Supercross Me (Motocross Me #2) (6 page)

Maybe Ash did smell like airplane. The moment he walks down the hallway, all showered and dressed in dark jeans and a red T-shirt that fits him a little more tightly than it used to, I can smell the cleanness of him. The citrusy soap he uses, the manly scent of his cologne. Shelby and I look up from the couch in the living room, where we’d been playing a Jenga game her little brother, Shawn, had left on the coffee table.

“Ready?” Shelby asks. She frowns at a middle piece of the game and then carefully shoves her finger into it and knocks it out. The tower wobbles but remains standing.

“Yeah, but I’m not really feeling pizza,” Ash says. He lifts an arm and scratches the back of his neck. I turn my attention back to the game although all I want to do is stare at his bicep.
God, Hana. What is wrong with you?

“Then what do you want?” Shelby asks.

I lean forward, looking for a wobbly piece of the Jenga game.

“Burger Barn?” Ash says. “The guys are all about sushi and fancy steakhouses. I’ve been dying for a regular freaking burger.”

“Sounds good,” Shelby says, slapping her knees. “Hana, are you ready? Or do you want to play this stupid game forever?”

“I’m ready, but only because I’m pretty sure I’ll lose if we keep playing.”

Ash holds up a plastic and metal key with a large blue tag on it. “I’ll drive.”

Shelby does this jerk of a move where she insists on sitting in the backseat and leaves me crawling into the front seat of the massive F150 Ash has rented for the short term he’s back home. His sad little Mazda sits in the shop, the tires flat from weeks of neglect.

“I’m definitely buying one of these when I get home for the long term,” Ash says, running his hands over the steering wheel. “I feel like I’m driving a tank instead of my old tiny little truck.”

I play with the hem of my shirt, refusing to look over at him but doing it in a way that doesn’t look like I’m avoiding him. The drive is agonizing. I reply to Shelby’s small talk, do a lot of staring out of the window, and tell myself about a million times to stop thinking of the days when I was in the middle seat of Ash’s rental trucks with Shelby in the passenger seat. It almost feels weirder to be sitting here without the weight of his arm around my shoulders.

The Burger Barn parking lot is full, because there’s only two places you can get a burger in Mixon, and the other one is well known for its dollar menu and golden arches. Burger Barn uses real ingredients and most nights has a live band playing on the patio. Also they serve beer. It’s probably because of the beer that the place is packed tonight.

Ash parks at the back of the gravel parking lot. The scent of burgers on the grill fills the air and makes my stomach growl. As expected, there are no places to sit inside, but it’s a nice summer night so Shelby chooses a picnic table closest to the band. We order our food, and I sit next to Shelby. Ash sits across from us, right in the middle, and he might as well be sitting in my lap for how freaking close he feels.  Why did I agree to come here?

He’s checked his phone twice, talked to Shelby about their brother’s slipping math grades and how pissed their mom is about it, and waved at a few guys who recognized him when we walked in. Despite what Shelby said earlier, Ash hasn’t done a single thing that I could twist into anything resembling him still having feelings for me. Nothing. Nada.

He checks his phone again. And I can’t help myself. “Girlfriend bugging you or something?” I ask, taking a long sip of my soda. “You’re glued to your phone.”

He stiffens and his eyes look right past me, just slightly. Maybe he thinks I won’t realize he’s avoiding my gaze, but after months of looking into those navy blue eyes, I know them better than he does. “Nah. I, uh…” he says. He clicks off the phone and goes to slide it back into his pocket. The tension in the air is thick with an awkwardness that makes my throat hurt.

I fake a laugh. “I’m just messing with you,” I lie. “I don’t care who you’re texting. Obviously you’re a busy guy.”

His expression softens a bit and he looks like he still has something to say. But then our waitress drops off the basket of fried pickles we’d ordered and the moment is gone, taken away on the trail of grease smell she leaves behind.

“So are you happy to be home?” Shelby asks, her eyes looking from her brother to me.

Ash shrugs.
Shrugs
. “It’s alright. I already miss my bike, though.”

“You have your old bike in the shop,” she says, dunking a pickle in ranch. “You could probably go ride it tomorrow.”

He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be the same. That old thing isn’t nearly as performance engineered as my racing bike. It’d be like I was riding a snail around the track.”

“Well, we miss you when you’re gone,” she says, her words are clearly chosen as she says them. “We
all
miss you.”

