Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (54 page)

“We are.”

“No, you’re talking. I’m listening. Well not really.” I dangled my fishing pole in the water but I had yet to catch anything and doubted I would. I knew nothing about fishing. Honesty, the sport seemed boring to me. To fish you needed patience, patience I didn’t have.

“Well then think
...
I shouldn’t have to tell you to think.”

“Stop talking.”

I did think a little but it just confused me more. I had no idea how to tell her what changed in me and I wanted more from her. Could I ask for more but still remain friends with her?

I wanted to know that if I couldn’t have her in all the ways I wanted, that I could at least have her in some way, the only way I thought she wanted me, and that was physically. It would be ideal. We wouldn’t have worry about all the hassles of a relationship that neither of us had time for.

23.
      
Grid – Jameson

Grid – The starting order of cars, as determined by qualifying position. The cars line up on pit road prior to the race in qualifying order; this is referred to as the grid.

In racing, I honestly believe there comes a point in your career where everything changes. People stop seeing you for you and start seeing a NASCAR driver. From that point on, nothing is the same and everything you thought you knew about fame, was nothing at all.

That was the feeling I got when I arrived in Rockingham North Carolina.

And I will say that was also the point when I stopped and thought is this what I wanted?

The answer was absolutely. I had no doubt I wanted this. I wanted to be the best racer I could be and I was on my way to that. I could see the light.

I still had no idea what I wanted out of my personal life but all signs pointed to
Sway
in some form or another. Telling her would be the hard part and wasn’t something I could do over the phone. When we spoke on the phone, I never led her to believe anything had changed. This wasn’t something you tell someone over the phone or in a text. What would it say, “Oh and by the way, I love you more than anything. Can we just have sex and remain friends because I’m a dumbass and can only offer you that?”

Yeah, I wasn’t about to say that over the phone.

So instead, I focused on what was important, my career. It wasn’t hard to do either, everywhere I looked,
someone
was pulling me in a different direction.

That week was my second start in a cup race and I loved the track. Rockingham Raceway, nicknamed the Rock, is located in Rockingham North Carolina. It is a one-mile oval track with twenty-two degree banking in turns one and two and twenty-five degree banking in turns three and four.

Back in January, we tested for two days here so I knew a little about what to expect but testing is different than a race.

I qualified for the pole and set fast time in both practice sessions. In happy hour, I raced in race-trim and wasn’t surprised that the car was awesome. I could drive in hard and the car wouldn’t slip.

By the time race day arrived, I couldn’t wait for the race but I was a little apprehensive that Doug Dunham was starting on the outside of me.

The pressure put upon drivers to win is tremendous and I knew Doug was feeling that. The longer they go without a win, the more rattled they become with shoddy performances. This is reflected in their driving. Usually where a driver would say, “Nah, that’s just not worth it,” when trying to make a hole where there isn’t one, Doug made them.

I was confident in the power with my beast that once the green flag dropped my car was up to the challenge.

You always hear people talk about their first cup career win. They remember everything about the win to when pit stops were to who they passed and years later, can recount them just the same as they did that day.

I can’t say the same. I was all over the map emotionally in that race. I fought Doug hard to pass him and then Andy Crockett was up in the mix for a while as was Tate and Bobby but like I said, that car was awesome.

By the time there was ten laps to go I had a two-second lead over Tate and was feeling like I was about to win my first race.

When the checkered flag waved and I did win, I was silent. I didn’t know what to say. I had just won my first Winston Cup race, on my second start. Fortunately, for me, I was in the car with a helmet over my face so no one could see the emotion I was feeling.

Not only was there a point when you realize nothing will ever be the same but there is also a point when you think to yourself, “I can do this.”

You know you’re different.

Every professional anything whether you are a race car driver, basketball player, football player
...
you realize at some point in your life that you’re different and have something more to offer.

I always knew I could do it and that I had talent when it came to racing but after Rockingham, it became real because not only had I moved from one series to the next but I’d won in different divisions now.

All doubts I had about this being what I was meant to do,
vanished
with that win. Here I was a dirt track racer from the Northwest and I won a NASCAR Winston Cup race, on my second race. I knew I was different.

I had an understanding for the way things worked with a win and the post-race activities from the Busch series. It was fairly similar with cup.

By the time I left the track and was able to grab some food, I was exhausted and not up for any company. Alas, Spencer, Aiden and Tommy went with me. I was okay with that but I wasn’t okay with Spencer’s behavior that night.

I wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around me as I was busy texting Sway.

I read her last one before looking up.
I’m so proud of you!

Aiden nudged my shoulder. “It was nice meeting Sway last week.” His blush said it all.

