Chapter 12 #2
“Indeed. We wish you a lot of luck today on the track.” She turned and smiled at the camera and Tate took a subtle step back.
“That's Tate Jordan folks. Ready to prove he's got what it takes.” Amy paused just a moment before adding, “Cut.
That's a wrap.” She turned back to Tate. “Thank you. Really, you did very well.”
Tate shook her hand again and watched silently as the camera crew left to make their way down the row to another competitor.
“She's right. Good job, Tate,” Oz practically purred. Yep, Tate had handled her questions perfectly. “You're getting good at this.”
“You shouldn't have worried, boss.” In fact, Oz had nothing to worry about. Tate intended to do better than expected here and during the regular season.
Tate examined the brackets for the event.
McAllister had qualified first and Regal second.
Surprisingly, Shannon Parker was in the event with new sponsors and qualified fifteenth and was up against Regal as the second qualifier in the first round.
Davey would have to race the final qualifier, a guy named James Brunswich.
It was Brunswich’s first year in the 450SX division, having won the 250SX West two years prior, and had a great season the year before. Nice, but Davey would blow him away.
After Tate beat Cole, he'd have to race the winner from another bracket, either Robin Owens or Perry Schmidt.
Both were decent racers that landed in the top five regularly over the last few years and both were hungry for some wins, but neither were a match for him.
After that round, he'd be racing McAllister for the final spot, since they were in the same bracket.
Regal had ended up in the opposing bracket.
All things holding true to talent, skill, and history, it would be either Davey or him facing good old Chad Regal in the final battle.
Tate felt better about his chances against Regal than he did against Davey, truth be told.
If he could get past Davey, he'd win. He knew it.
He liked and respected Davey, but if he could beat the guy on the track, he would.
“One race at a time,” Joey said, handing him another bottle of water.
“You reading my mind now?”
“Don't have to. I see you staring down the brackets, as if that alone were enough to win. Seriously, don't underestimate Cole Lindt.”
“No. No, I'm not. Just because I don't like him, doesn't make him a bad racer. Same as Parker. I'd rather see him in jail than on the track, but the fucker has skill and here he is.”
“Don't sweat it. Parker isn't yours to deal with right now. Regal will send him packing first round.”
Tate snorted. “Damn straight.”
Bryce stood back in the crowd gathered at the MSR pit.
Some news lady had a mic in Tate’s face, asking about the upcoming event.
Bryce blushed and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth.
His heart sped up, irrationally. It was a total fanboy moment hearing Tate's voice again so close. Yet, he might as well be a world away. Bryce still couldn’t have him.
Tate’s confident answers amazed him, and he talked about Davey McAllister as if they were best friends. Sure, Bryce knew that they knew each other, but Tate hadn’t said anything about them practicing together at McAllister’s place. How amazing would that be?
It just made Bryce feel like some star-struck kid. No, it would be better to just walk away than to let Tate see him standing there mooning over him.
The reporter shook Tate’s hand, and their voices lowered.
Other people started walking away, thinning the crowd.
Tate would see him, if he just looked up.
For one slow heartbeat, Bryce wished he’d just look up.
Then, his manager jumped in and jostled Tate around, breaking the spell.
Bryce had his own shit to worry about, anyway.
He turned with a sigh and walked away. Tate wasn’t meant for him, but he could still feel the heat of Tate’s lips against his own, as if it had just happened moments ago, rather than weeks.
Pilot stood in the back of the mechanic's area, leaning against the big semi-trailer with his arms folded across his chest. The ground in front of the truck was covered with plastic and above their heads, a huge awning stretched.
All of it tastefully covered with Apex, Kawasaki, and Cam Top Oil logos.
Even the red metal tool boxes that had been rolled out between the bikes had logo stickers on them.
Doing his job meant staying out of the way and watching everything.
That meant watching Tyler Whitmore-McAllister buzz around directing the work being done on both Davey's bike and a new bike that the new girl, Sarah Bolster, would be racing.
Trident Security sent Pilot with a partner, Broady, to protect the Apex team.
