Page 7 of Stupid Dirty

I huff, but she’s right. It would be nice to let loose.

“Fine. You win, devil woman.”

Clapping, Wish squeals and does a little spin, because she might like to dress butch, but she also loves to act girly as fuck sometimes, and loves it even more when people get confused by that.

“Excellent! And you’ll be happy Cade, not asshole Cade?”

I grin at her in the most creepy, emotionless way possible, and it makes her cackle.

“Perfect.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Besides, when was the last time you got laid? Maybe that’s what’s putting the itch in your jock, not Silas.”

“Again, ew. Please stop worrying about anything to do with what goes on in my jock, thank you.”

Wish threads her arm through mine, and we head over towards the cars, squinting against the glare of the sunset. I hauled Wish’s bike here as well as mine, because they both fit in the bed of my truck and it’s easier, which means she did me the solid of loading it up for me while I got lectured by Tristan.

So we can get the fuck out of here, asap. I don’t see Silas anywhere, which suits me fine. I’m sure everyone was kissing his ass like they used to, and he probably took off right after the race, also like he used to.

“I’ll take that to mean it’s been a long time.”

I don’t dignify that with a response. Yes, it’s been a long time.

“I have sisters who are basically my kids, a mom who needs constant supervision and two jobs. Excuse me for not having more free time to spend hanging out at honky-tonk bars, trying to get laid. I don’t need an STD on top of everything else.”

Not to mention, whenever I’ve tried to hang out with a girl lately, the lurking fear of potentially knocking her up and ending up like all of my cousins has been so crippling, I’ve ended up bailing before the topic of sex even came up.

But Wish doesn’t need to know that, because she’d point out how stupid it is. And I already get that it’s stupid.

“Fine. Then let’s go get drunk.”

She squeezes my arm a little tighter, and I take comfort in the intimacy. Platonic intimacy is wildly underrated. Anyone who says otherwise can’t separate women from sex dolls and men from threats to their masculinity. Which is ridiculous. Affectionate physical touch, without expecting anything in return, does everyone a world of good.

I’m right, and I will die on this hill. I lean into her tiny body and try to release the remaining aggression from the race.

Fuck Silas Rush. With any luck, he’ll get bored with slumming it soon and go back to the pro tour. Then I’ll never have to see his stupid perfect robot face, ever again.

Chapter Four

The world is spinning something fierce.

It was kind of spinning before the race, when I didn’t get to finish my routine and everything started off wrong. And then I spent so much of the ride behind, desperate to catch up to the leader, that I pushed myself way too hard.

By the last lap I was so hot and breathless and scared I could barely see straight, and it felt like the muscles in my arms were going to seize up and betray me at any moment. I’m amazed I didn’t wipe out. The whole track looked like a blur, and I still don’t know how I made it to the front. I just turned my mind off and moved as fast as I could.

Once I wrapped my head around the fact that I wouldn’t have to face my dad’s disappointment tonight, I expected the spinning to get better. But it only got worse.

People were getting in my face, congratulating me, shaking my hand, welcoming me back home and taking pictures with me. Dad thrives on this shit. He was in the thick of it, grinning away,posing for pictures with his arm hanging too heavy around my neck.

I have a very camera-ready smile. When Dad pulled me out of high school, he told me I had to get over the whole quiet and awkward thing to make it in the pros. Along with all the actual motocross training we did, there were a whole host of things Dad made me work on to become more presentable to the public. I lost my Ozarks accent. I learned how to do small talk and firm handshakes and bro-hugs. I stared at myself in the mirror until I figured out how to smile on command.

Each thing made me appear smoother and calmer on the outside, while each thing seemed to ratchet up my internal anxiety. I never understood how it came so naturally to everyone else. Sure, after six years of this, I know how to look like I’m moving through a crowd easily. I can say the right words and my face can make the right shapes. But no one knows how many hours and hours of studying it took to get me here. And no one knows how much I fucking hate the chaos of it.

All the people pressing in on me, talking at the same time and wanting things, it’s always too much. The noise creates a buzz that settles into my bones, making my entire body vibrate with discomfort. A buzz that insists that everyone else is normal, and I’m the one that doesn’t belong.

Dad was watching me with a critical eye, of course. When he finally came over to me, my knees almost buckled with relief that we could go home.

Until I saw the look on his face that said no.

He told me he was going to hang out with some of his old crew, and we would drive back in the morning. But not to worry. One of his buddy’s kids is a rider. He throws a party after the race every year out on his property, and I would be welcome to go. He didn’t say I had to go, but the implication was there.

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