Captivating Clay (Team Loco #3)

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Captivating Clay (Team Loco #3) Page 7

by Amy Sparling


  Marcus thought it would be fun to have the guys arrive early and sign autographs for everyone regardless of the raffle, that way the crowds of hopeful people won’t go home empty-handed. I can already imagine how annoyed Clay must be at this idea, and I’m glad my job is to hand out raffle tickets instead of trying to persuade him to sign autographs.

  After what he told me last night, I’m hoping I never have to talk to him ever again. Heat fills my cheeks at the memory of it, and suddenly I’m not so cold anymore. I can’t believe he said that to me! Does he think I have a crush on him? Did Keanna and the other girlfriends mess with him the way they joked with me about how we’re both single? I don’t think they’d do that, but maybe they did. I remember his words to me last night – he said he knows Keanna is messing with me. How the hell does he know that? Have people been talking behind my back? Ugh.

  I have been nothing but professional around him. I mean, sure, he’s totally hot, but so what? Every guy on Team Loco is attractive. But the fact that he felt the need to tell me that we would never be romantically involved just really felt like a slap to the face. I don’t like Clay Summers. I’m not even friends with him. Up until last night, he’d kind of scared me with his standoffish personality and intimidating features. So screw him. I can’t believe he felt the need to tell me that he didn’t like me, like I’m some kind of pathetic lovesick girl who was secretly crushing on him.

  I take a sip of my coffee and watch as the track owner opens the large metal gate at the entrance to the track, officially letting everyone inside. It’s seven a.m. sharp and hundreds of parents are about to get their raffle ticket, but I’m still sitting here fuming over Clay.

  I don’t like him. I don’t have a crush on him. I’m going to make sure he knows it, too. Maybe I’ll even volunteer to be the person to make him sign autographs. I’ll be professional and strict and I won’t smile or show any signs of liking him.

  I chuckle to myself at the thought of it. He needs to be put in his place. He probably thinks all the girls like him, but not me. The more I think about it, the more annoyed I get. He’s an arrogant jerk. I’ll show him exactly how much I don’t like him.

  Just as Marcus suspected, the parents are eager and pushy and demanding. I go through an entire roll of raffle tickets in just half an hour. The track owner got smart and set up his concessions trailer so he can make money selling food to all the people who are eagerly waiting to see if they’ll get a coveted spot on today’s training camp.

  Most parents just take a ticket and leave, but some of them are chatty, trying to see if there’s anything else they can do to improve their chances. It’s a little annoying how intense these motocross fans are. They’re just all so excited to have their kids trained by professional racers. Every day I learn a little bit more about the world of motocross. It’s fascinating.

  From my vantage point in the score tower, I can see across to where the Team Loco guys are set up at an autograph table. There’s a somewhat organized line of people of all ages who are wanting to snag a signed poster. It brings me great joy to know that Clay hates every second of this. He’s sitting at the far end of the table wearing the same hoodie I wore last night. I wonder if it still smells as good as it did last night.

  And then I quickly shove the thought away. Clay is a jerk, and I need to remember that.

  I pass out more raffle tickets, but as it nears eight o’clock, the line thins out. We’re supposed to draw winners at exactly eight and then the camp begins. After handing out the last raffle ticket, I cross the room and refill my coffee cup. I’ll probably be so buzzed from caffeine that I’ll be bouncing off the walls soon, but at least I’ll be warm.

  When I return to the window, I notice that Clay has left his place at the signing table. Figures. He’s so selfish he can’t even sign a few autographs.

  A woman walks up to me, her bright red lipstick smile beaming at me as if we’re old friends. “Hi, hon,” she says, placing a hundred dollar bill on the windowsill that separates us. “I need a winning raffle ticket.”

  She’s so confident that I’m a little confused. “I’m sorry,” I say. “A what?”

  “A winning ticket.” She gives me a knowing look. “My son is fifteen and he’ll be ready to go pro next year. This camp is exactly what he needs to be ready for a professional sponsorship.”