Sway and Aiden met in Daytona and Sway’s way of introducing herself to him was asking if his carpet matched the drapes. Aiden had this rich golden blonde hair that you would think belonged on Malibu Barbie, not a country boy from Alabama. Sway also asked Tommy this when she first met him as well. Although back then, we were only thirteen when we met Tommy, it sounded funny coming from a thirteen year old girl, but that was Sway. She could make any man blush if needed. It’s an acquired skill and she had it mastered.

Smiling, I took interest in the commotion at the table. As you know, Spencer was into playing practical jokes on
everyone
. As usual, I was his target this time.

My newfound fame, was also that target. I don’t know how many times we’d walk into a restaurant and we’d be quietly enjoying our meals when my model citizen of a brother would stand up in his chair and shout: “Hey look, it’s Jameson Riley.”

I just won a race that most of these bystanders had watched. This wasn’t the ideal situation for a number of reasons. I didn’t joy the herding fans, I hated attention and I was fucking hungry. Leave it to Spencer to ruin my evening.

“Spencer,” I seethed. “You better run for your motherfucking life!”

This did nothing to Spencer, who relished in finding new innovative ways to annoy me. He zoned in on his newest clever trick that I was sure wasn’t good.

About the time I was ready to kill my brother, Spencer started playing with our food. And I don’t mean, “random touching” sort of playing. I mean, four-year-old playing.

Taking a French fry, he scooped two fries from Lane’s plate into each one of his hands. He then bit the top of one fry away creating a height separation between the two.

Walking the taller fry across the table toward the shorter fry, he started speaking in a high-pitched “girl” voice, but with a stupid cartoonish accent.

“Oh Jameson!
You’re so
sexy
and
delicious
and I was just wondering if you could check my oil!”

Then he lowered his voice to a low rasp, wiggling the taller fry back and forth.

“Oh honey, I’ll check your oil and
your
bearing alignment. You know, whatever it is us racers do.”

He was putting on a play.

About me and Sway.

With French fries.

Spencer knew I had a thing for Sway and it was frequently becoming a point of interest for him, or target I guess you could say.

“Oh Jameson,” he wiggled the short fry. “I just love your hair! It’s so messy, and hot. It looks like it just got fucked by a room full of monkeys. Hey, are you, like,
huge
? You know
...
in the camshaft area? I’ve always wondered
...
”

My dad, who was seated next to
me
angled his body away from us as though he was trying to get away. I wanted to do the same but instead my eyes were drawn to the play before me wondering what would happen next.

The taller fry stood taller, if a fry can do that.

“Sway, you’re so hot. Maybe one day I’ll be able to talk to you and we can figure out that we’re fucking perfect for each other. Then I can finally stop speed bleeding over you and we can do some micro polishing. Maybe even do some align boring?”

Any concern I had about my brother’s sanity was now gone. He’d lost it completely.

When I returned my focus to the table, Spencer had the fries lying down on Lane’s half eaten hamburger bun, one on top of the other. The taller fry was giving it
hard
and
loud
to the smaller fry.

The sex noises were drawing all kinds of attention from fellow restaurant eaters and my dad who’d all but dropped his jaw at his oldest son’s ability to act out this scene. One woman got out of her seat and marched her young daughter out, a look of disgust thrown our way. Lucky Lane had no idea what was happening and just smiled at his morally challenged father.

“Oh, Jameson,” the smaller fry spoke up. “
...
you’re so hard, and hot. Give it to me! Yeah, just like that!”

“Yes, oh, yes!” the taller fry groaned. “Sway, God you’re so greasy for me.
Mmmm
...
I just wanna lick all the salt off you
...
Oh, shit I’m gonna
...
I’m gonna
...
Oh
...
Ooooh
!”

Around that point was when my cheeks flushed. Usually this sort of thing wouldn’t embarrass me but it did.

Just then, Aiden threw a glob of Ranch dressing onto the two French fries, and Spencer stopped, eyeballing the glob significantly, then leveled us a very serious look.

“Withdrawal is not an effective method of birth control.”

“Unless you’re a potato,” Aiden added helpfully.

“Unless you’re a potato,” Spencer confirmed, solemnly.

And people wonder why I wished I was adopted.

After Rockingham, I swear the pit lizards multiplied by the thousands. I’ll never understand why pit lizards went to the fanatical extreme ways they did but I’ll tell you something
else,
I was not okay with it.

It never failed. I’d walk out of my motor coach and they’d be waiting. How they got into the private compound where the drivers stayed was an entire different issue I’d be talking to NASCAR about. They card me every time but these girls get free roam because they have tits?

I don’t think so.

And it wasn’t just in the compound that I found these fans hounding me. The garage area was just as bad.

What irritated me to no end were the people who would get mad when I wouldn’t sign something for them when passing through the garage area.

In my defense, would you stop to sign something when you were at work?
Probably not.

When I’m in the garage, walking to my hauler or working on my car, I’m working. My mind is focused on what I’m doing, not on the fans.