Last year Broady had worked well with him, so he returned with Pilot.
He let Broady shadow Davey while he attended interviews and signed autographs, leaving Pilot to watch Tyler who made sure the bikes were ready to go.
He bee-bopped around, humming some song, and every now and then, he stopped to shake his ass.
Pilot found it quite amusing...and distracting.
He needed to be watching out for issues, not Tyler's ass shaking.
He smirked to himself, thinking he'd rather watch Tyler dance around. The man was hot as hell. And taken.
Not that Pilot would have made a move on him anyway.
He wouldn't. Why bother? He was not in a position to be starting shit with Supercross kids that traveled around nine or more months of the year.
He'd have fun traveling around with them this year, but home was Colorado, not in a trailer or hotel room.
He sighed and ran his hand across his buzzed hair.
He'd had it done just before catching his flight out to the coast. He figured it would be hotter than he was used to in Southern California, and he'd been right.
He was already sweating through his soft t-shirt and it wasn't even eight in the morning. Damn! Supercross racers started early.
He heard a commotion outside of the area and perked up, more alert.
He peered out the side of the tented space and saw Davey and his group approaching with Broady’s big body shadowing him.
When Davey turned and came a bit closer, he put his finger up to his lips like a kindergarten teacher, begging with his eyes for Pilot's silence.
Pilot gave him a quick nod and stepped back.
Broady followed him in and reached out for a quick, but quiet fist bump.
They both watched Davey sneak up on Tyler.
He grabbed at the mechanic's sides, and Tyler squealed and turned, raising his hands in the air above his head.
“Stop. Stop,” he protested with much laughter.
“I'm all greasy.” He stretched his neck up to kiss Davey, who wrapped arms around Tyler's wide chest and back.
Something tightened inside Pilot's own chest. Jealousy?
Not of either man in particular, but jealous of what they had.
Something he didn't think would ever be a possibility for him.
He'd never really wanted that before anyway.
He had Johnny as a close friend and he could find a hook up every now and again for sex.
He didn't think he needed anything else, but seeing Davey and Tyler so openly loving each other, he reconsidered.
Maybe he did want that. Maybe he wanted Johnny to have something like that, too.
He deserved to be happy. Hell, they both did.
What the hell were they working so hard for, just to have an empty lonely life?
What would it mean to reach their dream, buying part of Uncle Gary's business, if they didn't have any one they loved to share it with?
Pilot stifled a growl. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about relationships or watching Davey and Tyler play with each other.
He glanced over at Broady to see if he'd been busted.
It looked like his partner was looking beyond the awning, but he couldn't be certain since he couldn't see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses.
Well, beneath his own dark Ray-Bans, Broady probably couldn't see what he had been watching either.
The guys busied themselves with the bike, getting serious and talking about Bolster’s bike and performance.
She would be riding a little later in the day.
Their seriousness in their business made it easier to ignore them.
Pilot only had a passing interest in their sport.
He didn't need to be a fan to protect his charges.
He focused on the perimeter, so he wasn't surprised when a shaggy blond head popped in. The tall racer smiled from ear to ear, doing a better job at lighting up the space than the sun had done. He smelled like dirt, grease, and citrus-fresh. Pilot inhaled as he passed, wanting more of that scent.
“Davey, Tyler!” the racer called out. He was long and lean like Davey and sexy as hell in his racing gear. Pilot remembered him from last season, but not his name. He hadn't been important then. Why was he now? Davey and Tyler turned and greeted their friend with half hugs and glad-to-see-ya's.
Tate.
They called him Tate.
His sea-green eyes danced around the pit and when they landed on Pilot, something leaped up his throat from his chest, making Pilot stop breathing. Tate smiled. The world stopped. “Hi,” he said with a plump bottom lip, perfect for kissing and biting. His upper lip was thinner, but just as perfect.
Pilot stood up straighter, dropping his arms to his sides and desperately searching for his voice. “Hi. I'm Pilot,” he finally croaked out.
“I know.” The sea in his eyes sparkled, looking like eternity.