  “Only three of the tickets are winners and we won’t know which tickets win until the drawing in a few minutes,” I say, giving her a polite smile. I ignore the hundred dollar bill that’s resting between us. I’m not about to take a bribe, and what she’s asking is basically impossible. Marcus will probably be the one drawing the tickets out of the jar. You can’t exactly rig a random drawing, especially not a few minutes beforehand.

  “All you have to do is give me a ticket and keep the other half in your hand when you draw the winners,” she says, never losing her smile.

  I’m vaguely aware of the door opening behind me, but Marcus is standing next to the autograph table so it’s probably the owner of the track. He’s already been in here a dozen times to refill his coffee and to bring coffee to the guys.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I say politely. “I can’t do that.”

  Anger flashes in her eyes. She’s a very attractive woman, probably in her late thirties, and I get the feeling she’s not used to being told no, especially when I notice the gigantic diamond ring on her finger. “Listen, sweetheart,” she says, her jaw clenching. “This camp is extremely important. It doesn’t need to be wasted on some snot-nosed kid who has no chance of turning pro. My son will go pro and these lessons will help him get there. Just take the money and give me a winning ticket.”

  She places two more hundred dollar bills on the windowsill, while I stand here, mouth agape. No one has ever talked to me this way, and I’m extremely offended that she thinks I’ll sacrifice my job, my moral compass, and some other kid’s chance at happiness for three hundred dollars.

  I tear off a raffle ticket from the roll and place it on top of her bribe money. “Here’s your ticket,” I say. “Your son gets the same chance as everyone else.”

  “Why are you being such a brat about this?” the woman hisses. “You have an opportunity to make some money and to make a difference for someone who matters. My son will be more famous than these guys when he’s older.”

  “Wow, you’re a terrible person.”

  The words come from behind me, and they’re immediately followed by that crisp ocean smell I remember from Clay’s hoodie. Then Clay is standing next to me, his hardened gaze staring right at this lady. “I hope for your son’s sake that he does get famous. Then he can move far away from bad influences like you.”

  “Clay!” the lady says, bursting into a smile as she seemingly ignores what he just told her. “Honey, I need to explain why it’s so vital that my son gets into this camp. He really admires you—he would love to work with you personally—”

  Clay reaches through the window and takes the ticket off the pile of money. He rips it in half and lets it fall to the floor. “You’re not welcome here. You can either leave now, or I can have the police escort you out.”

  The woman’s eyes flare with rage, her jaw trembling. I can see her thinking of a million things to say, but after just a few seconds, she grabs her cash and stalks off. I want to throw my arms around Clay and thank him for saving me, but only now, that we’re alone in this small building do I remember that I’m supposed to hate him. I refuse to give him any inkling that I might like him.

  “Thank you,” I say as I put the plastic lid on the jar with all of the raffle tickets. I don’t look at him. I don’t show him any gratitude other than those two words that I said with as little emotion as possible.

  “It’s no problem,” Clay says. “People who think they can buy their way to the top always need to be put in their place.”

  I cradle the jar in my arm as I reach for my coffee. It was originally a large container of cookies, like the kind you get at a C
ostco, so it’s pretty big.

  “Need some help?” Clay asks.

  “Nope,” I say, still not looking at him. My chest constricts as he follows me to the door and holds it open for me. Why is he suddenly being polite? He’s the one who made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t like me, and yet now he’s being nice? Friendly, even?

  I really wish he’d just go back to being that jerk with the earbuds.

  Chapter 11

  As soon as I hear that the big rig has arrived at Hopewell Motocross track, I feel a tension release in my shoulders. It’s a stress I didn’t even know I had until suddenly I feel more relaxed than I have in days. It’s Wednesday and we are halfway finished with the training camps. The next one is tomorrow here in Tennessee at Zach’s home track. But today we’re off work and Marcus was able to get the Team Loco eighteen wheeler to show up and bring our bikes.

