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“We’re almost ready,” Drew answers for me, pleading with his eyes. “Chill the fuck out.”
I grab my gloves, check my helmet, and suddenly Sky and I having sex in the truck flashes before my eyes. I should have never fucked her, and made things more complicated with that kiss than they already are. What the hell am I doing with her?
“Screw this,” I huff, scratching the side of my shaved head.
“What?” Drew asks.
“Nothing,” I mumble. “All fucking A-OK.” I flash him a mocking smile and pull out my piercings.
I crack my neck, following Drew out to the tracks. I need to get my head straight. I keep thinking about Sky, fucking her, and the way she tasted on my lips. What the hell is she doing to me? It’s the last race of the season before we have eight weeks off, I have to make up a couple of cancelled runs that were supposed to happen before we went on tour in Australia and New Zealand. I can’t wait and dread it at the same time. Time off always makes me nervous, makes me think too much, leading me to go off the tracks—literally.
I walk to the starting gate, bike in hand. I check if my shoes will click in the pedals the way they should. I spot Ryan on my far left. He flips me off, and takes his position next to me. Fucker is not worth it. Flashing him my pearly whites, I notice Jay and Sky in the crowd watching me.
The two commentators start introducing us. I raise my hand when my name gets called. Luckily, Jay got me out of the charges that were pending after the fight at the last race, but he made a deal with Neil. If I ever punch Ryan’s lights out again, I will be in serious trouble. Jay doesn’t know about the deal I made with Neil on the side, and I need to keep it that way.
“Nice side piece you have,” Ryan says, without looking at me.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I grit out.
“The hot beach babe. If you’re not screwing her, I will.”
I almost fly off my bike to punch him in his smug face, but a referee holds me back.
“Watch your goddamn mouth, Ryan.”
“She smiled at me earlier. I’m gonna tap that ass.”
“You’re dead,” I bite out. I slap my hands on my knees trying to let the memory of her moaning my name fade away. I’ll be damned if I let a fucker like Ryan have his way with her. I stretch my neck trying to focus. I’m on the road to pure gold. I’ve won the previous two races today. I’ve checked on the other riders from the sidelines and made mental notes while I watched them moving over the track. Some of the younger guys have real grit.
I focus when the referee says, “Riders, ready! Watch the gate!”
Taking my position, I stand and click my feet on the pedals. When the beeping ends, I’m off. I take every turn, and angle my bike in the air to gain speed, and there is the finish line. I can taste victory.
Ryan is making headway; we’re now shoulder to shoulder with one hill in front of us. The crowd is screaming and the commentators are yelling, and then he angles his bike into me. I need to redirect my line immediately, losing traction on the turn. I have enough speed to recover, but not enough to bridge the gap between me and him.
My bruised ribs ache. I bite my lip until I taste blood. “Motherfucker,” I huff under my breath, and I know he’s winning. The audience roars and his bike finishes first, and I’m a split second behind him.
I slam both my hands on the handlebar of my bike, take off my helmet, and brush the sweat from my brows.
Jay walks up to me. “You almost had him, if you kept your focus,” he says, disappointment ringing through his deep voice.
I shake my head and kick my BMX to the ground. “Fuck!” I yell before I pick the bike up, and make my way to the trailer.
Sky congratulates me but I ignore her. I’m not used to losing. Throwing my gloves on the workbench, I growl out, “Shit!” I’m so incredibly mad at myself for screwing with my number one position.
“What happened there?” Drew asks, hopping into the trailer.
I shake my head. “Nothing, man. I wasn’t fast enough,” I swear, slamming my hand against the wall. I fucked it up gloriously. The adrenaline still courses through my veins, and I spit on the ground.
“Probably not a good idea to go looking for trouble, dude. I recognize the murderous glint in your eyes,” Drew mumbles.
Grabbing the side of my body, I know he’s telling the truth. “Can’t argue there. I didn’t sleep last night, and maybe I overdid it when lifting weights because my ribs hurt like a motherfucker,” I grunt, laying my hand on his shoulder to steady myself and scan the backstage area for Ryan.
Fucker is standing against his truck, talking to Sky. The son of a bitch is leaning into her like he’s ready to kiss her. That little piece of shit is probably doing it to get back at me.
I ball my fists and jump out of the trailer. Drew yells at me to stop.
“Fuck you, Drew,” I shout, making my way to Sky. Not fucking now. Gritting my teeth, I’m ready to pop a vein in my neck.
