Chapter 12 #3
Tate continued his conversation with Davey and Tyler, but those eyes kept sliding back to Pilot.
He wanted more than Tate's eyes on him. He wanted that mouth and his hands and maybe those long-long legs wrapped around his waist. Pilot swallowed hard.
He didn't believe in love at first sight.
Lust at first sight was apparently a yes, though.
He'd never been this attracted to anyone.
Ever. Want swam around in his gut and stirred his cock.
Tate had to go. He needed to get his bike and get up to the track, but he didn't want to leave his friends. Davey and Tyler were so cool to hang out with and he'd missed them, but Tate knew they were just his excuse. What he really didn't want to leave was Pilot's hot gaze on him.
For the hundredth time in five minutes, Tate slid his eyes over to Pilot's handsome, glowering face.
He'd met the body guard previously, but he hadn't registered much on Tate's scale aside from being a mountainous hunk of scowly man.
Yet, now he found him attractive in an animalistic sort of way and could seriously imagine doing all sorts of dirty things with him.
None of that mattered, though. Tate had a job to do and couldn't afford to get in trouble with his team. Oz would kill him if he didn't move his ass.
He said his goodbyes to the team and hauled ass, forcing himself to ignore Pilot as he raced off.
He could hear Oz admonishing him as he got on his bike.
“Stop being so boy-crazy. Pull your head away from your dick. Get a grip and get on the bike.” Okay, maybe some of that was Tate's own inner voice rather than Oz, but all of it was truth.
Lined up at the gate, throttle revving, Tate mentally dropped all thoughts of sexy body guards.
Cole was in the next box, though he couldn't see the man.
The gates had canvas dropped on both sides that looked like faux wood, playing up the fact that horses used to race on this track.
Tate didn't give a shit. He watched the gate in front of him, ready to take off the instant it dropped.
He needed to beat Cole twice, back to back.
If the man got an inch, it wouldn't be pretty.
The gate dropped. Tate took off, flying out of the gate.
Dirt exploded up around him. Staying low on the bike, he pushed hard over the first set of table tops.
He focused on the track, ignoring the other racer.
The whoops section had been designed to knock lesser skilled racers off their game.
Tate's bike hit the top of each mound, front tire then back tire, front tire—back tire, as if he were skimming rocks in a pond.
He flew over the next few jumps and across the speed break.
The dragon back, a set of dirt mounds set close together that consecutively got higher—uphill—as they went along, loomed ahead.
This dragon back followed dual table tops and made the first whoops section look like training wheels.
Tate used his powerful legs to pull the bike along them.
Ignoring Cole felt impossible. A tightness pulled in his chest, but he ignored it, too.
Until the final jumps, Cole raced alongside him in his peripheral vision.
Then Tate pulled ahead. As he flew over the final jump across the finish line, he angled his bike sideways.
When his tires came back down and hit the ground, he knew he won the first round.
He pumped his fist in the air. Victory. Take that, Cole!
He had to wait for another set of racers to take their turn before taking the track again, but Tate was determined to take the second race too.
He lined up like before and blasted out of the box.
Cole pushed him the entire way, so close he practically breathed down Tate’s throat.
He used his taller body to pull his bike ahead by inches, but those few inches were all that mattered.
Tate only won in the last second, by a hair, but he won.
Once he saw Cole had pulled off the end of the track, Tate did a quick donut before exiting.
He had to give an interview as the winner of the bracket before going back to his pit.
He gave a quick, happy and hopeful answer, wondering why anyone cared how he would feel about racing against his friend, should he have to face off with Davey.
Yes, they were friends. On the track though, any track, they were competitors first. Tate respected Davey like no other, but he still could beat the man. Tate had something to prove.
He let those thoughts ruminate as his mechanic jumped on the back of his bike, and they rode together down to the pit. He killed the bike and handed it over to Andrew. “Don't mess with it too much. She ran like a fucking dream, man.”
Andrew nodded and pushed the bike up on the stand.
A throat cleared behind him. “Great race, Tate.” Tyler.
Tate couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face as he turned around, but as soon as he had Tyler in his sights, he also had Pilot there.
He towered over Tyler, arms crossed, sexy mouth frowning.
Tate's heart stopped. He forgot how to use words.
The man's arms were thicker than the seat of his bike and busting out of his tight shirtsleeves like water from a hydrant. His thick muscles curved around his shoulders and arms, unmistakably hard, even under his t-shirt. You just couldn’t hide muscles like that, and Tate had never found a man with such a physique so sexy before.
Pilot's dark eyes caught his own, making him feel like some kind of trapped bird with his heart pounding fast like beating wings.
Finally finding his voice, he croaked, “Hey.”
Tyler reached out and patted his shoulder. It felt more like sympathy than congratulations and had Tate wondering if Tyler could read his mind. Or maybe he just noticed Tate rolling his tongue back up into his mouth. A man like that made it a lot easier for Tate to forget his own bullshit.
“You ready to take on Davey?” Tyler quipped.
Tate nodded, still staring at Pilot who cocked his head to the side as if trying to figure Tate out, or maybe he was thinking of something else entirely.
Tate wanted to find out, wanted to push for more.
He forced the edges of his mouth to turn upward.
“Yeah,” he said. Real intelligent. So much for flirting.
Tyler laughed and started to say something, but stopped and rubbed his hand against his mouth before starting again. Tate didn't have a chance to wonder what he had planned to say, before Tyler blurted out words that completely distracted him. “So, you broke up with your dickhead boyfriend, right?”
Simple words, but spoken while Tate continued to eye-fuck Tyler's bodyguard, caused his head to spin. He made some kind of noise and nodded dumbly, causing Tyler to laugh again. Pilot didn't laugh. His lips pursed together so hard the pink temptations turned white. What did that mean?
“So, that means you're single. Not seeing anyone?”
“Uh...right.” Tate looked down at his hands, realizing he hadn't taken off his gloves. His goggles still hung from his neck. When had he even taken off his helmet and where had he put it? He looked around the pit area, but didn't know if he was looking for the allusive helmet or an escape hatch.
“Cool, so after Davey kicks your ass on the track, meet us for a celebration.”
“Oh, you think?” Nothing like a racing taunt to jump start Tate's brain. “You and your bodyguard are more than welcome to celebrate my victory, but Davey will be so beaten, he'll have to crawl there.”
Pilot made some kind of straggled noise that sent blood racing through Tate's body, straight to his cock. He wanted to hear that sound again.
Tate pulled his gloves off and tossed them on top of one of the tool boxes. “Hell, Ty, you'll probably have to have Pilot carry the man.” He stared straight at Pilot and winked.
“Fuck you! Davey's going to leave tire tracks on your ass,” Tyler joked.
“What kind of shit talk is that?” Tate chuckled. “Nobody's going near my ass.”
“Sadly.”
“Shut up.” Tate could feel the heat flare across his cheeks, as he realized what he'd said.
Pilot's little pink tongue darted out of his mouth. Tate wanted more of that too.
Tyler bumped his shoulder against Tate's.
“You're still welcome to come hang out with us.” He wiggled his eyebrows a bit.
Tate realized that Pilot couldn't see Tyler's face.
His friend just might be trying to hook them up.
Tate was pretty sure he was down with that, if Pilot was.
He looked up and smiled for real and watched as the corner of Pilot's mouth left his ever present scowl to give him half of one back.