Page 193 of Trading Paint
“It’s more dramatic this way.”
“How so?”
“I’m not really sure...but it is.” He smiled.
I took his cell phone from his hand and tossed it behind me. “You’re an idiot.”
Lane glanced up from his cartoons and grinned, milk dripped down his chin. “Who an in...it?”
“I said idiot, Lane.” I corrected him. “And I was referring to your dad.”
“Oh,” he said meekly and returned to his cartoons.
Spencer glared. “Why do you think I text everyone when he’s here? He’s like a goddamn sponge.”
Lane turned around again and opened his mouth before Spencer stopped him. “Don’t even think about it little man,” he warned in his fatherly tone he had on rare occasions.
Lane, Spencer and Aiden ended up coming with me to Concord that day where we ended with Longhorn. Lane destroyed a plate of cheese fries, we had no idea his tiny three-year old body could hold that much food. Remaining relatively quiet most of the dinner, I had a lot to muse over.
Penalties, sprint car teams, sponsors,Sway...and it was just like me tooveranalyze it all.
The more I contemplated the twist our relationship was taking, the more I wanted it to take that twist. It was more than evident she was physically attracted to me. Her body responded to me.
I caught her watching me on more than one occasion, the long lingering glances, and the quick peeks out of the corner of her eye when my shirt was off. And then there were the more discernable responses when we were together intimately. The way her touch set my body on fire, the silent way her eyes pleaded for me to continue...even with all this evidence I had, my mind was telling me not to take things further with her.
Then I had NASCAR on my mind. Rookies were supposed to stay out of trouble, respect veteran drivers, and simply gain experience. Though I was gaining the experience and respect of the veteran drivers like Doug Dunham and Steve Vander, I wasn’t staying out of trouble. I had Darrin to thank for that.
All this trouble with NASCAR wasn’t helping my focus on my sprint car team as well. Our team remained fairly small at the moment so Justin and now Tyler needed me as the owner to be there for them. In sprint car racing, it’s a smaller operation than these cup teams. Where Riley Simplex Racing has grown to around a hundred employees now, I had five with JAR Racing. They needed me.
It may not have been the best time to start a sprint car team in the World of Outlaws—a series that had the most grueling schedule in auto racing—but it’s where I came from. How could I possibly let that go? I couldn’t give that up any more than I could give Sway up.
So there I sat leading up to the Coca-Cola 600, wondering what the fuck went wrong. I was peddled by NASCAR as the next champion in the series but at the same time foundmyselfin “Big Red” each week. A sprint car team with two of the best drivers on dirt but lacking the guidance of their owner and madly in love with my best friend who had power she didn’t even know she had. She could take me down harder and faster than anyone I’d ever known. She hadthatpower over me, a power I’d never let anyone have before in fear they’d use it against me. But just like sprint car racing, I couldn’t let her go.
It wasn’t an option.
The next few days before practice started for the Coca-Cola 600 were spent relaxing and fulfilling several sponsorship obligations.
I devoted some time with my crewmembers and other drivers in the compound. My motor coach was parked right next to Bobby’s as it was every week and another rookie in the series, Paul Leighty. Paul was a good guy—seemed level headed enough and also disliked Darrin. I guess he and Paul ran USAC together back in ‘98.
Paul, Bobby, Spencer andmewere hanging around outside Tate’s motor coach with him Wednesday night when Spencer decided to embarrass me. His poison for this...Sway.
I don’t know why this happened so often but everyone was curious about us. To me, it was none of their business and I didn’t take lightly to discussing it.
Paul, not knowing me well, asked, “What’s with you and that small town beauty that comes to see you on occasion?”
I took a big chug of coffee, trying to give myself a minute to think.
But the coffee was fucking hot, it scalded my throat going down, making me take in a gulp of air, which of course made me inhale the coffee. I’ve learned over the years that inhaling is the distinctly suboptimal method of ingestion when hot.
As I tried to reign in my choking gagging and other nasty sounds I seemed to be making, Spencer leaned back in his chair, laughing at me.
Another half a minute of me spluttering like an engine out of gas, he laughed out. “I’m embarrassed for you.”
I figured out gasping for life-sustaining oxygen, that I was fucked. Finally I answered with, “She’s my friend.”
“You are such a fucking liar.” Spencer grunted sitting down beside me again and then felt the need to continue. “Those two have been messing around with each other since they were what,” he turned to me looking for an answer. I simply glared. This did nothing to addle him. “I think since they were...fourteen,” he laughed. “Caught them dry humping in the movie room one night. She’s been on his dick ever since.” I was displeased to discover that the quality of his voice increased exponentially in relation to its volume.
“Shut the fuck up Spencer!” I snapped punching his shoulder as hard as I could in a sedentary position.
