Page 6 of Happy Hour

“You already have one—Jameson got it for you.”

I knew enough from my experience with the pit lizards at Daytona to know the difference between plastic and paper. I also knew that a “plastic pass” ran around twenty five hundred dollars and wasnottransferable. The fact that Jameson purchased a “plastic pass” for me had me thinking but should I put any weight to the significance?

Glancing down at the hard pass they had made, I noticed one addition I was sure NASCAR did not add.

Under Sway Reins was“Jameson’s Pit Lizard”written in black sharpie. I turned sharply to glare at Alley when she shifted her eyes to the back seat towards Spencer and then back to me.

Without leading on, I placed the pass around my neck and grabbed the first thing I could think of to throw at Spencer’s head, which happened to be a front spring we picked up from the shop on the way here for Jameson’s car.

“What the fuck was that?” Spencer wailed clutching his face. “I think...I’m...bleeding.”

Sure enough, he was bleeding, profusely, from right above his left eyebrow.

“Suck it up asshole. You deserved that and you know it.” Stomping towards the garage, my pit lizard pass flailed behind me in the breeze.

“Babe, I think I need stitches.” Alley examined his face closely before reaching in her purse to stick a spider man bandage on his forehead.

“There,” she kissed his forehead right above his eye.

“You’re fine.” I yelled over my shoulder as they trucked along behind me.

For only being five foot two and barely a hundred and five pounds, I could throw a mean front spring when needed. I grew up at a racetrack...I could protect myself. Sure, there were times I may need to make use of car parts to assist me in protecting myself but Icoulddo it.

Since I’d been around racing my entire life, I could also smell my way to the garage just off the fumes alone. I didn’t need a damn escort. I had pit lizard instincts. I was sure I could smell a race car idling a mile away.

As I rounded the corner to the garage area, cars were scattered along the bays, revving engines and preparing for race day activities.

Just like my pit lizard instincts for racing, I had an instinct for Jameson and could pick his raspy velvet voice out like a needle in a haystack.

He was yelling over the revving, gesturing towards the rear of the car. There he stood next to his race car talking with his crew chief, Kyle Wade.

That was all it took to distract me from Spencer and his spider man bandage.

Again, I fully admitted to myself how pathetic I was. I let out a truly pitiable sigh and trailed Alley and Spencer towards Jameson’s bay.

Spencer slung an arm around my shoulder and stopped when I did. “Ah, it’s good to have you here.”

“Hands off, shithead,” I growled and he stomped back over to Alley, knowing he’d crossed the line enough for one day.

There were drivers, media, crew members, and cars strewed throughout as they prepared for the nights race.

I briefly looked around, but like the pathetic pit lizard I was, my eyes immediately found Jameson and it was as if everything else disappeared as though the world stopped.

With his hand resting on the hood, his eyes closed listening to the car as he made an adjustment under the hood.

I heard him holler over the rumble of the engine. “I was tight coming out of turn three yesterday during...” was all I could make out before another engine in the distance revved drowning him out.

After a brief second to allow myself to swoon at his car talk, I focused on my surroundings. Only problem, Icouldn’tfocus, not with the dirty thoughts in my mind listening to Jameson talk car.

No standard dirty talking for me, I like a man who talks car. The first time I heard Jameson say camshaft, I wanted to rip my clothes off and ride his camshaft reverse cowgirl style.

My eyes shifted back to him, wanting another look.

Squinting into the sun, I took in the rest of his appearance.

He looked...good, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans that were met with his usual worn blackPuma’s. His rusty hair that seemed darker than usual was all over the place, nothing new, but it had always suited him with the way it looped out at the ends. I sighed and shook my head when I noticed the shadow along his sharp jaw, loving the scruff he was sporting. He was hot, like greasy mechanic hot. I had a thing for a man who knew his way around an engine.

I distracted myself for a moment thinking of Jameson getting to know his way around my internal combustion engine and more importantly, my crankcase. And if you don’t know what a crankcase is, it’s a metal casing in the engine that houses the camshaft, crankshaft, and a few other parts in reciprocating engine. This is why I called my vagina a crankcase. It made perfect sense to me.

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