Flames rise up my neck and into my cheeks, and it’s all I can do to avoid shouting,
“Except for me! I don’t miss you because I’m the ex!”

“Look who’s back in town!” I look up in time to see Eric Morgan slap Ash on the shoulder. He’s wearing cargo shorts and a walking cast on his left foot, thanks to a fracture he earned at my dad’s track a couple of weeks ago. “So how’s the good life?” he asks Ash.

I reach for a pickle and notice Eric’s friends sitting a few picnic tables away. They’re all looking in our direction, but I guess Eric is the only guy even remotely fast enough on a dirt bike to feel like he can come say hi to Ash. It’s weird how Ash is a local celebrity now. I gaze off absentmindedly, eating pickles even though my stomach is still turning from being in such close proximity to him.

Someone waves at me from Eric’s table, and I snap out of my daydream haze. Lincoln is standing near an empty seat, a milkshake in his hand. He gives me a lopsided smile, and I smile back on instinct. I guess that’s all the invitation he needs because now he’s walking over here. I glance at Ash, but he’s talking to Eric and also looking at his stupid cell phone again. I bet he does have another girlfriend already.

I am so pathetic.

“Hey there.” Lincoln casts a tall shadow over me. “Mind if I sit?”

I slide closer to Shelby even though there’s plenty of room on this bench. “Be my guest.”

Ash has to have noticed Lincoln’s presence by now, but I’m too scared to look over and find out. Shelby, however, is practically staring a hole into my back. “Hey, Lincoln,” she says, leaning around me. She smiles. “What are you up to? Have you met my brother, Ash? I’m sure Hana has told you all about him.”

“I don’t think I have,” Lincoln says, flashing a smile that looks as innocent as his denial sounded. Damn, he’s good. “Hey man, I’m Lincoln.”

Ash gives him a quick head nod. “Ash.”

Luckily Eric keeps rambling on about whatever and all of the tension in the air calls a temporary truce.

“Pickles?” Shelby says, offering the basket toward Lincoln.

“Sure,” he says, taking one.

I can’t help myself. I glance at Ash. He’s looking right at me, though he’s still holding a conversation with Eric. I look back at Lincoln. “So what’s been up?”

“You mean since I saw you like, a few hours ago?” he says, popping the fried pickle in his mouth. Oh man, this is perfect. Ash actually stops talking mid-sentence. He swallows and I see his Adam’s apple bob in the corner of my vision before he stammers out a reply to Eric about Team Yamaha’s suspension work.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, punching him in the arm. “I’m just trying to be nice, you hater.”

I’m not trying to be the kind of ex-girlfriend who tries to make her ex jealous. But with Shelby’s words hanging in the back of my mind, I have to do something to see if Ash still has any feelings at all for me.

Lincoln laughs and rubs his arm. “You’re always nice. You can afford to be mean every now and then.”

Our waitress returns with our food. She sets Lincoln’s food down in front of him as well. “Figured you’d want this here instead of over there getting cold,” she says, and he thanks her.

“Oh come on, man,” Eric says, shaking his head. “You ditched us for the girls? I see how it is.”

Lincoln grabs his burger in one hand and nods. “Sorry, man. They’re better company.”

I can practically feel the waves of anger pour off Ash, raising the temperature by ten degrees. His hands bend into fists on either side of his untouched food. He focuses on the sesame seeds on his bun. Shelby kicks me under the table. I look over at her and her eyes flick to Ash and then back, a sneaky smile spreading across her face.
“Told you,”
she mouths.

Behind us, the band begins to play their set. They’re a group of middle-aged country guys with big cowboy hats and tight dark jeans. The sudden smell of cigarettes fills the air as a few of their groupies shuffle up to watch from in front of the stage. Ash takes a bite of a fry and looks at his sister. “Have you changed your mind about letting me pay for college yet?”

She shakes her head. “No, Ash. I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?” He takes another bite. “I can afford it.”

“Because, it’s your money. Mom and Dad are helping me pay for it and I have a few small scholarships plus some student aid, so I’ll be fine.”

He looks like he’s about to argue again, and I cut him off. “Student aid helps a lot,” I say, knowing that Shelby is completely opposed to taking his money for college. “But if you want to give her a college present, you can trick out our dorm room since we’ll be roommates next year.”

