Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge)

by Shey Stahl

  Flat Spot – If a driver locks a tire (brakes so hard that the wheel stops turning), he’ll grind a flat spot on the surface of the tire. This causes vibration that can make the car almost undrivable.

  I wanted to tell Jameson what had changed between us, but I hadn’t. Thinking if I held out, I wouldn’t have to tell him the change that occurred. My body betrayed my mind and instead, it showed in every move.

  The storm was losing strength outside, aside from the occasional crack of thunder and the steady pattering of the rain from the growling clouds. The ocean waves pounded against the rocks. With the French doors leading out to the balcony open, the occasional gust of wind whipped through the room.

  For the second time tonight, the power was down. The only light in the entire condominium was coming from the candle lit beside the bed, flickering with the wind.

  The candle casted a soft orange glow throughout the room. The glistening catching the highlights in Jameson’s hair making it shimmer in the darkness as he hovered above me.

  The surprise impromptu vacation destination was a condo he rented on the beach in Savannah Georgia. The only problem was a tropical storm was blowing through.

  I had to admit though, it made the few days there fun. There wasn’t anything to do but stay in bed—something we were good at.

  So there we were in bed again, but this time Jameson was different.

  This was different as he moved languidly against me, his hips meeting mine with slow passionate movements. His kisses were different, slow, deep, and adoring.

  We were different. Something had changed.

  This wasn’t just about sex anymore. It wasn’t just friends with benefits. What started as simple three weeks ago was complicated as hell now. And while I looked into his ardent green eyes, I knew he saw it too. There was no denying the change.

  I was basking in the warm sensation of his body moving with mine, the heat between us creating a sheen of sweat sliding against one another.

  Despite the fact I was burning up, my entire body was trembling.

  Jameson bent down to kiss my forehead and then leaned back to look at me, his features holding an emotion I couldn’t decipher. His mouth opened as though he was about to say something and then his brow furrowed. Without finishing his words again, he pulled my mouth to his.

  Here’s the thing, the really shitty thing, I loved this man so damn much, it literally hurt inside and yet I couldn’t even tell him, I just couldn’t.

  I wanted to but the words wouldn’t form. Or they would and my lips wouldn’t speak them. What was I going to do, tell him the truth?

  No, that was just ridiculous.

  There were times when he had tried to tell me something as well but didn’t, his words or thoughts falling short.

  Jameson’s mouth moved from my own, spreading kisses over my jaw and against my neck before he pulled back to look at me, his left hand moved from my behind my knee to rest against my cheek. Unnerved by the tears forming in my eyes that this was going to end in less than three days, I turned away, watching the flickering of the candle.

  How could I have let myself fall like this?

  Where did the time go?

  Those three weeks, well they were days now. And soon these days were going to be hours followed quickly by minutes, then seconds and before I knew it, my time in this fairytale I’d been living would be over.

  And then what? What would any of this mean to him?

  “Sway...honey,” his low timbre drew my attention towards him, his nose brushing over my jaw.

  Slowly, I turned my head to meet his gaze.

  When he saw the tears streaming down my cheeks, I felt him take a sudden intake of breath. Without saying the words, those tears told him exactly what I couldn’t. They told him exactly how I felt.

  They told him this wasn’t just friends with benefits for me anymore, it never was. They told him what all these years as friends had been leading to. Those years and these last three weeks led up to this. I was in love and there was absolutely no way I could be “just friends” with him anymore.

  I meant it when I said there was no going back. There just wasn’t.

  As though he could hear the unspoken thoughts, he nodded his head once, his thumb sweeping over a tear, brushing it away.

  I jumped in his arms when the thunder cracked, the wind picked up, pelting the window with rain. Just like the change occurring within us, the storm was changing, gaining speed.

  “Please don’t cry,” he begged kissing my lips. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his hands trembling as they caressed me. The trembling reminded me of the first night together in Charlotte, though this was entirely different now. “I’m sorry...I’m so fucking sorry.” He said again, his hand moved slowly down my chin to my neck and traced over my collarbone, his eyes still locked on mine.

  I couldn’t look away—his eyes betrayed the depth of his emotion and I saw it then, it changed for him too.

  Leaning forward, his lips pressed to my neck, his warm breath flowing across my skin. “Non volevo cadere nel miele amore, mi dispiace,” He whispered with an Italian accent he’d perfected over the years.

  I moaned as he opened his damp mouth on my throat and pressed his teeth deliberately into the flesh, taking a hard, sucking bite.

  Goose bumps shivered over my skin at the sensation. My head fell back as he ran his open, wet mouth down my throat and along my collarbone. Following the path his fingers had just taken, teeth nipping and tongue lapping in their wake. I threw my head back, overwhelmed by the feel of his luscious body on mine.

  Gripping his concrete shoulders, my fingers dug into the hard flesh. I ran them down to caress his biceps as they flexed with his weight.

  Lifting up, I pressed my mouth to side of his neck, licking and biting my way across the swell of his deltoid to the firm curve of his shoulder. He turned his head and met my mouth, our tongues tangling and wild. He was worshipping me, with his hands and his mouth; nothing was escaping his slow thorough, focused attention. The release and relief was intense my body melting into him.

