Page 117 of Shade
There’s this place I go where nothing else matters. Not sponsors, or endorsement deals. Not commercials or judges, or the need to perform and be someone I’m not anymore. I don’t have people asking me what my problem is. I don’t think about Rhya out here. I don’t think about how she changed everything in one second.
I don’t think about anything, just a track. Dirt. Jumps. My bike. The thrill of dreaming up a trick or a jump. Reworking jumps, making new ones. . . nothing clears my head more than this.
I know I have a meeting this morning, but I want to get a new landing built before the rain hits this afternoon so I can practice my triple. I’ve been working on it for a few weeks now, and I’m still in the foam pit stage, but I need a softer landing on dirt if I’m going to start practicing the landing soon. So here I am, adding more dirt.
Anytime we do a new trick in freestyle, you practice with a foam pit landing. It’s still not fun having a 250-pound bike land on you, but it beats the hell out of a broken neck or blown-out knees and ankles from greasing a landing.
Just as I’m loading another bucket full of sand onto the excavator, I can see Scarlet marching her way across the track, her phone in hand, wild hair blowing in the wind.
I chuckle to myself at the sight of her trying to trudge her way through the dirt without falling.
We just got back from Paris yesterday morning, and she was so jet-lagged from the flights she went straight to the guest house, and we didn’t see her until this morning.
Now she’s on a mission to get me to a meeting in LA to model our new jersey line and for some photographs for the magazine and ads.
Roan, Tiller, and I started a clothing company together this last spring, and I’ve yet to hold up my end of the deal. Which is apparently modeling the shit we design. The company, S3, has apparel and riding gear.
Scarlet makes her way to the machine and stands beside it, her hands on her hips. I don’t know why this girl is getting under my skin, but she is. I don’t know whether I should hate her, fire her, fuck her or smile. She evokes all those emotions in me at the same time.
She holds up her phone, screaming out, “It says here you’re supposed to be. . . .”
I can’t hear the rest of what she says over the rumble of the engine. I turn it off and growl, “I don’t want to go to that.” Because I don’t. I’d much rather spend the rest of my afternoon out here.
Scarlet stares up at me, and I wonder what’s going through her head. Her arms cross over her chest, and I have a great view of her tits pushed together now. You know what I want to do? I’ll give you an honest answer here. I want my cock sliding between them. “Get off the tractor.”
I love it when she bosses me around. Here she goes dragging a smile out of me again. “Make me.”
“You’re pissing me off. Get off the goddamn tractor.”
She’s blunt but Christ, her demand sends a jolt through my body and straight to my cock. I want to tell her, “bottle that rage, baby, and take it out on me in my bed later.”
I can’t get over this reaction I’m having to her. Maybe because no girl has ever talked to me like this before. They’re all scared of me.
“It’s called an excavator,” I point out and swing my legs around so I’m facing her. “And you can’t tell me what to do.”
Determination furrows her brow. “Yes, I can. You hired me to do a job, and I’m going to do it.”
I’m tired of her looking at that damn thing and then telling me what to do. It needed to go. “Give me your phone.”
She tilts her chin up to meet my gaze. “No. Way. Get down from there.” I try to take her phone from her only she stuffs it down her shirt and into her bra likethat’sgoing to stop me. “Now get your ass in gear. We have to be in LA in an hour, and with traffic, it will take that long to get there.”
Goddamn her. She’s so fucking bossy.
She’s not as quick as she thinks though and the moment I jump down from the tractor and chase after her, I grab her by the waist and yank her back into my chest. Wrapping my left arm around her arms to pin them down, I then reach inside her bra, cop a feel of her breasts in the process and take the phone.
I let go, because she shoves her ass into my groin and when you’re not expecting it, it doesn’t feel all that pleasant.
Trying to catch my breath since one of my nuts took a blow in her ass shove, I step back away from her and hold the phone above her head. “Looking for this?”
A glisten of perspiration forms on her nose from the heat of southern California. Seeing her sweat causes my dick to twitch because damn, I’d love to see her covered in sweat, my hands fisted in those unruly curls. . . fuck.
Her small hands curl into fists. She looks like she’s on the brink of punching me. “Give me that, Shade.”
Christ, look at her face. Determined set brow, thinned lips, those adorable freckles dusting her scrunched-up nose. . . I’ve definitely pissed her off.
I wink. “Blow me and I’ll give it back to you.”
She sees no humor in my request and literally blows in my fucking face.
