Chapter 8
Jett
By some stroke of luck, I manage to win the Washington race even though I only got that one night of practice before the race. I chalked it up to sheer luck and nothing more, since normally I train every day leading up to a race, so there’s no way I could have actually ridden as fast as I did. Maybe the other guys on Team Loco just had bad days…along with the other twenty one racers on the track.
Whatever the case, I’m happy but still stressed as I go back home and continue taking over my dad’s clients and some of Park’s clients too. They’re too busy setting up the new race schedule and calling in the part time employees who help us run our normal races. Some of them can work all of the extra races, but some can’t so we have to hire more.
I’m more nervous than ever for the next race because I didn’t even manage to slip in a night ride at home. But somehow, I manage another win.
On the third week in a row of flying into another state on barely any sleep following days of working at The Track instead of training for my own career, I know I’ll be screwed. I arrive in Scottsdale, Arizona on Friday night, just in time to go to dinner with Zach, Clay, and Aiden. They pick some local cheeseburger place that sounds okay to me, but as soon as we walk inside, I realize it’s just a knockoff of Hooters, complete with skanky-looking waitresses.
“Are you gentleman all sitting together?” the hostess says after we walk in.
“Yes, ma’am,” Zach says in his twangy voice. He gives her that cocky smile of his that always makes the girls swoon. “But I’m not sure I’d call us gentlemen.”
She gives him a coy grin back and says, “Follow me.”
We’re seated at a table that’s higher than normal, with tall bar stools instead of chairs. As I look around, I notice that even the booths are tall like this. Weird.
Then I realize why.
“Hey there, handsome men,” a girl in booty shorts that could pass for underwear and a tight fitting spandex tank top says. She has long brown hair that’s wavy and smells like hair spray, which is probably why it doesn’t move at all. Her boobs are pretty much right in my face.
That’s why the chairs are tall. I’m sure they get a lot more tips when the customers are eye level with their assets.
“What can I get you boys to drink?”
“You could pour yourself in a glass,” Zach says. He hasn’t even been drinking today—alcohol isn’t allowed so soon before a race—but he’s already let his womanizing side loose. I guess he can’t help it.
Clay snorts and smacks Zach with his laminated menu. “He’ll take a Coke, and so will I.”
Zach gives Clay an annoyed look, but it’s for his own good. He’s used to getting all the girls because of his southern charm and motocross fame, but our manager Marcus is constantly telling him to get his head in the game and off of girls. He tends to flirt more than he rides, and it only gets worse with each new interview or magazine that features him.
Of course, that’s kind of a benefit for me, since the more he sucks at tomorrow’s race, the more I’ll be able to beat him. So I just order my drink and don’t bother giving him shit as he continues to flirt with our waitress, whose nametag says Princess, and I’m wondering if that’s actually her name or some scheme she uses to get guys to be infatuated with her.
“Dude,” Aiden says after we’re eating our food. He’s got a French fry in one hand and his cell phone in the other, the screen glowing and lighting up his face. “All these girls from high school who didn’t give a damn about me…” He shakes his head and puts the phone in his pocket.
“What about ‘em?” Clay says, not looking up. Clay is the tallest of all of us, and his arms of tattoos and newly shaved head makes him look like he doesn’t really belong in this group, but maybe a group of ultimate fighters or something instead. If I didn’t know him, I’d be a little wary of being in a dark alley with him. He’s not really an asshole; he just seems like one. He’s known for never giving autographs unless Marcus makes him, usually for the tiny fans who are round five years old. The truth is, Clay only cares about dirt bikes. Not girls. Not fame. The fact that he’s even speaking up now is kind of funny. “They trying to get your attention now?”
Aiden snorts. “I’d say. My inbox is full of nudes.”
Zach’s head snaps up. “Show ‘em!” he says with a mouth full of food.
Aiden shakes his head. “Nah, man. That’s invasion of privacy. Some of them aren’t even that good, trust me.”
Zach rolls his eyes. “Trustme, she sent them hoping you’d show her off to your friends.”
Aiden shakes his head and keeps eating.
Clay smacks me on the arm. “Are you the only one who doesn’t want see them?”
I shrug. “I’ve got the most perfect pair of boobs waiting on me at home.”
“Maybe that’s true,” he says with a laugh. “But they aren’t here now, are they?”
“Man, you know Jett,” Aiden says. “He’s our old man of the group—only eighteen and already settled down and shit.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” I say, taking a sip of my Coke. “But you see, instead of dating one girl after another, I’ve got my life already figured out. I got the girl… and the first place trophy,” I say with a smirk. I bite down on a fry and the guys all laugh and make annoyed noises.
