Page 189 of Trading Paint

“That obvious?”I sighed in admission.

I was lying to everyone around me for so long that I had no feelings for him, I almost believed myself.

“It took me a while to figure it out but sometime toward the end of your senior year I uh...well...you two kissing after a race.” I racked my brain trying to think of the specifics she was referring to but I couldn’t, so she went on sensing my confusion. “After the Northern Sprint Tour...he won. Anyhow, I walked into the pits to close up the concession because I wasn’t sure if you had already left when I saw you guys in the booth. He had you against the wall...” her cheeks tinted pink as her eyebrows rose in question. This was her silently pleading with me to remember so her virgin mentality didn’t have to continue.

“Oh...that.” I remember all right. That was the night his hands slipped up my shirt and my hands, well they dipped somewhere else. The interesting part about Jameson and me was wealwaysstopped. I don’t know why, but we did. Believe me when I tell you, I did not want to. There are so many times—I wanted to continue. I wanted so badly to feel his body against me in the most intimate ways. Really though, I wanted to fuck the poor boy senseless.

“So what’s with you two then?”

“I honestly don’t know.” I told her honestly. “When we’re together, we can’t keep our hands to ourselves. When we’re apart, he’s the best friend I could ever ask for, always has been.”

Cheering down by the bar halted our conversations. Driver introductions were going on for the Winston Open. One of the announcers in the booth, Neil, talked about Jameson while they showed the fans applauding him during introductions. “Jameson has an amazing feel for grip, always has. He can feel the changes to the track and car that ordinarily go undetermined by other drivers. That’s where his team benefits.” Neil commended. “For only being his second season in stock cars, you better believe this kid has more to offer.”

The broadcasters interviewed Darrin Torres, driver of the No. 14, first about the recent run-in at Richmond. His comments were the same each week. “It’s hard to respect a guy like Jameson on the track. He has no concern for anyone else.”

I wanted to punch this Darrin fucker, having never heard the name until this year; I was not impressed with him.

They interviewed Jameson right after that. I smiled so widely that I thought my cheeks were going to stay that way.

“Wow,” Mallory gasped at the television, then back to me with a dazed expression. “He’s hot!”

“Tell me about it.”

“He’s definitely not the same rusty haired little boy, is he?”

“Nope,” My eyes glued to the screen as he spoke to the reporter.

“This is your first Winston Open...do you think you can get a good starting spot?” he asked Jameson. A group of girls, Amanda and Erica included, whistled when they focused on his face.

Jameson chuckled and leaned against his car on the grid. Spencer handed him a bottle of water before he answered.

“I think we can get a good spot. My Simplex Ford has been great all through practice runs so...I can’t imagine it won’t be now.” He flashed a smile.

“With this being a “have at it” race, how do you think the rival with Darrin will pan out?”

Jameson’s body visibly tensed. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Have you guys talked since Richmond?”

“It’s hard to talk to him,” Jameson said disdainfully. “He doesn’t respect anyone around him.”

It never changed for Jameson, there was always someone trying to push him to the breaking point.

Why?

Because he is talented—they saw him as a threat and just like any animal, which everyone is whether you want to admit it or not, what do we do when threatened? We attack fighting for survival.

That’s exactly what Darrin was doing. He was threatened by Jameson, as he should be.

Here Jameson was a twenty-two year old kid with only a few years of stock car racing under his belt and dominating the series as a rookie. Of course, he felt threatened.

Jameson dominated the NASCAR Winston Open and the Winston that night, winning the first two segments and with stellar pit strategy, he came out first for the third and final segment after the invert.

Darrin fought with Bobby and Tate for the first few laps, allowing Jameson to pull away to a 2-second lead but with three laps to go, Darrin and Bobby had caught Jameson. The three of them battled the last lap taking corners three wide at times (unheard of I might add). You don’t take the turns at Charlotte three wide, you just don’t. Bobby lifted and darted inside down on the line behind Jameson but Darrin refused to. They bumped—they banged, and bounced off one another until they crossed the line sideways together with Jameson taking the win, but with a destroyed car. The bar was once again in an uproar of cheering and booing.

They definitely put on one hell of a Winston race. Men throughout the bar were cheering and fist pumping each other; women were clapping, the bartenders were nodding in approval—it was a good race and exactly what the fans wanted.

Their cars came to rest on the front stretch in front of the main grandstands where they both got out of their cars and the heated discussion continued, as did the bedlam from the fans. Those fans paid to see a Saturday night race and they got one, with the addition of a brawl.

---