Authors: Shey Stahl
“You don’t
have shit to do, Jimi,” Aiden laughed leaning back in his chair when Spencer
stuck his hand in the pie claiming it as his own. No one wanted it after that.
“What could you have to do? You’re retired.”
“Oh I have
things to do,” he slapped my mom on the ass as they moved toward the kitchen
and then out the back door.
I leaned
into Sway with my shoulder, “speaking of things to do.”
I didn’t
have to say much more than that and she was rushing through dishes and telling
the kids to behave for the night.
Once
inside our new bedroom, I leaned back against the door. My head tipped to the
side watching the clothes disappear. Soft green eyes watched me with a hunger I
knew well.
Slowly she
approached and looked up at me with emerald eyes. “Let’s go over align boring
again. I think I may have forgotten the process.”
Those
words seemed to be my breaking point and everything else slipped away besides
us. I cradled her face in my hands kissing her softly as she worked on my belt
buckle shaking my jeans down.
“Let’s get
to the bed at least,” I chuckled when she wrapped her hands around my neck and
then her legs around my hips positioning for some machine work.
She
pressed more firmly against me, “No, let’s do this quick and dirty. I like
quick and dirty.”
Oh well
hell, if that’s what she wanted, I would certainly provide for my wife.
Our kisses
soon became needy and urgent. The two of us knew the dance very well from our
first time, eighteen-years ago, in that Charlotte hotel room.
Her tongue
swept across my lower lip and I couldn’t fight the groan that escaped. Her back
hit the door when I spun her around. She was getting it dirty if she wanted. My
hands fisted her white shirt. I balanced her against my thighs and the door and
yanked it over her head tossing it aside.
“I think
you get hotter every day.”
She
laughed. “I’m a sure thing. You don’t have to sweeten me.”
“Sweeten
you?” I laughed, “You’re sweet all right honey.”
“Shut up.
Where are the dirty engine terms you promised?” her hands gripped my shoulders
tugging at my t-shirt.
Once it
was removed, I slammed her back against the door. “Hold on tight then. Align
boring requires a specialized motion. A motion,” I swiveled my hips forward,
and then paused my body shook as I tried not to move at the sensations, “
...
that can re-align long term mechanical
stress.”
“Oh yeah,
I got stress baby,” Sway moaned bucking her hips into me.
I stopped
when I heard a thump at the door. We were now sprawled on our bedroom floor
kicking the remainder of our clothes aside and pushing boxes out of our way.
“You better have locked that fucking door,” I told Sway harshly not willing to
stop. Whoever, and I prayed it wasn’t our kids, was on the other side of that
door would get one hell of a show.
Between
our breathing and my grunting, we didn’t hear any more noises.
With increased
movements, our bearings were carrying equal loads.
“Jesus,”
Sway panted resting her head against my chest as my breathing slowed, “you’d
think after eighteen years it wouldn’t feel so amazing.”
“Oh
please, I’m the champ, remember?”
She
slapped my chest and sat up, my hand trailed down her back over the tattoo she
had on her spine. Smiling, I read the scripture silently as if a reminder to
what we’d been through over the years.
“I do
remember,” she kissed my arm before standing to slip on my t-shirt; “You’re
practically a legend.”
Just
before we moved a pile of clothes from the bed and onto the floor, Sway’s cell
phone that she had found in the bathroom, chirped with a text message.
“That
little shit,” she smiled shaking her head.
“What?” I
set the alarm knowing I had to be at the sprint car shop in the morning to meet
Grady, our new fabrication specialist with JAR Racing.
“Casten is
suspended for a week for that stunt today.”
I said
nothing. Damn kids.
2.
Back it In – Jameson
Back it In
– Term used to describe a non-winged sprint cars’ entry into a corner. The car
enters the turn in a slide with the rear of the car leading the front of the
car.
Every
morning that I woke in bed with my wife was a good morning. So many times, with
the crazy schedule we had, I was waking up alone and I didn’t like it. Now that
the kids were getting older, it was nice, on days like today, where there were
just a few things on our schedule and we didn’t have to worry about them today.
Next week I had to leave for Daytona and Sway was needed in Elma at Grays
Harbor Raceway track that we co-owned.
“You ready
for this season?” Sway asked rolling onto my chest. Her light breathing evened
out as I drew the sheets higher.
I kissed
along her collarbone, my mouth lingering in all the places I loved to pay extra
attention to. Like right behind her ear, or that spot where her hip bone met
the softer less prominent subtle skin of her stomach. I loved every inch of my
wife but did find pleasure in a few areas I knew could send her body into
overdrive.
“You
didn’t answer my question,” she spoke again when I didn’t answer and kept pace
with my kisses. Eventually she sprawled against my chest again and listened to
my breathing. My fingertips traced the outline of her ribs.
I shrugged
with indifference and a lazy smile. Her fingertips brushed over my chest
tattoo, the one that matched the scripture on her spine; that I had gotten over
the winter. “I’m always ready for racing.”
As racers,
we didn’t live our lives by the calendar year but by the racing season, which
started in February and ended in late November. Our lives, as well as the lives
around us, all lived the life created by the adrenaline and speed. I guarantee
you; none of us would argue that. It was our way of life. The life we wanted.
“You leave
on Tuesday, right?”
“Yeah,” I
focused on her eyes when she looked at me. Beautiful, emerald, understanding
and loving green gazed back. “Tuesday I’m flying to Barberville and then I’ll
be with the boys celebrating Van’s birthday on Wednesday. I should be back late
Thursday sometime.”