  “Sway,” he whispered. His lips were strangely urgent against mine.

  Weak and rubbery with pleasure and satisfaction, my mind couldn’t comprehend his intensity. He ran his long fingers along my damp cheekbone, the trembling in his fingertips brought my eyes open with a snap.

  He was looking down at me, his features hardened with tension. I moaned and he shuddered in response, closing his eyes and rocking his hips against mine.

  “Oh god, Sway,” His head fell against me just as he flexed forward. Running my hand down the long line of his back, his entire body seemed to react with more trembling. “I can’t...I’m...”

  Again, he didn’t finish his goddamn words.

  Despite my sedated rubbery feeling, it was really starting to irritate me that he just wouldn’t finish his words. That and him speaking in Italian, knowing damn well I don’t speak Italian.

  It took me four years to learn two words in Spanish so deciphering Italian wasn’t in my immediate future.

  “Jesus Christ...the way you move...”

  I understood that he was distracted, but Jesus, finish a fucking sentence.

  I really wanted to punch him in the face right then, but I didn’t. That would probably ruin the moment. Remembering the mere days I had left, I didn’t want this moment to end.

  When he threw himself into his movements, I was distracted from my thoughts of punching him.

  There was no holding back any longer. His entire body jerked in time with his release, his head buried in my shoulder as he held my body tightly against his.

  He collapsed his entire weight on me, his breath hot and rapid on my neck. I stroked his back and shoulders while my own breathing and heart rate returned to a normal pace.

  Exhaling heavily, he slid to one side nestling me against his chest.

  I liked the nestling. Nestling was good.

  We laid there quietly staring at each other,
listening to the sounds of the wind and the occasion crack of thunder. The soft sounds of our breathing mixing with the sounds of the storm filled the salty air between us.

  What was he sorry for? What did he say to me in Italian? I have to know, it’s driving me fucking mad.

  “What did you say to me?” My words seemed to hang for a moment like the air between us seized.

  “Huh?” His brow furrowed his gaze upon me, eyes guarded.

  “In Italian, what did you say and why do you never finish what you’re going to say to me when we’re...” I motioned between our bodies.

  His breathing increased and then he swallowed as though it was difficult to say. With my chin resting on his chest I could feel his heart beat quicken. “I...uh...” he pushed me gently from his chest and rolled to his side looking at me, his green eyes burning into my own. “Is this...what is this between us?” he asked, his voice was different, low and anxious, wary even. His eyes searched my own for any indication he could get.

  “Friends with benefits...I thought.” I responded quickly.

  “Is that all it is to you?”

  “Is that all it is to you?” I countered without answering.

  He was quiet for an entire minute, believe me, I counted all excruciating sixty seconds.

  I have rarely seen Jameson struggle for words. He usually possessed an elegant poised grasp of most situations and his suave confidence bordered on cocky most of the time. Even when completely furious, he was never at a loss for words. Until now.

  When he spoke, I was surprised at how tense and unsteady his voice had now become. “No...it’s not.”

  My heart was beating a million miles an hour, thudding loudly in my ears. The blood was rushing rapidly throughout my body spreading like a summer wild fire. “It’s not for me either.” I agreed. “What did you say to me in Italian?”

  His eyes closed and then slowly opened as though he was giving himself a pep talk. “What do you feel for me?” he asked softy, damn near inaudible.

  “What?” My eyes searched his.

  Still, I couldn’t tell him.

  He sighed softly. “Sway, what is this for you? Don’t tell me you don’t feel something more for me. Don’t tell me this is just sex anymore, because it’s not Sway. I see it in your eyes—I feel it when you touch me. You feel something more for me.”

  “It never was just about sex for me, Jameson.” I stated as a tear slipped down my cheek. He reached for my face brushing it away with his thumb. I could feel the trembling in his hand return. “What did you say?”

  “I said,” he blinked quickly, his gaze falling to his hands. When his eyes returned, they were lustrous. “I said...I didn’t mean to fall in love honey.” The shock on my face must have registered because he hastened to add. “I’m sorry.”

  “You fell in love, with me?” I gasped. I was expecting something along the lines of; I like you more than friends but not love!

  He gave me a tentative but uneasy smile. “I did, I’m sorry.” His eyes dropped. “I know that I can’t be the man you need. I’m not good for you. I know that. I knew what I was getting myself into but I had to know. I had to know what it was like, to be like this with you, as though you were only mine—even if it was for only three weeks.”

  “Huh?” I looked at him as if I had no idea what he just said. I really did have no idea what he said, or at least I couldn’t comprehend it.

  I think my plan wasn’t my plan at all. I was so confused.

  What just happened?

  The confusion might have been because I was hyperventilating, and there was a serious lack of oxygen going to my brain once again.

  “Are you okay?” he asked sitting up to look at me, his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder.

  “I...how,” I drew in a much needed breath fumbling over my words and thoughts. “long have you...um...loved me?”