“I could do that,” he says, peering at me through his dreadlocked bangs. “But ya’ll better invite me to your wild dorm parties.”

Shelby snorts. “I’m sure we’ll be studying too much to party.”

“There’s always time to party,” Lincoln says. “College is like, ninety percent partying, five percent studying and ten percent sitting through boring ass classes.”

“That’s a hundred and five percent,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

He smirks. “What can I say? I’m not a math major.”

“Have you settled on a major yet, Shell?” Ash asks.

She shakes her head. “No. I’m just doing core classes for now. I’ll figure it out eventually, I’m sure.”

“What about you?”

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me. “What about me?”

“Did you finalize your major yet?” Ash pulls the top bun off his burger and peels off the two pickles, then puts them on my plate. The simple gesture is like muscle memory—Ash always gives me his pickles.

“I’m sticking with business administration for now,” I say, ignoring the pang that rises in my chest as I stare at the pickles on my plate. “I keep thinking about accounting, but I don’t know if I’d be any good at it. It’s a lot of math and stuff.”

“You can’t think like that,” Ash says, his eyes sparkling under the bright patio lights. On stage, the guitarist strums a country melody that sounds achingly familiar. “You’ll be good at anything you do.”

Sure I will
, I think as I stare at my food.
I’m good at anything except dating you.

Seven months ago – November

Over the summer, I realized that Ash’s twin sister, Shelby, was the friend version of my soul mate.  It was so awesome (and so necessary) to meet a new friend when I moved to Mixon to live with Dad, but I had no idea what an amazing connection we would make.

And though I loved Shelby more than any friend I’d ever had—more than my childhood best friend, Felicia—now that she had a boyfriend, she was always gone. Gone on dates, or gone at Jake’s house, or just gone. I don’t know. Whatever girls with boyfriends who lived in the same down did, that’s what Shelby was always doing.

After years of being the homebody homeschool girl, I’d kind of grown used to being out of the house this past summer. But everything changed in August. Ash went off to race for Team Yamaha, Shelby and Jake finally became official and started doing their own thing. (Of course, that didn’t stop her from promising to never ditch me for a guy; I guess her heart was in the right place.) Now three months had passed and the once vibrant Texas landscape had grown dirty and brown. The warm summer air was pushed out in favor of a chilly breeze. Skimpy bikinis were shed in favor of skinny jeans and knee-high boots. I used to love this time of year because Thanksgiving meant a massive meal at Grandma’s house. Even after she died, I still liked the holiday because it meant a week off from homeschooling work.

But now, even with the promise of Molly’s sure-to-be-delicious Thanksgiving meal, and a week away from my college classes, I wasn’t really feeling the warm Thanksgiving vibe around here. I was too lonely. Even in my crackerjack box of a dorm room, I had my roommate, Zooey, to hang out with, even when she annoyed the hell out of me. Her loud music and endless trail of midnight lovers were a form of company, right?

It was seven in the evening in Texas, and I was tired of doing the math to find out what time it was in whatever state was holding Ash captive from me at the moment. The fall supercross circuit took place all over the nation, usually in football stadiums, and there was a new race every Saturday night. The professional racer with the most wins at the end of the season became the champion, a coveted title that Ash was on his way to achieving.

The first couple of months of the season were exciting for me. I’d stay up and watch the race on ESPN, cheering alongside Teig, Molly, and Dad as we watched Ash race like hell in an effort to win. Although only a rookie, he’d managed to get first place three times and second or third place even more than that. It was impressive, according to the race announcers. And the magazines. And the online message boards.

Everyone was talking about Ash. I should have been proud of him, but mostly I was worried. It was selfish and embarrassing, and I couldn’t admit this traitorous feeling to a single soul, especially not Dad and Molly who were so excited to gush to all of the track visitors that their daughter was dating supercross superstar Ash Carter. But with every inch of fame my boyfriend garnered, I was becoming more and more worried. We were still a new couple after all—we’d only been dating for three months. Ash had flown away to another state, leaving me as the long distance girlfriend back home.

At first he’d fly back every Sunday and stay until Tuesday or Wednesday if we were lucky. But then his team started bitching about Ash missing training days, and Ash let it slip a few times that weekly flights were expensive, and now I hadn’t seen him in three weeks. So much for having a fairy tale first real relationship.

I sunk onto my mattress and stared at my phone. The last text I received from him was at noon, my time.

