.
The overhead lights are bright and harsh, illuminating the track now that it’s almost midnight. I’ve been awake for so long I feel like I’m going to pass out.
Zach makes another lap, and then another. The thunder of engines trail behind him as all the other guys scramble for second place. That’s the best that they can get, because Zach is so far ahead that no one can catch up.
He flies over the finish line, and I’m so unbelievably grateful that the races are over. I’m going straight to bed, dirty and covered in sweat. I can shower in the morning. But for now, all I want, is sleep.
I drop my yellow flag off and then collect my money for the day. Mrs. Sam pays us in cash and I’ve just earned an easy $200.
I pocket the money and walk away quickly. Zach will be here any second to collect his winnings and I don’t want to run into him. I can’t possibly face the guy who gave me the hottest night of my life and then decided he wanted nothing more to do with me.
I walk away from the crowd, toward my house. My eyes are heavy and all I’m thinking about is falling into bed.
But then I pass a familiar black truck and my stomach tightens.
There he is. Shirtless and covered in a fine layer of sweat that makes him glisten like a Greek god. At least a dozen people are crowded around him, all trying to talk to the famous Zach Pena.
Two girls rush up and hold out their phones for a selfie with him. He throws his arms around their shoulders and smiles brightly.
That smile kills me.
That smile is what made me invite him into my bedroom. It’s what made me kiss him. What made me trust him with my body.
And then last night, when it was all over, he wasn’t smiling at all.
He looked like he regretted everything.
Well, I hope those girls are good enough to make him happy, because clearly I’m not.
Chapter 11
Another week goes by and I am no better off than I was the moment Bree kicked me out of her house. My days are spent working out and riding. My nights are spent tuning up my dirt bike and watching TV with Mom and then getting a good night’s sleep. It’s like I’m twelve years old again.
I don’t go out, even though Tommy asks me once a day if I want to get a beer. After that night with Bree, I haven’t done anything. I’m not sure if I’m sulking because my ego is crushed, or if I’m just really throwing myself into my goal of focusing on motocross this summer. I tell myself it’s the second one.
Eventually, the days pass and it’s Friday again. Another race day. Another chance to win five hundred dollars.
And another chance to see Bree.
I didn’t see her at all last week, although that’s partially my own fault. I didn’t leave my truck except to ride. I didn’t want to see her. It was too fresh, too raw.
We’d had an amazing time together, and I didn’t want it to end. But then it did. Abruptly, and painfully. Maybe I scared her by not letting her return the favor. I had just been so shocked by her admission that no one had ever pleased her the way I did that I felt guilty. Like I was taking advantage of her.
And I still feel that way, but it hasn’t helped me get over her. I can’t stop thinking about her lips on mine. The smell of her shampoo, the feel of her skin.
I should either sleep with her or make her hate me. Either way, I need to get this girl out of my system.
I skip practice this morning. I’m fitter than ever, and I don’t need an extra hour on the track to know I’ll easily win the race today. I want to see her again, so I park right up close to the registration building. She’ll have to walk by my truck to get anywhere and I’ll be there, looking for her.
Mrs. Sam sits behind the registration counter. I hand over my money and she greets me with a big smile. “Boy, you’re bringing in so many people by racing here. Our numbers have doubled.”
I crack a grin. “I’m glad I’m helping out.”
“I got you signed up,” she says after I hand back the tablet. “Have a good race.”
I linger for a moment and then decide to just go for it. “Hey, Mrs. Sam? Do you know where Bree is?”
My ears feel hot and for a second I worry that she’ll know exactly why I’m asking. Mrs. Sam is no doubt protective over Bree since she’s known her for so long. But I guess I’m not wearing my emotions too plainly on my sleeve because she just shrugs.
“She’s flagging today. You might find her on the track since the first race is about to start.”
I thank her and then check the race schedule. There are only twenty races tonight, which is a little fewer than usual. That means the night will be over quicker, and my time for finding Bree and making her like me is already running out.
On the short walk from registration to the bleachers, I get stopped five times. I take five pictures with people and answer about a million questions. Two girls flirt with me and I’m pretty sure one of them is extremely under age. Not happening.
I maintain my smiles and good attitude because of my promise to my fans, but it’s annoying as hell right now. I just need to get up the bleachers so I can get a good view of the track and find her.
Finally, I make it to the top and gaze out over the track. It’s a large trail that meanders through the natural sloping terrain. You can see most of it from up here, but not all.
The first race begins and it’s a bunch of little kids on tiny bikes. The motors are so small it sounds like a swarm of mosquitos are flying around.
Eventually, I find a tiny figure on the track. She has long dark hair and is holding a yellow flag. The rest of the flaggers look too tall or short or manly to be Bree. This one must be her, even though she’s so far away I can barely tell.
I jog down the bleachers and make my way toward her. But it’s a long walk, and hopping over the fence during a race isn’t exactly allowed. I look around and realize I’ll have to take the long way—walking all the way around the outside of the track until I get to her.
But then I see one of the race dads standing at his truck, pouring gas into his kid’s bike. I recognize him because he and his son have stopped to talk to me a few times. His son thinks I’m the greatest rider of all time.
“Hello,” I say, walking up to the guy. “How are you doing?”
“Hi, Zach! I’m doing just fine. What about you?”
“I’m ready to ride,” I say with a smile. “Sucks that my race is the last one of the night.”
“That’s for sure,” he says.
If this were a national race and I was with Team Loco, I’d have no problem asking for a favor. But since I’m just Zach Pena right now—not a famous Team Loco racer—it’s a little harder.
“Hey, would you mind if I borrowed your four wheeler for a bit?”
“Oh sure man,” he says eagerly, setting the gas can back on the ground. “You can use it anytime.”
I’ve seen this look on so many people before. They’re eager to be friends with the mildly famous guy. Girls do it, guys do it, and parents do it. I’ll admit, this past year when I was flying from city to city racing with the big names and reaping the rewards of fame, I let it go to my head a bit.
And then I met a girl who doesn’t give a shit about that. And now I just feel guilty using my fame like this. Would this guy have loaned his four wheeler to anyone else? Probably not.
I ride the four wheeler through the parking lot and around the back of the track. It’s much quicker than walking, and soon I can see Bree standing at a corner turn of the track, yellow flag in her hand.
I roll up next to her and cut the motor. She turns around, not looking at all surprised until she sees it’s me on the four wheeler.
“Hey there,” I say. I stay seated.
Her hair is in a low ponytail and she’s wearing a red Hopewell MX shirt over a pair of cut off shorts and some red Converse. I absolutely love how she looks like summer. Casual and carefree and gorgeous. She doesn’t wear a pound of makeup or clothes that look like they belong in a club instead of outside in the dirt.
Bree Grayson would be the perfect motocross girlfriend. She knows the sport and isn’t some hoe who’s just trying to latch on to anyone famous.
She lifts an eyebrow. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not an employee.”
“I’m Zach Pena,” I say, giving her a wink. “I can do whatever I want.”
She rolls her eyes. “No you can’t.”
I climb off the four wheeler and look around. “I don’t see anyone coming to stop me.”
She pulls a small black radio off her hip and holds it up to her mouth. “Hey Dad? Can you send security over here to escort Zach Pena off the premises?”