Page 197 of Trading Paint

By their screams, they knew me all right.

Richard smiled and pretended to clean out his ears with a quick shake of his peppered hair.

“Looks like they know who you are already?”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” I laughed. “Maybe they have me confused with someone else...?”

“Do you think this is...Jameson Riley?” the fans were literally all standing on their feet screaming. I think I said this back when I won in Rockingham, but I was utterly amazed at how popular of a driver I became overnight.

Richard went on to talk about the Winston race. I kept my comments short and nothing that would come off as rude. When asked about “Rowdy Riley” and Darrin, I simply replied with: “It’s just racing. Anytime you put forty-three drivers together, tempers flare. It doesn’t go beyond that, it’s just racing.”

“So you two get along outside of the track?”

“I wouldn’t go that far...”

The crowd screaming dissuaded Richard off subject and I was able to sneak away for the pill draw and then heat races. I ended up just one tenth off the track-record, which my dad set. This left me starting on the outside of the front row with him.

It felt good to be out here and still competing competitively still. You can’t understand the feeling you get when you can successfully switch to a completely different series, and win.

I loved being around my “dirt-buddies” as I called them. Even though I was now technically considered Tyler and Justin’s boss—it never felt that way. We were just a bunch of friends going back to our roots that night. Or at least I was going back to my roots, they never left.

And even though I wasn’t racing with them anymore, times hadn’t changed that much. Justin was still considered “Wicked West” and could pull slide jobs on some of the best on dirt.

Ryder remained the “Beast from the East” and then there was Tyler. His racing had taken off and soon got the nickname of “The Sleeper” because he had the ability of waiting until the last second and then coming on strong like wild fire.

Another kid that caught my eye was MarkDerkin’sgrandson, ShelbyDerkin. He was a sixteen-year old kid out of Richmond Indiana. The kid lapped most of the 360 division in his main and could have easily qualified for the B-Feature in the 410 class if he had the power. Part of me wanted to hop into a 360 and see what this kid had to offer. This just goes back to the side of me who always wanted to race with the best.

Why?

Because the only way to see how good youare isto race against the best.

After the drivers meeting we hung around my dad’s hauler waiting for the features to begin when a few girls made their way over.

There was one I looked at twice, thinking it was Sway. They could have passed for twins, though I doubted she had Sway’s witty traits.

The girl smiled when my eyes focused on hers and she was pretty but was not who I wanted. Returning the smile, I turned away from her silently letting her know Iwasn’tinterested.

Next thing I knew, her arm snaked around my waist as she leaned against my side.

“You’re Jameson Riley, that NASCAR driver...right?”

“Last time I checked.” Giving her another half-smile, I shifted away from her embrace.

“So are you sticking around after the race?”

“Nope,” I answered vaguely.

When I looked back at her and her friend, it dawned on me just then who the other woman with her was.

It was Ami, as in Justin’s Ami.

“All Outlaw drivers need to report to their cars.” The intercom system announced throughout the pits.

Thank god!I thought to myself. It was getting harder and harder to get away from these pit lizards.

Our cars were pushed onto the front stretch and then we walked through the grandstands and down toward the flag stand where they introduced us by our qualifying order. Justin walked past me so I nudged his shoulder.

“Was that Ami?”

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