How’s your day going? I miss you <3

Shelby had hailed that text a freaking miracle. I’d been the one to bring Ash over to the dark side—the side that uses emojis. Until we started dating, he apparently refused to use them, calling them childish and weird. “Why would I ever need to send someone a tiny picture of a paperclip or the Eiffel tower?” he had said. And then, somehow, just a few days after we started dating, Ash got a new cell phone, and suddenly he was sending me a little heart at the end of some of his texts. That’s the only emoji he used, and he only sent it to me.

The feeling warmed my real heart as I stared at the cartoon image on my screen. My lips twisted upward as I laid back on my bed, holding my phone close to my chest. It was my only connection to the guy I cared about. I tried not to think about how after I’d replied to his text, telling him about my day, he’d never said anything else. Ash Carter was a busy guy, I guess.

I bit my lip and started typing another reply, knowing full well that I was breaking the cardinal rule of dating: texting twice. My stomach tightened as thoughts flew into my mind and grabbed onto my heart, refusing to get go.
Did Ash just not care about me anymore? Was there some girl on tour with them that had his attention more than me?

When I tasted blood, I stopped gnawing on my lip and erased the text message before sending it. I called him, and while the phone rang, I tried to think of a reason why I was calling him besides the truth.
I’m scared you’re over me, Ash.

Ash answered on the first ring. “Hey, there.”

As if by some kind of vocal magic, all of the worry and fear slipped right out of my heart. I felt renewed and alive, as if I’d never been worried in the first place. “Hey,” I said, exhaling. “What’s up?”

“Just watching this hilarious spectacle with some drunk guy.” The roar of background noise made it a little hard to piece together what he was saying, so I upped the volume on my phone. “Apparently the bartender cut him off and he wasn’t having that. Turns out two off-duty cops were sitting next to us and they handcuffed him and walked him outside, but he kicked over like, five chairs on his way out.”

“You’re at a bar?” I asked. Funny how my good feelings could disappear as quickly as they came.

“Yeah,” Ash said. “Well, it’s like, a Cajun restaurant thing, but we’re in the bar section.”

“You’re only nineteen. How did you get in?”

“No one questions the guy with dreadlocks and a beard,” he said with a laugh. “Plus, I’m with the rest of the guys on Team Yamaha, and they’re all old enough, so I guess I blended in.”

I sat up in bed. “You have a
beard
?”

“Yeah babe, did you not watch the race last night?”

Pressing my palm to my forehead, I tried to play it off. “Yes, well . . . I watched most of it. Then I fell asleep, but my supercross app told me you got second place.”

“Aww, babe,” he said. Something in his voice felt a lot like hurt, and guilt prickled through me. “They interviewed me on the podium for like, five minutes after the race. I mentioned you and everything.”

“Really?” I cursed under my breath and grabbed onto the comforter beneath me as if it were responsible for all of my idiocy. “I’m sorry. Dammit, I wish I had seen it.”

“I’m sure it’s on YouTube by now.” The rest of whatever he says gets cut off by a shrill girly voice screaming his name. “Um, hold on, Hana.”

The sound muffled on his end of the phone, but that girl’s voice didn’t go away. Likely, it was one of his many admirers. My throat felt dry as the seconds ticked on. Finally, he came back on the phone. “Sorry about that. I should probably go; it’s busy and loud here.”

“Yeah, okay.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out, wishing that I were more important to my boyfriend than the girls in some bar in another state. “Bye.”

Hanging up without waiting on his reply was bitchy, but it also felt good. He was having fun, and I needed to have fun, too. Shelby was out with Jake, as evidenced by her Facebook picture of them together at mini golf in the next town over., so I texted my only other friend in the area, a girl named Alyson who often sang the national anthem at the track.

Hey, do you want to hang out tonight?

She replied quickly.
Come to Trey’s house off cty rd 80. Party!

I wasn’t known for being a party girl. But tonight, with my underage boyfriend at a bar with girls screaming his name, I figured I’d make an exception.

*

Trey Fletcher’s house was easy to find. Even though I’d never been there before, I’d heard about his parent’s mansion on the outskirts of Mixon. It was the only home on the entire county road, and it could be seen from half a mile away. Even in the dark. Trey was a local motocross racer who wasn’t very good, especially after he turned twenty-one because he chose to dedicate his talents to drinking instead of riding. He’d only managed to become somewhat well known in the motocross community because his dad was super rich. I only knew him from the track, and we weren’t exactly friends, but he’d know me if he saw me. Of course, since my dad owns the track, everyone knows me as Jim’s daughter.

