Page 19 of Born to Scar

It’s race day, and the energy is buzzing around us. We all meet up at the bar before heading to our race location this evening. We do our racing at night. It helps negate some of the cop activity. The parking lot is full of cars and bikes.

I load a cooler up with water and sports drinks and another with beer. Ray will take them in the truck when we leave. Bik mentioned a possible new racer, but they aren’t here. Maybe they don’t know about the meet-up beforehand.

Jared has been an unexpected constant lately, a lot like Micky. I enjoy the time I spend with Jared. He gives me so much of what I need. We aren’t exclusive, but neither of us is messing around with anyone else, either. Not that I mess around, but for Jay, that’s a huge change.

Even the grid girls are starting to back off. He barely talks to them, and when he does, it’s to decline their advances. I never asked him to do that. It was natural. Kia was the same way. The table that was once the party table, where all the grid girls would kill to be at, turned into the bartenders’-sort of-boyfriends’ table.

He knows my thing, or whatever it is, with Cam. I can’t really call it a thing, nothing other than a one-night stand happened. But if I’m honest, I’d want them both. They both offer something different that I need. I would never expect either of them to be okay with that, but I will be honest with them about it. It confuses me, wanting someone so wrong for me, so outside of my own world, so different. I felt a crazy spark the night he came into the bar when he kept me from toppling over. I don’t know what it was, but I can’t forget it.

He would never loosen up enough to even consider me, much less consider us. Though Jared seems open to the idea. Seeing Cam at the strip club the other night made me realize he works in the city often. Maybe I can fuck his conceit out of him? Doubtful. Though it could be fun to try.

I need to leave that alone and focus on what is in front of me right now, not some could-be fantasy.

We head to the spot with the cars racing first. I park and find Jared hanging under his hood with a large light propped up to see in. His muscles work as he does whatever he does. I lean against the driver’s side door, watching.

“You know, I can feel you burning holes into my skin?” he says without looking up.

“Is that right?”

His head pops up slightly to make eye contact, giving me his megawatt smile. “I’ve always thought you were sexy in your riding gear.” His eyes look me over, and I return his smile.

“I came to say good luck, and I’ll be rooting for you.”

He stands, slamming the hood down, wiping his hands. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhmm,” I hum, nodding. He cups my face, pressing a soft kiss onto my lips.

He’s the soft to my hard—most of the time. Sometimes I’m his little whore. Most of the time, I’m his sweet girl. He’s good at reading me and giving me what I need. That’s what happens when you spend so much time with someone over the years, I suppose. I never thought Jared would be my soft, my anything for that matter, but here he is, always so eager to please.

The rumble of a bike coming down the road gets closer. “I guess that’s the new racer,” I murmur on Jared’s lips.

He nods and looks up, eyes widening. “Jesus.”

I follow his gaze. “You’re joking right now? Tell me this is a joke.”

A Ducati, a fucking Panigale, is rolling into the bike area to park. And, of course, it’s another dude. I can tell right away by his build. He sets his helmet on his seat, leaving his balaclava covering his face.

Something is so familiar about him, but I can’t place it. He chats with Bik before he turns, and his eyes meet mine.

“Who is that?” I whisper.

Jared shakes his head. “No idea.”

The man turns back to his bike.

The cars race, and Jared smokes everyone again. He lets me ride with him in some of his races, but I leave him to focus on the last one. Racing on four wheels is so different from racing on two but just as fun. He beats Kia by milliseconds to win and does a burnout at the end of the track.

I have a beer bottle between my thumb and forefinger waiting for him. “You did so good, fuckboy,” I murmur, giving him a sly smile, handing him the bottle.

He brings his lips to my ear. “Now it’s your turn, little whore,” he whispers, kissing me on the cheek. I chuckle, turning toward the rest of the riders.

The new guy has made some friends, by the looks of it. He hasn’t taken his face cover off yet, not that I have noticed. It’s weird, but whatever.

I pull my balaclava over my head and yank my helmet on. The squeeze of the helmet around my head is my trigger to get in the zone. I also have riding pants and a jacket I wear when I race. The ensemble was the most expensive thing I’ve ever purchased, but I don’t need any more scars or to ruin the art covering the scars I already have. I haven’t laid a bike down in years, but you never know when you will.

I line up against Micky. He’s been on fire these last few races. He pulls away at the start, but I catch up to him and win by a tit on a tire. We fist bump before making our way back up to the line. The Ducati is fucking everyone, including me.

He smokes me from start to finish during our first meet-up. I reach out to fist-bump him. At first, it looks like he might ignore me, but he knocks knuckles before taking off back to the start.