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With a swing of a leg, I plant my sandaled feet on solid ground and resist the urge to drop to my knees and kiss it. If I’m honest, resisting isn’t even that hard. It was far more enjoyable riding on that thing than I imagined.
I turn to Jake, who’s working on climbing back astride the bike, and swiftly grab the firm muscle of his upper arm. He looks to my grip there first, grins, and then looks me in the eyes with his own.
Framed out by the hole in his green and black helmet, they look almost teal.
“What?” he whispers, thankfully sensitive to the fact that I’m not really looking for an audience with this discussion.
“Why…uh…” I pause, glancing behind me and back again before moving even closer to Jake’s face and lowering my voice more. “Why is it all men?”
He laughs, glancing at the bleachers behind me quickly before answering. “First of all, it’s not. There are a few women peppered in there. But it probably seems like it is because these are the crew bleachers, and as unfortunate as it is, there are more males in motocross than females by a long shot.”
“Am I…your crew?”
I can’t see his smile, but his eyes sure look like that’s what’s going on. “You’ve been…mediocre moral support. But yes, sure. You’re my crew. Now, can you sit down so I can go out there and get some laps in?”
Realizing for the first time that my questions have greatly delayed his entrance onto the track, I acquiesce immediately.
“Oh yeah. Sure.”
He shakes his head but greatly surprises me by reaching out and tucking some hair behind my ear. It feels remarkably intimate and innocent at the same time. My body doesn’t know what to make of it. “Don’t ever change, Holley.”
It’s such a kind thing to say, I’m almost too stunned to respond. Somehow, though, I manage to find the only words appropriate—the truth. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to, Jake.”
He nods, climbs astride the bike, revs the engine, and takes off down the hill onto the track so fast a whole trail of dirt kicks up behind him.
It’s terrifying but, at the same time, makes it obvious that he was practically crawling on the ride over to the stands with me aboard.
I do my best to climb into the stands without taking my eyes off Jake, and as a result, I settle for the first wooden spot my ass comes in contact with.
I’m riveted as he rips down the first straight piece of the track right at a massive hill and sends himself flying into the air like Evel fucking Knievel. No hesitation, no warm-up, just bam!—right into the air. I shriek a little, drawing some eyes around me, but no one else even looks fazed.
How in the world does everyone else think this is normal? He’s, like, higher than a two-story building in the air, and he’s doing it on purpose! Doesn’t it hurt when he lands? How in the world does he do it so close to other people? I would run all of them right off the track!
I grip the edge of my seat and bounce my feet as he flies around the first curve, coming back this direction and going over a million little bumps like he’s on a high-speed rocking horse. Other guys bounce along beside him, and they all make it to the next turn together, jammed in right on top of one another.
“Eek!” I squeal, sucking my neck back into itself and curling slightly into a ball.
Oh man! I jump as he jerks and weaves to avoid the other guys and takes off full throttle for the next huge hill. It’s even bigger than the first, and the guys he navigated around in the curve are right on his heels.
I hiss and wince and cover my eyes briefly as he takes off like a damn rocket, twists in the air so much his body comes off the bike, and then, somehow, lands on the other side like he didn’t just basically jump out of a freaking plane without a parachute.
As he rounds the corner to start the second lap, the tension in my shoulders finally starts to loosen. Clearly, he’s done this a time or two, and if I press pause on my rising anxiety and really think about all of the freakishly scary things I’ve seen him do, it’s really impressive.
The most noteworthy thing Raleigh ever did was a mud run—and while I’m not exactly bashing that because it’s hard-core—he never really looked like he was strapped to an actual rocket ship either.
Plus, he cheated on me with his assistant and got her pregnant, so I’m allowed to mentally belittle everything he’s ever done in his life until the cows come home.