Nerves had me gripping the steering wheel of my truck as I guided it into the Fletcher’s long gravel driveway. I hadn’t talked to the party host himself, and now suddenly it seemed like I should have waited for an invitation before just taking Alyson’s word for it and showing up. At some point the gravel turned into concrete, and it made a circle around a large fountain in the middle of the driveway. Past the circle was a field where everyone else was parking.

I chose a spot that seemed close enough to the driveway that no one could later block me in and checked my reflection in the tiny mirror on my visor. “Ash is partying, so you can party,” I told myself. And then I leaned back, dropping my head against the headrest because I felt stupid for talking to myself out loud.

Ironically, I showed up to this lame thing as a way to spite Ash and his new partying ways, but more than anything, I wished he were here. To avoid walking in alone, I texted Alyson, and she said she’d meet me on the front steps.

Only when I got there, no one was waiting for me. I waited around a few minutes and sent another text. When she never replied, I rang the doorbell and told myself I wasn’t nervous. Music boomed from the other side of the massive double door entrance to Trey’s house, and still, no one opened it to let me in. Maybe they couldn’t hear me and maybe I should have just let myself into this three story colonial mansion in the middle of nowhere.

Instead, I turned around and walked back toward my truck. My phone rang, only it wasn’t Alyson. It was Ash.

“Hello?” I said, trying to sound like I was having a blast, wasn’t thinking about him, and was totally unaffected by our earlier conversation. I’m not sure it came out that way.

“Hey, babe.’ Ash’s voice was soft, and the background noise was quiet. “I just wanted to make up for the talk we had earlier.”

“Oh?” I said, feeling heat rush into my cheeks.

“Yeah, you called to talk to me, and we didn’t get to talk at all. I feel shitty about it. Some forty-year-old drunk lady rushed up to me saying she knew me from the supercross races and wanted an autograph. I have decided that I am not a fan of hanging around bars with the guys. They’re all here to pick up girls, and I am definitely not.”

I felt myself melt into his honeyed voice, and as I leaned my back against the tailgate on my truck, I wished more than ever that he were here with me. “It’s fine,” I said. “Thanks, though. That kind of caught me off-guard. I’m still getting used to the idea of people knowing who you are.”

“Me too. You have no idea.” He let out a long breath and I could imagine his dark skin, eyes closed and shoulders sinking as he sighed. He’d always do that when he was frustrated about something. “So what are you up to?”

I glanced back toward the Fletcher Manor, noticing another truck pull up and park in the circle part of the driveway. I had no business being at a party with people I barely knew, and I wanted to stay up for a while talking to Ash, so I bent the truth a little bit. “Nothing. Just missing you.”

“Aww,” he said, his voice sounding sleepy. “I miss you like crazy, Hana.”

Two guys got out of the truck while three other guys climbed out of the truck bed, cartons of beer in their hands. I recognized all of them from the motocross track, although most of them were older than me. I turned to get in my truck and head home when one of them noticed me standing there.

He waved, and my heart raced, but I couldn’t hear any of it. One of the guys was advancing toward me.

“Hey, there!” he called out, stumbling as he made his way around the concrete fountain. He juggled a carton of beer in his arms, and something told me he’d already opened it. “You’re Jim’s daughter, right? Are you single?”

“Who is that?” Ash asked.

“It’s nobody.” I grabbed for my door handle but dammit, the truck was locked. I fumbled for my keys, but it was too late. I’d lied to Ash and now he got to hear it all in real time. I gave a little half-wave back and tried to book it to the door where I could close myself in the silence of the Chevy’s cab. That didn’t happen. Ash started telling me some story about the hotel’s room service just as the guy—I think his name was Gee, and I was pretty sure his dirt bike number was two-twenty-two—slapped a hand on the shiny red paint of my tailgate. “Hey, gorgeous! Don’t leave just yet! Come back to the party. Beer’s on me.”

“Party, huh?” Ash’s voice made my blood turn to ice. “Guess I’ll let you go.”

The call ended and I stared at the screen, glowing bright in the dark. “Sup?” Gee said, his grin tinged with the effects of alcohol.