  “A while,” He answered and placed a soft kiss on my shoulder. His fingertips danced lightly across the skin above my collarbone.

  “How long?” I snapped.

  “My grandpa used to tell me...you don’t give up what you know to get what you don’t know.” Jameson said softly, his eyes dropped to our hands.

  Not understanding how that had anything to do with this, I asked again. “How long Jameson?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, Sway.” He shook his head his hand fell from my shoulder and rested against the bed. “I’ve tried to look back and pin point a time but I think it just happened, gradually. Way before this started.” He pulled me against his chest. “I think it started when we were kids and just slowly developed over time. I avoided it for the longest time, pretending I didn’t feel that way but it just got to the point I couldn’t ignore it any longer. When I saw you in Charlotte, I knew I couldn’t...I just...had to know. It was hard enough letting you go after Dayton. I had to do something.”

  “Jameson—” I lost it.

  Falling against the mattress in a heap, I balled like a goddamn baby even as Jameson was frantically trying to comfort me.

  “Sway, oh god, I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have said anything. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I fucked this up.” He chided himself. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “What?” I sobbed scrambling to look up at him. “You shouldn’t have said anything? Christ almighty Jameson, are you blind?” I practically yelled causing his mouth to gap open.

  “Huh?” It was his turn to look at me as if he had no idea what I just said.

  “Jameson,” I shook my head and sat up to lean against the headboard. “I’m not mad that you love me. I’m mad that we wasted all this time because neither one of us had the brass balls to say it.”

  “Did you just say brass balls and love in the same sentence.” He asked with a grin.

  I slapped him across the face, not hard. “Pay attention.”

  “Sorry, I got distracted by you saying balls.” He admitted with another grin.

  “Seriously, you’re like a fucking child.”

  He winked. “So you love me too?”

  “More than you can ever imagine,” my head slumped at my admission. “It’s the pathetic pretend to like the same flavor of ice cream or music, type of love. Break your heart type love.”

  He looked away when I said break your heart. “See, I’m not...” he paused. “we shouldn’t be together, Sway.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” he half shouted in a strangled voice. “You need someone who will be there for you. Someone who can drop everything and run to you when you really need them...and you’re gonna need him.” He intoned and by the look on his face, I had a feeling he meant something by that but he continued. “You need someone who can lay in bed with you on Sunday mornings. You deserve someone who can call in sick to work, only to stay in bed with you all day. I can’t be that guy. As much as I want to be and as much love you, I’m never gonna be that guy for you. I just...can’t be.”

  “So this was really only about sex then.” I deduced with a nod. “You knew nothing was going to change your feelings for me, that you weren’t going to give us a real chance?”

  “Well it sounds worse than it really is when you say it like that,” He replied, his voice hard, “But...yes. I know I can’t offer you anymore than what we have right now.”

  Sometimes, honesty just isn’t the best policy. He could have lied right then and I would have been okay with that.

  “You know...don’t worry about it...let’s just enjoy our last few days of the dream.” I told him with a pathetic excuse for a smile staring off towards the candles on the dresser.

  He wasn’t buying it but eventually, he gave up trying and left me alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t try to get me to talk to him, but what would I say? He basically just told me it wasn’t an option.

  As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I felt like he used me for his own pleasure. Yeah, he supposedly loved me too but he knew damn well he wasn’t going to offer me anything more than a frien
dship with him. I’d never be girlfriend status—I’d never be wife status. I’d always be this pit lizard with his determined benefits.

  Really though, how upset could I be about that when I used him for the same reason? I knew this wasn’t going to change anything and I fell anyways. I fell hard into this crazy-irrational-break-your-fucking-heart-logic.

  Support group—here I come.

  The next day it was back to reality and racing. I was thankful for the distraction the race weekend could provide.

  The rest of the evening in Savannah, and this morning, we never spoke about what happened that night. It was probably a good thing because if I heard him say he loved me again, I’d start balling just as I did that night.

  Jameson was racing in Sonoma California at Infineon Raceway, known to some as Sears Point. It was a two and a half-mile road course with a series of twelve complex twists and turns that go up and down hill. The track was noted for turns two and three that were banked on the driver’s right, providing a challenge to the driver because ordinarily the turn would be on their left.

  Jameson wasn’t particularly fond of the track, as with any road course, but he managed to get the pole for the race so he obviously figured something out.

  On Sunday morning, my last day of the pit lizards crazy-irrational-break-your-heart dream, we were all sitting around eating breakfast outside the teams hauler when Jameson’s phone beeped twice, letting him know someone was calling him.

  He glanced down at the screen turning his head sideways. “I’ll be right back.” He whispered to me and then walked inside the hauler to take the call in private.

  All of us looked at each other in confusion and then went back to eating.

  About twenty minutes later, Jameson stepped out with a calloused expression. Walking past Spencer at the door, he moved to sit next to me again.

  I thought he’d continue eating because let’s face it—the boy could eat. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his eyes fixated on his feet.

  Concerned about the sudden change in his demeanor, I set my plate down on the table in front of me and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Who was that?”