Page 174 of Trading Paint
“My nephew is more mature than you.”
Darrin simply snorted and kept walking toward his car.
My car was what some in the garage called as “Hooked-up” and running anywhere. Just the same as dirt racing, every track has its own unique characteristics and changed throughout the night.
Despite that, my car ran anywhere I put it. I could run up high to pass and then shoot down low on the inside if needed the next lap.
What wasn’t working for me was an asshole in a yellow number fourteen car with a chip on his fucking shoulder.
The race was pretty much the same cheap ass hits, all of which NASCAR seemed to turn their head the other direction. If I made those hits against the “golden boy”, you had better believe they would have parked me.
When I took over the lead around lap one-twenty, I had a feeling it wasn’t the last time I’d see him that night. When I say thatmostdrivers love a night race, so do their tempers because not only do we love the night races, we all want to win them.
Tempers flare, drivers make rash impulsive moves and shit gets heated even more than the temperature of the track. We don’t become malleable like tires. We get rigid and obdurately focused on the win.
Just like any other Saturday night race under the lights at your local bullring track, tempers ignite.
Bear Bond – Sway
“You want to get a drink with me?” Blake asked after class.
I have never been on arealdate before nor have I ever gone out with guy—aside from Jameson.
Sure, I ventured to prom with Cooper but other than that, nope.
“I don’t know,” Glancing down at my shoes, I avoided eye contact with him as I continued to walk toward my truck. Once through the large metal doors and into the spring night air, I inhaled. “I have a test tomorrow.” I let out the breath I inhaled.
“So do I, any more excuses you want to use?” his head tipped making an effort to capture my attention. “Just have a drink with me. That’s all I’m asking.”
Letting go of my pathetic dithering, we went to a local bar up the street that many of the local college students flocked to on Saturday nights. Being a sports bar, racing was on.
And not just any race, the Subway 400 Winston Cup race that Jameson had the pole for. Usually I’d be in my apartment cuddled up watching by myself but no, I was out here, at a bar, with another guy.
Bring on the anxiety.
Not that I had any need to feel this way, but I felt dirty being out with someone other than Jameson when I felt so strongly for him.
The night went relatively smoothly for the most part but when a couple guys at the bar started knocking Jameson, who was leading the race with twenty laps to go and aggressively holding onto it, I accidently-on-purposely spilled their pitcher of beer when I walked past them. Happy they were now drenched in Blue Moon, I made my way back to Blake and his friend Neil.
I didn’t like Neil, not even a little bit. For one, he couldn’t say one decent remark about Jameson and two, he had enormous eyebrows that made me think he had live caterpillars on his forehead and they were going to eat me every time he spoke.
On top of the snide observations of Jameson’s racing skills, he had the nerve to revile Elma.
That was my snapping point and like fuel meeting spark, I ignited.
“Listen asshole,” I began reproachfully pointing my finger at his caterpillars. “I don’t give a shit who you think is the best NASCAR driver,” I air quoted. “butyou carping on Jameson and my home town...I’m going to rip those caterpillars off your face before they become butterflies!”
Neil’s expression was something similar to Tina Turner when Ike first hit her, shock and then indignant.
“Jameson is her friend.” Blake whispered toward Neil with a derisory edge, his eyes dancing around the bar, avoiding mine. In spite of his mocking tone, he couldn’t look me in the fucking eye.
Neil snorted taking a slow drawn out drink of his beer.
“I’m sure.” Setting his beer on the bar, he finally looked over at me, disparagingly. “Everyone thinks they’re his friend now that he has money.”
Immediately I was protective.
“I’ve known him since I was eleven jerkface,”
