Page 194 of Trading Paint
“Friends with benefits...huh,” Paul said. “I’ve got one of those. Works out nicely when I can’t commit to anything.”
“I’ve been telling him that for years.” Spencer added before I punched him again.
“Do you understand what shut the fuck up means?”
“Yes,” he laughed.
“Fuck you.” I grumbled making my way around the guys as they sat there laughing.
I went back to my motor coach and locked the door. My mind raced over what Paul said, he had one. People did the whole friends with benefits thing all the time. It also ruined friendships just as quickly. But if anyone could do friends with benefits with a girl that wasn’t complicated, it was us. We could have more, just a less complicated version. It’s not that I ever wanted to have her and then the ability to sleep around with others. That was definitely not it. Sway owned me; I only wanted her. This was more about us having what we could have—given the situation we were both in.
29.Ball Joint - Jimi
Ball Joint – A ball inside a socket that can turn and pivot in any direction.Ball joints are used to allow suspension to travel while the driver steers the car.
“He’s being picky.” Kyle told me as I stepped on the pit box.
I rolled my eyes because when wasn’t my son picky?
“There is nothing wrong with these tires but he thinks they’re shit.”
“What are his lap times?”
“Enough to break the track record...that I might add, he already set in qualifying.” Kyle sighed and pointed to the laptop in front of him. “These are his lap times for the last fifty laps...but I can’t convince him the cars perfect. Tony says every practice session—the tire wear improves. His lines are perfect, his driving is perfect!”
Jameson poured everything he had into every lap whether it was practice, qualifying or a race so if someone told me he wasn’t giving iteverythinghe had; I knew they were lying. That wasn’t Jameson.
“Let me talk to him.” I reached over Mason to grab the other 2-way radio. “Jameson, you copy? It’s dad.”
“10-4, what’s up?”
“Bring it on in.”
“Just give me a few more laps.”
There was no convincing Jameson of something unless he believed it to be true. To convince him of something, you had to show him evidence, substantial evidence. You should have heard the conversation we had with him when he found out there was no Santa Clause.
When he brought the car back into the garage, I decided it was time to talk to him. So many times, I’ve tried but someday I’d get through to this stubborn little shit.
While I waited for him to finish with a few interviews, Nancy approached us.
She was always like a fresh breath of air for me.
“Hey sweetheart,” she stretched up on her tippy toes to place a tender kiss against the stubble of my jaw.
I leaned in robotically. It’d been at least a week since I last saw her.
“Do you want to grab some dinner at Longhorn before the race in Concord?”
“Certainly my dear...but I need to speak with Jameson first.” Leaning in again, I pulled her closer.
“Oh—well, talk to him tonight. He’s racing in the Outlaw Showdown.”
I tilted my head in her direction, arching my eyebrow.
“Does Simplex know about this?” Since they found out about his track that was added to his property in Mooresville, they monitored him a little closer.
“Absolutely, they scheduled it.”
