Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
X-TS Event, After the Race
Tate won his next bracket with ease, then found himself facing his friend, number one ranked, Davey McAllister.
Determination to win boiled in Tate’s blood.
He gave it all he had. But, Tyler's prediction came true.
The race against Davey had been a tough one.
He'd won the first round, but Davey won the second.
Even though he psyched himself up to beat him on the final try, the best out of the three went to Davey. Barely.
Tate was not going to sulk over it. He ignored Oz and Joey and hung out with the Apex crew, cheering Davey in his final set.
Oddly, Davey would be up against Jack Benson, a racer from Arenacross that they didn't know much about. Benson surprisingly took out Regal in their bracket, but Davey wouldn’t care about that.
Tate never saw him getting hung up about his competitors, who he had to beat, he just rode hard every time.
He had to be the fastest bike down the track.
That’s it. Tate simply enjoyed watching his friend. Nobody rode like Davey did.
He made his way to the track where he would watch with Tyler and Pilot and the rest of the Apex crew.
The pits had been set up on the inside of the original horse track and the stadium seats for fans were on the other side of the straight track.
They got situated near the end where they couldn’t really see much of the start of the race, but watching the end was better.
You wanted to see who took that final jump.
The announcers would tell everyone, but seeing it with your own eyes was way more exciting.
The only thing better was being on the bike that won.
As he found his friends, he heard Tyler grumbling to their manager, Stewart. “I still can't believe this isn't the same old battle with Regal.”
“If he wouldn't have screwed himself...”
“How's that?” Angel asked. She was the dark haired beauty that had pulled the Apex team out of the crap, against all odds. She was a photographer, but she apparently had other skills as well. She lifted her camera with the gigantic lens, pointing it at the other end of the track.
Stewart snorted. “He didn't do well through the whoops and landed wrong on the jump that follows the speed break. You know? He just had a shitty run. Very unlike him.”
Tate agreed and shook everyone's hands. He knew them all from hanging out with Davey.
They'd all been to the ranch. Tate suspected they felt almost like family.
He wasn't sure about that, since he didn't really have a family and hadn't for a long time.
His experience with family wasn't good anyway.
They drop kicked you when you needed them most, so maybe he didn't want the Apex team to be family.
Maybe it was better to have great friends instead.
He enjoyed watching Davey race with them, except for the constant uncomfortable tension caused by wanting to crawl into Pilot's arms and set up house there. The man probably wasn't gay. Probably had zero interest in Tate. Surely, Tate must be reading the man wrong, but if he wasn't?
The crowd roared. Davey sailed over the final jump, fist in the air in his typical win-style. Tyler jumped up and down, grabbing Tate and shaking him, letting go and grabbing Stewart and shaking him. When he went to grab Angel, she pointed her finger at him and he held up his hands in defeat.
Tate wanted to grab Pilot, but no one was about to grab that man and all his muscles. He stayed next to the other bodyguard, a step or two back from everyone else. Tate couldn't help looking at him, wanting him.
The celebration didn't last long. Most of the Apex crew took off early.
Their new female rider, Bolster, who ran in the Light class, did well, but didn't win.
Tate got the vibe that she felt bad about it and consoling her was like walking through field of land mines.
It put a damper on Davey's celebration, but that man ought to be used to winning anyway.
So, later that evening when Davey and Tyler went back to their trailer, accompanied by their driver and the other bodyguard, Tate found himself alone with Pilot in the Apex pit and quite unsure how it had happened.
Pilot sat on top of the last giant red tool box that hadn't been loaded into the big truck yet. Mickey Hun, Tyler's second mechanic, said he'd be back for it in a few hours. He’d left with a few others to have a drink or two in the nearby town.
“So, what? You're off duty now?” Tate asked him.
Pilot smiled for the first time that Tate had seen. His dark eyes twinkled, sending happy glitter-sparkles through Tate's veins and down into his stomach where they danced with butterflies. Fuck I'm an idiot!
“Yeah,” Pilot answered with a nod.
“Uh, so is Pilot your first name or your last?” Tate asked with a laugh. He didn't expect much of an answer.
Pilot licked his lips and said, “Neither.”
Tate had to push that line of questioning. “So, what's your name then?”
