Page 25 of Revved up & Ready

“She got tenth. Not bad,” I say. Shane Hart’s a wonder. She’s barely older than I was when I started racing 600s, and now she’s in her first year on superbikes. She’s the only woman on the circuit racing 1000ccs, and Luke and I both like to look out for her.

“Do me a favor and don’t mention my blowout to Sadie,” I tell Luke.

“Why would your roommate care about that?” he asks.

“She’s not just my roommate. We’re—” I stop myself mid-thought. She hasn’t been ready to tell our friends about us yet—doesn’t like the idea of lying to everyone. “It’s not that. I don’t care if she knows my qualifying position—honestly, I’m not sure she’d even know what it means—but she’s freaked the fuck out about my safety out there.”

There’s a pause before he says, “I get it. Is she coming tomorrow?”

“Not sure, but I want her there,” I sigh. Having her in my pit would mean more than she understands. It’s only my team—mechanics and coaches, and sometimes a close friend like Allie—who I have down by the track with me.

Luke’s quiet for a few seconds before asking, “What are you doing with her?”

“I like her,” I answer, no hesitation.

“She’s your roommate. You’re not supposed to—”

I interrupt him. “Can we not do this tonight?”

“Fine,” he sighs. But I know this won’t be the last time he brings it up. “If she comes, it’ll be her first race. Have you prepped her?”

“She’s watched them on TV before, but we haven’t talked about it much,” I say. “The last few days have been a whirlwind, so we didn’t get a chance.” The last few dayshavebeen a whirlwind, but that’s not the real reason we haven’t talked about it. Every time I bring up racing or even motorcycles, Sadie either changes the subject, shuts down, or leaves the room.

“Well, if she’s there, we’ll take good care of her,” Luke reassures me, likely sensing I’m not telling him the whole truth.

“Thanks, boss,” I say.

“See you in the morning,” he replies, ending the call. He used to be a race mechanic but gave it up to open his motorcycle shop and the bar he ended up sharing with Allie. He agreed to mechanic for me this season, saying he didn’t trust anyone else to manage the bikes.But I think he misses the track.

I throw my phone aside and strip down to shower off the grime and sweat from qualifiers. A lot of athletes have routines they can’t break—won’t break—before race day. I never got into a consistent routine like that, but I do make sure I have a quiet night alone before a race. Most guys stay in their trailers at the track, but if I do that, I get into trouble.

There were years when all I did was race and party. I’d race on a few hours’ sleep and somehow still pull out wins. Four years ago, one of the guys I partied with ended his career after a night like that. He made a stupid call and high-sided on a tight turn, scraping most of the skin off his clutch hand. His bike caused a pile-up, taking three other guys down with him. Fortunately, no one else was seriously hurt, but it was a heavy reminder that a tired racer is a dangerous one.It’s not only my life on the line out there.

Now, I barely drink during the season—never the night before a race—and I don’t have to sweat the random drug tests they throw my way. I make sure I have plenty of time the night before a race to wind down, watch a movie, and get a solid eight hours.

After my shower, I’m searching my phone for something to watch when it rings. A giant smile takes over my face.She’s never called me before.

“Hi, love. What’s good?” I ask, my voice warm.

“Do you have a jersey or something I should wear tomorrow?” she asks. “I mean, I know you don’t wear ajersey, but it should look like I’m with you, right?”

Too surprised to properly answer her question, I ask, “You’re coming?”

“Yes, silly,” she giggles.

“You made it sound like you’d rather do anything else,” I tease. She’s avoided it every time I brought it up since.

“I guess, but I need to be there,” she answers. “So, I’ll be there.”

Torn between excitement that she could actually show tomorrow and not wanting her to be uncomfortable, I remind her she doesn’thaveto come.

“I’m coming,” she replies, determined.But why didn’t she want to come in the first place?“Cameron,” she says my full name to get my attention. “You got a jersey or what?”

“No jersey, but anything in black and yellow—those are my colors—would work. My number is207, and I’ve got boxes ofRace Nakedmerch in the garage you’re welcome to.” The idea of Sadie wearing my colors, my number, anything with my name on it practically makes my dick hard. “Actually, if you go in my closet, all of that’s in there. Just wear anything that’s mine.”

“I can’t go in your room without you here,” she says, and I can picture the scandalized blush on her cheeks. “That’s so invasive.”

“I just told you to,” I say, digging through my bag for my headphones.

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