  I’m going to spend the entire day riding. It’ll clear my mind and help me feel normal again. I miss the days of racing on weekends, riding during the week, and keeping to myself. There’s been entirely too much socializing these last few days. Too much talking with one girl in particular. Every time I’m around her, I can’t seem to help myself. I want to do something to make her life easier. The airplane luggage rack, the hoodie—I can’t help myself. And it needs to stop. She’s just a coworker. I don’t go out of my way for the guys, and I shouldn’t do it for her.

  Today is all about me.

  But I have to eat breakfast first. Hopewell, Tennessee is in the middle of nowhere, and Zach’s mom is just as sweet as you’d imagine some small town mom to be. Her house is decorated with Christmas lights and it smells like cinnamon. We stayed at a hotel that’s half an hour away because it was the closest one to the track, and she insists on making us breakfast in the morning. Zach and Bree are already here since they stayed in Zach’s childhood bedroom last night.

  I arrive with the rest of the crew and we all settle around the small kitchen table to a feast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, toast, and freshly cut fruit. Avery sits next to Bree. She looks tired today, like maybe she didn’t sleep well. Maybe she’s still getting used to the hassle of all this traveling. It’s hard to feel refreshed when you’re not sleeping in your own bed every night. I think about bringing it up, but then I don’t.

  Not only has Keanna said something, but the other day the guys cornered me and asked if I thought Avery was cute. I knew I needed to squash that train of thought quickly, otherwise they’d start teasing us in front of each other. I’d felt bad lying, but I told the guys I had no interest in her. Maybe one of these days I’ll believe it.

  It’s better this way though. I eat breakfast and then catch a ride in Zach’s truck over to the track. Since it’s the middle of the week, the track isn’t too busy right now. I’m grateful that the Team Loco rig is nice and lonely when we arrive—I’m not in the mood for fans right now.

  Zach says he’ll catch up with us later because he wants to talk to some friends on the bleachers, but Aiden, Jett, and I get dressed in our riding gear and crank up the bikes. Marcus isn’t here today, so he can’t complain when I wear my old riding boots. He only wants us to have crisp brand new gear when we ride, but these old boots feel the best.

  I nod toward the guys and we take off in separate directions. I head toward the starting line because it’s my favorite place to get on the track. I love pinning the throttle down the long straightaway and feeling the bike accelerate. There’s something so pure about riding for fun. There’s no rules, no finish line, no pressure to beat someone else. It’s just you and the bike and the sun shining overhead, all of your hard work paying off.

  When I’m on the track, I’m in the zone. I don’t notice the fans on the sidelines. I don’t see anything past the dirt in front of me. I’m not thinking of what comes next, or what’s happened in the past. Nothing else matters when I’m on my dirt bike.

  At least that’s how it usually is. Maybe because this is just practice and I’m not focusing on racing anyone, my mind starts to think about things it shouldn’t. I’m thinking of her. I’m regretting the way I scoffed and shook my head when the guys asked if I liked her. I start wondering what’s the worst that could happen?

  I mean, I guess I know that answer.

  We’d date. She’d get annoyed. She’d leave. She’d either quit her job or it would be awkward as hell having to work with her after a short fling. It would be a disaster at worst, and an awkward event at best. There is no reason I should even consider liking this girl.

  Yet here I am on my bike, doing my favorite thing in the world, and I’m still thinking of her.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Maybe I could be honest—just tell her that I’m kind of into her but that it would never work out. Maybe we could make some kind of arrangement. We could agree to date for fun. Nothing serious.

  I drop the bike into second gear and throw it around a sharp turn before picking up speed and soaring over a large tabletop jump. This stupid idea I just had is starting to gain a foothold in my mind, making me think all kinds of insane things. Maybe my problem with dating in the past is that I’ve always tried to have a legitimate relationship. Those never work out.

  But what if it was just for fun?