“I don't know you well enough. Only my closest friends, family…or lovers get that out of me.” His deep voice resonated in Tate’s chest and the way he said lovers made Tate’s knees quiver.
“That can be arranged,” Tate said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He couldn't keep himself from flirting.
Pilot's face morphed into that familiar scowl. “What?” he asked.
His reaction disappointed Tate, but he had nothing else to lose. He wouldn’t hold back because of fear. Hell, Tate wasn’t made like that. “The lovers part.” He wanted to keep it light and flirty, but his voice sounded serious, and he was. Serious and raw.
Pilot laughed, softly. “You're really trying too hard, Tate.”
Tate blew out a slow breath. “Nah, really. I'm just kind of lonely. You know?” He gave up the silly flirting. Pilot didn’t seem to respond to that anyway.
Pilot looked at him long and hard until Tate squirmed from the intensity and wondered what he was getting himself into. Pilot was so severe.
Finally Pilot said, “I know what you mean. But, don't sell yourself short. Or too quickly. It's better to hold out for the real thing.”
“Real thing? You mean love?” Tate asked with a grunt.
“Yeah. Love. Don't you believe in love?”
Tate shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe for some. But, with my life...” He held his arms out, indicating the pit they were sitting in, but also Supercross as a whole. He traveled half the year and trained the other half. “Hell, Pilot! I don't even have a home right now. This is it. A fucking hotel room at every track.” Tate was surprised at his honesty. He hadn’t even been honest with himself because that was the truth of the matter, the ugly truth that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Failed relationships. All his relationships.
None of them ever had a chance because Supercross was Tate’s first love and he’d never, never cheat on her.
“That's a harsh life, but it's what you chose. Would you do anything else?”
Tate shook his head with a chuckle at how Pilot echoed his own thoughts. “Hell, no. This is me. I bleed dirt and I breathe jumps.”
Finally, the smile that had vanished returned to Pilot's face where it belonged.
“Yeah, I see that.” His eyes traveled over Tate's body, up and down, giving him delicious little tingles.
“Truth is, uh, I don't know. I've never been in love.
I don't know what that's like and I don't have time for it either. I work. Work. More work.” His words sounded cynical and Tate thought the man was just as lonely as he was.
“Doesn't have to be all work. You know what they say about Jack.”
“Fuck your cliché Tate. Besides...”
“"What?” Tate took a few shuffling steps toward Pilot.
“Time for that later. For now, I only have time for occasional, very occasional, hookups.”
“Yeah? That's apparently all I can get anyway.” Tate wanted more—a lot more, but Pilot had the right idea.
Tate would focus on racing until he couldn't race anymore and then maybe, if he were lucky, he'd find someone he could have more with.
The bitter end to his last relationship proved that.
The way he'd searched the track earlier in the day for Bryce, proved that again.
He didn't find him and didn't have his number to call.
He did get the news that Bryce had lost in his second bracket and that he hadn't raced against Bolster.
That was it. No Donny. No Bryce. Not even a piece of shit like Warren Tanner to fuck him unmercifully.
“Hey!” Pilot cut into his thoughts. “Come here,” he commanded and Tate obeyed immediately, stepping between Pilot's legs.
He felt a shudder thrill down his body when Pilot put his gargantuan paws on his shoulders.
The man's hands were as big as a helmet, rough like a tire tread, and comforting like wrist cuffs tied to a bed.
Tate's half-hard cock sprang to life, plumping out fully and caused him to lean into Pilot, wanting to hump his leg.
“Easy, boy. I'm armed.”
“You sure are,” Tate practically purred, wanting to get more of Pilot's hands on other parts of his body.
Pilot shook him back. “No. I mean it. I'm carrying.”
Tate's eyes went wide. “You mean like a gun?”
“Yeah,” Pilot answered, but his voice was low and sounded like a growl. Tate tilted his head up to better see his dark eyes.
Pilot moaned softly and leaned down, bringing their lips together.
The press was soft like velvet and sent his heart off like fireworks.
Tate had no control over his tongue, as it slipped out to lick at Pilot's mouth.
The motion must have been encouraging, because Pilot slid off of the toolbox and went in for a dominating kiss, devouring Tate's mouth.
He wrapped Tate up in his python-worthy arms and pulled him against a hard chest.