Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (78 page)

“Why did you say I should have told you?” I asked pulling my sweatshirt over my head.

“Huh?” he asked groggily seeming to be just as tired as he was angry.

“You knew I was a virgin...why should I have told you?”

“Why would you want a guy like me to take your virginity?” he asked still looking at his phone but eventually when I didn’t answer those incredibly green eyes met mine. “How old are you anyway?”

“Seventeen,”

“
Fuckkkk
,” He drew out slowly. “Just what I fucking needed,”

“I’m not looking for anything from you. I just thought you wouldn’t want anything more than a good time tonight. I won’t say anything about my age.” I wasn’t even sure why I said that but I did.

“You’re right. I don’t want anything. I didn’t even want you but no one seems to care what I want. They all want a piece of me...everyone,” he shrugged tossing his phone in the front seat. “...no gives a shit when I say no. They just push and push until eventually I give in. It’s not even me you want. You want the idealism of sleeping with the driver. I don’t mean a goddamn thing to any of you.”

“Why are you so upset? At least you got off.” I threw back at him. “You don’t have to be so fucking mean about it.”

“You know, all you girls are the same.” He threw something at the windshield that I assumed was an empty beer can by the ting it made when he bounced off the glass. “You throw yourself at me, get mad when I say no and act like I’m the fucking jerk. And then when I do give in you act as though I’m supposed to be some knight in shining armor who will show you the best night of your life. You want that, go fuck a rock star if that’s what you’re looking for, that’s not me!” He was now visibly upset as he threw his own sweatshirt over his shoulders and buttoned his jeans. 

Jameson sat there for a second before shaking his head. “What did you expect me to do? You threw yourself at me like some fucking prostitute and now you’re pissed off because you didn’t get off?”

“I guess I didn’t expect anything.” I mumbled slightly embarrassed by his harshness for the situation. “Was that a picture of your girlfriend?”

“Get out and for god’s sake, have some fucking respect for yourself. Don’t throw yourself at men just because you think that’s what they want. They don’t, believe me, at least the respectable ones don’t.” He shot back before getting out himself and slamming the door behind him. I heard him behind the truck, “Spencer, get the fuck up before I run your ass over.”

I did get out and walked past him without another word and just like that I was no longer a virgin and was once again rejected.

I saw him again a few months later and yet again, he acted as though I didn’t exist. To be honest, he probably didn’t even remember me though as he never even really looked at me.

I couldn’t blame him for being so distant and withdrawn about the situation. I did throw myself at him.

What did I expect? He was right. I didn’t have respect for myself and though he was rude, he spoke the truth and made me realize a lot about that night.

He was obviously a closed end so to speak.

Years later I saw him on the cover of a magazine with pictures of that same girl on his phone. They had just gotten married.

About the Author:

Shey Stahl is the author of the Racing on the Edge series. Released titles now include Happy Hour, Black Flag and Trading Paint. When she’s not writing about a hotheaded racer and his family, she’s enjoying her own family in the Northwest.