Sway
smiled when I changed positions. She looked up at me hovering over her again,
“and then your mom’s birthday next week
...
”
“And
testing,”
“
...
then Speedweeks,” Sway finished for me, her
hands found my shoulders as her index finger ran over the scar from my shoulder
surgery.
“And so it
begins
...
” My breath blew across her face. A loose
strand of her hair fell to the side.
Leaning
forward, I kissed her lips wondering when she’d want to leave this racing on
the edge lifestyle behind. Would she want this forever?
Knowing
Sway, I knew the answer before I even asked.
“You
ready?”
“I’m
always ready for racing, winters feel
...
strange.”
It was true.
Come December, we were all itching to get to the tracks and back to the life,
we knew.
We made
use of our time alone again before Sway slipped from the bed and into our
bathroom for a quick shower. I stayed in bed for a few more minutes when the
television caught my attention.
SPEED was
doing a special on Tate and this being his last full time season. It was crazy
to me that guys I had started racing with in the series eighteen years ago were
now retiring.
This
question was asked of me a lot now. Was I ready to retire?
No. Not
even close. I was only forty-one. For me, I felt like I still had a lot of
years left in this sport.
Sway
caught me still in bed when she came out of the bathroom. She opened the door,
steam rolling behind her, “Seriously dude! Get out of bed.”
“Sorry,” I
got up without another word. I always felt lazy when I was at home, like I
should be doing more. If Sway was up running around, I felt even lazier. It
seemed like the longer we lived this lifestyle, the more I felt like I didn’t
do enough around the house for her.
“If you
get up,” her voice raised slightly, “I’ll make you pancakes.”
“I’m up!”
I said jumping from bed and heading into the bathroom. No way was I passing up
Sway’s pancakes.
Before I
closed the door, I could hear Sway and Casten in the hallway. “Can I go to a
party tonight?” he asked her.
“No.
You’re grounded.”
“That’s
hardly fair,” he argued, “Cole isn’t grounded. Why should I be? I mean, it was
hardly my fault. I feel like I was involuntarily persuaded by my uncle and his
poor decisions.”
He had a
good point. I could almost hear my wife thinking the same thing.
“Fine, be
back by midnight.”
We really
needed to set better rules. Sway was the biggest pushover when it came to
Casten and I had yet to tell Arie no to almost anything. At least it was a good
thing that Axel was at least level headed. The other two were enough to handle.
Our
bathroom was entirely too large but it was nice. Heated slate tile floors met
warm gray walls and were surrounded by polished nickel accents and dark wood
framed windows overlooked the woods behind the house.
Not
knowing where anything was, it took me awhile to find what I needed to take a
shower. Having just moved in last week, I was still getting used to the shower
and the way the jets came at me from every angle. A few felt a little invasive
so I had to adjust those.
When I
stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist and water still
dripping from me, I was not met with my wife in our room.
Instead, I
found my sister with her head buried in my closet.
“
Em
,” I barked holding the towel with both hands so it
wouldn’t fall, “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
She acted
as though this was no big deal and dismissed me with a roll of her eyes.
“I’m
organizing your closet for you,” she turned back around and began to rummage
through my jeans and collection of hooded sweatshirts. “You’re getting too old
to wear these,” she said to me as I stood there staring at her in disbelief.
“Am not,”
I argued starting to feel uncomfortable with her being in my room. Not that I
wasn’t already but the fact that she was now staring at me, had me
uncomfortable. “I’m forty-one. I can still wear hooded sweatshirts if I want.
Now get out!”
I made a
slight mistake here but it turned out to be the best decision. I let go of the
towel.
“OH MY GOD!”
Emma
screamed scrambling out of the room. I could hear her scream all the way down
the stairs.
“Mission
accomplished,” I said to myself and continued to get dressed. I purposely put
on a hooded sweatshirt after that.
Making my
way downstairs, it was evident my sister was still there to aggravate me a
little more this morning. After all, this was her mission in life as far as I
was concerned.
“You
alphabetized my recipes again?” I heard Sway ask Emma.
“Yeah, so?
I was
working on your closet too, but your husband decided to flash me.”
“You
should probably join the witness protection program for a while Aunt Emma,” I
heard Arie tell her, “When dad finds out you organized his motor coach he’s
gonna go apeshit.”
“Don’t
tell him,” Emma said, “it’s not like he has to know. I’ll just say that Sway
did it.”
“Oh,
yeah,” Sway laughed when she saw me standing in the doorway, my arms crossed
over my chest, listening to them at the kitchen island, “I usually organize his
motor coach.”
Sway
didn’t organize anything. She could cook a mean fried spaghetti dinner but when
it came to organization.
Nope, not a clue.
That’s what
Emma was for as far as Sway was concerned. Usually she knew to stay out of my
motor coach. Apparently, this year it’d slipped her mind.
“Don’t
tell—”
I cleared
my throat, “don’t tell me what?”
Arie and
Emma looked at each other as Sway continued to laugh, her hand clamped over her
mouth trying to suppress her giggles.
“He’s been
standing there the whole time, hasn’t he?” Emma asked Sway.
My wife
couldn’t take it and burst into laughter nodding her head, Shit like this made
her day.
Emma
looked behind her. “Jameson,” I knew she was going to change subjects, “next
time you dump bleach on my lawn, remember to put the bottle away.
“I have no
idea what you’re talking about.”