Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Gavin
Raymond James Stadium | Tampa, Florida
Gavin walked around the pit area like a damned king.
He was probably getting more out of the cock cage than Johnny, but it didn’t matter.
He’d snapped the thing shut that morning before they had left the hotel and made their way to the stadium.
Johnny had wiggled around a lot and kept trying to look at his crotch as if he could see it through his clothes.
Eventually, he’d gotten used to it and relaxed some.
Even better, Johnny hung out with him at the BikeMax pit instead of going down to Apex. That shouldn’t have thrilled him anywhere as much as it actually did. He threw his arms around Johnny and kissed the side of his face. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“You’re glad I’m wearing this medieval torture device.”
“Mm-hmm...that I am.”
Johnny shifted his hips back and forth in a sign of his discomfort, but it rubbed that pert ass against Gavin’s groin at the same time—exquisitely teasing.
“Yo, boss!” Craige Lee came out of the trailer parked behind the pit area, where he’d been eating and getting ready for the race.
His qualifying run was due up in half an hour.
He had his boots, pants, and his chest plate already on, but he carried his jersey in his hands, trying to fight the heat and stay cool.
“Hey! You ready?” Gavin slid to the side of Johnny, keeping his arm draped over his shoulder. He needed to touch him, to prove his presence there was real.
Craige bobbed his head, agreeing. “I’m ready. I’m hungry.”
Johnny snorted. “Didn’t you just eat?”
“Ha-ha, funny. I mean, hungry for the podium. I want to win.”
“Save it for the Main Event. Get through qualifying and grab a transfer spot in your heat. Then you can worry about the podium.”
“I’ll take a heat win.” He pulled his jersey over his head.
“I’m sure you would, but don’t kill yourself or your bike trying. That track is tricky.”
“No lie. It’s the sand. I got through it on the practice run. I think I might even dig it. You can power through doing a wheelie half the time.”
Johnny’s eyes grew wide. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
Craige laughed. “Not the most dangerous thing on the track, dude.”
“Go then.” Gavin waved at him. He was the center focus today.
They still hadn’t picked up a 250 East racer, so the mechanics fussed over the big 450 bike.
The head mechanic, Joe Fischer, got on the back of the bike, riding behind Craige as they made their way through the pit area and up to the back of the stadium.
The bikes would be entering and exiting the track through the tunnels below the stadium.
It made for an easy in and out. Gavin liked their setup and hoped they’d be back here again next season.
They hadn’t raced in Tampa in a few years.
The hot and humid weather in Central Florida made them sweaty and sticky.
“You want to go watch his qualifying match or—”
“Or go back to the hotel?”
Gavin hugged him tighter. “No, stay here with me.”
“I am. Ugh. Don’t squeeze so hard.”
Gavin let up on the hold and then kissed the side of his head again.
Gavin took Johnny to his spot in the stands, high enough up that they got a decent view of the entire track. Off to the side, a giant pirate ship loomed over the stadium. Between races, they could check it out.
The first 450 heat race was about to begin. Craige Lee lined up along with Tate and Chad Regal. They were the top two in points so far, followed by Cole Lindt in third, who would race in the next heat. They were the guys to beat. Gavin nudged Johnny. “They’re starting.”
He looked up from his phone. “Craige’s in this one?”
“Tate too.”
“Okay, which one is Craige? I want to yell for him.”
The gates dropped, and Gavin held his breath.
He couldn’t tell who was in front. A group of racers packed in together, but it looked like Tate in the lead down the opening stretch and into the first turn.
The announcers called Tate for the holeshot, but that baby blue 41 raced up right behind him.
“He’s second. In the blue and white. Forty-one. ” Gavin pointed him out to Johnny.
“I see. That’s Tate in front?”
He loved seeing Johnny paying attention like he acknowledged Gavin’s success, and that warmed his heart. “Yeah, but Regal is pulling in. He wants a win.”
“It’s only the heat race. Why are they so aggressive?”
“The adrenaline.” The racers wanted wins, even in the heat races.
The heat races determined who transferred straight to the Main Event and who got the first gate pick for the big showdown.