  What if we decided to hang out for fun, knowing it would end badly?

  Everything inside of me is shouting that it’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, but by the time I pull off the track an hour later, I’m halfway thinking I should go find our new intern and ask her to have lunch with me. Maybe she’ll say no and I’ll be able to drop this delusional idea.

  But maybe she’ll say yes.

  I park my bike at the big rig and grab a Gatorade from the ice chest. Jett and Zach are out riding but Aiden is sitting on a fold-out chair next to his bike, video chatting with his girlfriend. I get behind him so I’m in the video and wave at the camera.

  “Hi, Clay!” Jenn says.

  “When are you coming back?” I ask.

  “I have one more final exam to take and then I’ll be there for the rest of the month.”

  “Cool.”

  Aiden gives me a look. “What?” I say, uncapping my drink to take another sip.

  “You’re awfully chatty today.”

  “Shut up.”

  I start walking away and Aiden calls out, “Now that’s the Clay I know and love!”

  If my friendliness toward his girlfriend surprises him, he’s going to crap himself when he sees me dating our new intern. I’m even having a hard time believing what I’m about to do. But what else is there to do when you can’t keep someone off your mind? I’m about to make a huge mistake, but whatever. I’ve done worse.

  I walk toward the score tower which is where I last saw Avery hanging out with Zach’s girlfriend, Bree. I peer in the window which is open, but I only see Bree in there. She’s pouring hot chocolate packets into two cups of steaming water.

  “Where’s Avery?” I ask.

  Bree gives me an odd look. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  Yes, I think. I’m about to ask her out –which is very wrong. But Bree is of course referring to Avery as an intern, and if there’s something wrong with work stuff. I shake my head. “I just had to ask her something.”

  “She’s on the bleachers,” Bree says, going back to stirring her hot chocolates. “You want one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  I turn to leave, and Bree is wearing the same expression Aiden had a minute ago. Why is everyone so weirded out when I’m being nice? I’m not that much of a jerk, am I?

  As I make my way to the bleachers, I realize Avery isn’t alone. There’s some guy sitting next to her. He’s a bigger guy, probably a little older but not by much. No one else is on the bleachers besides the two of them, and I’m tempted to keep on walking. But maybe she needs a distraction from this dude. He might be bothering her.

  They’re sitting on the third bleacher from the bottom, so I step up to her row and give her a nod
. “How’s it going?”

  Avery smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You looked good out there.”

  “Thanks. I felt good.” I can tell the guy is staring at me. “How’s it going, man?” I say, trying to be cool about it.

  He stands up and he’s nearly as tall as I am, but he’s twice as wide. “Hey man, nice to meet you,” he says, beaming at me with a bright smile. He holds out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Tom. Huge fan.”

  “Zach’s friend?” I say, shaking his hand. Zach’s talked about a guy named Tom from his home track. I guess this guy isn’t some rando that I can shoo off.

  “That’s me.” Tom sits back down next to Avery. The way he smiles at her makes my chest tighten. He’s totally into her.

  I sit on the other side of her, trying to keep my cool. Tom starts talking to Avery, continuing what must have been a conversation from before I arrived. He’s asking her questions about being an intern and she’s answering with more enthusiasm than she’s ever given me. I gaze out at the track and act like I’m just hanging out taking a break, but I listen to every word they say.

  He’s laying it on thick, like he’s worried if he doesn’t win her over in the next five seconds that she’ll float away and disappear forever. What’s worse is that she’s laughing at every lame ass joke he makes.

  After a few minutes, the rest of the guys walk over and take a seat and the conversation shifts. Zach and Tom start asking what’s for lunch, and soon we’re all agreeing to get food together. So much for my lunch date idea.

  Aiden asks me about my bike’s suspension and if I felt it was a little too tight today. I’m trying to answer him while keeping an eye on the guy who is stealing my crush out from under me. We leave the bleachers and start walking toward the cars and Tom is freaking glued to her side the whole time.

 

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