But when a racer was there in the dirt, excitement flowing through his veins, passing the guy in front, pushing the bike faster, riding a clean line, getting a sweet track time, it all came down to that second.
That moment on the track with the smell of dirt and oil and the sound of the engines pulsing, and being in front, being first, was the only thing that mattered.
Nothing else. Time shrunk to a back tire and a spray of dirt.
Craige pulled a triple in the rhythm section, pulling ahead of Regal.
He made good time on the track. A long section of beach sand ahead of him had been tripping a lot of people up, but a few of the 450 racers pushed through it hard, including Craige.
He hadn’t been kidding about the wheelie thing and managed to make good time through the sand on one tire, most of the way.
He pulled ahead, increasing the gap in time behind him, but he couldn’t catch Tate, who pulled a quad through the next rhythm section, giving him a greater lead.
Craige needed to pull quads to be competitive in the Main.
Tate won the first heat with Craige coming in second.
Gavin cheered and hugged Johnny. He couldn’t be happier for Craige.
He had much better finishes than expected.
Gavin pulled out his phone. He needed to reward him, keep him motivated.
He sent out a few texts to try and set something up with an endorsement.
He’d been working on the deal, and the people he needed to see happened to be located in Tampa.
If Craige finished well in the Main, they’d be more interested.
He sent them the results of the heat. Hopefully, that would get them paying attention.
Everyone wanted in on the next hot racer.
Johnny went out to the concessions to get a beer and a soda for Gavin. He was technically working, so he wouldn’t drink even a cold beer in the stands. He texted Craige congratulations while he waited.
Right before the next heat, Johnny came back and slid into the seat next to him. “Hey! Sorry, I took so long. I went around and checked out the pirate ship.” He handed Gavin his soda and a pretzel.
“Thanks.” Gavin hummed his appreciation for the yummy snack. “They’re starting.”
The gates dropped. Gavin’s heart heated up, warmer than his pretzel with Johnny beside him.
Cole Lindt was the number one contender in this round. Others wanted a shot at beating him, but he took the holeshot without looking back and quickly put nearly a three-second gap between him and the next rider. “I like watching them run like that. Sweet. He seems unstoppable.”
Johnny gave him a questioning look. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Boss.
Johnny teased him, but it still did something to Gavin’s insides.
It wasn’t the same kind of boss that meant he led the BikeMax team.
It was more than that. Dirtier. Gavin adjusted his pants a little to accommodate his growing erection as he thought about the filthy, bossy things he wanted to do to Johnny.
He imagined Johnny tied up and all spread out on the bed with the surgical steel of the cage shining, daring him to be bad.
The crowd groaned together, and Johnny cursed. “Did you see that. OhmyGod!”
Cole Lindt was down in the middle of the track with one arm tucked against his chest. “What happened?” Gavin had been watching Johnny, not the race.
“He didn’t make the jump. Hit the top and...” Johnny made a motion with his hand. “...right over.”
The medic flagged riders around him in the middle of the rhythm section leading into the sandpit.
The announcers spoke about it, but Gavin missed it.
He immediately flipped to a browser on his phone to find footage.
Out of respect, they wouldn’t replay the crash until they’d cleared Lindt off the field, and he couldn’t get up by himself.
He pulled up a clip that had already been posted on Youtube. Cole went for a quad jump in the rhythm section but didn’t get enough distance, and his front tire slammed into the top of the fourth mound. The motorcycle flipped under him—over him. He twisted upside down, then hit the ground hard.
It didn’t take the officials long to red-flag the race and get medics on the field to help. Lindt couldn’t stand up. “This looks bad.”
“I forget how dangerous it is.” Johnny bit at his bottom lip, face worried. “This is horrible. I mean, thank God it’s not Tate or Bryce, but like I know him. Kind of. Know of him.” Johnny shrugged.
“Yeah? He was loosely involved with that Shannon Parker bullshit.” Bringing up that punk kid made Gavin growly. He didn’t want to be reminded of that colossal fuckup.
“Tyler said Cole came around. Some. They agreed to some kind of deal or something.”
“Oh? I didn’t know about that. I knew way too much about Parker, though.”
“Sorry to bring it up.”