Chapter two
Clay
Arlington, TX
How some racers come here thinking they’re going to win everything and they’re all that? Ha! Most are nothing but a joke, however Slade Myers was no joke. He’d raced hard, not wanting to give an inch, plowing through the whoops and doing more than simply keeping up.
He’d come in third in the NEXT series, and his name was on everyone’s lips.
Not sure why no one signed him. He had the speed, the skill, the grit.
And obviously, he was just damn good. But he was still a privateer and was racing amateurs while I’d been pro these last few years.
No way could he be at my level. For him to challenge me on the track, well, that just pissed me off.
But the worst thing? He was so damn sexy, especially when he smiled. That smug grin made my dick hard. He had me so confused.
And then… my body clocked him, knew exactly where he was when he lined up at the gate for the Main Event. I didn’t have to look to see if it was his Toyota, number 527, I simply knew.
I didn’t want to but couldn’t stop myself from glancing over. He was totally focused on the track ahead of him, fiddling with his goggles. Someone handed him a new pair, the man looked like an older version of Slade, so I guessed it was his father. That wasn’t uncommon for a privateer.
Andrew, my mechanic, patted my back. “Check the boards. I’ll give you the times.
” His reminder was necessary, since I often forgot to look at the little white board he would be holding up during the race.
It was often valuable information, and as the only way he had to communicate with me when I was on the track, it could be crucial. We all had our faults, though.
I nodded, getting my head back in the game. “Yeah man.”
“Yeah man…” Andrew mocked me. “Don’t do that. Just check the boards once in a while.”
“I will. Promise.”
“Okay. Get your goggles on.”
“Yes, Mom.” BikeMax recruited Andrew away from MSR and Tate Jordan’s team, so I was incredibly lucky to have him on board, and really shouldn’t sass him, but I was feeling feisty. Maybe it was because that Slade had gotten under my skin, and I didn’t really like it.
Soon enough, the thirty-second board was up, and then the gates dropped.
The race was on. Twenty-two of the best 250 racers in the world tore out of the gate, and I was in front of all of them.
Dirt flew and I imagined them all getting a face full of what was coming off my back tire. Eat my roost, suckers!
I sprinted to try and pull away with a few seconds between us, but two other racers stayed close.
I led the majority of the race, but soon the 121 of Finley Mackinaw pulled ahead.
I followed, watching his lines, and learning where he liked to go on the track, and where my best spot to pass him would be.
I gave him two laps, hoping he would make a mistake I could capitalize on, but when he didn’t, I had to make my move.
But first, I remembered to check the pit boards, glancing up, I saw Andrew holding the board out. The message was short and not so sweet.
#527 Coming
That was Slade. My stomach flipped over. No way was I going to let that rookie finish ahead of me. I didn’t care how good he was or how sexy. This race was mine.
Sensing he was close, I shifted gears and got on the throttle.
My bike practically danced through the jumps of the rhythm section, and over the dragon’s back.
I was happy they brought that in for this race, the track designers hadn’t added one in a while.
After the next turn there would be a straightway, and that’s where I was going to make my pass.
I powered through the corner and turned on the speed.
It worked. Finley didn’t answer, and I was in the zone.
After the race, I handed the bike off to Andrew and climbed up the podium. Taking first in the first East Coast race was sweet. Finley walked up beside me and gave me a fist bump with his free hand. He held an energy drink in his other.
Third place? I looked around, and the back of my neck tingled as Slade walked up. He gave me a chin lift and bit down on a red Twizzler.
Not long after, the reporter stuck the mic in my face. “Finishing first on the first night of East racing is a great way to start the season. Tell us about the race. How’d you feel out there?”
“Yeah, this bike is dialed in thanks to Andrew Hansen.” I fiddled with my hat that had my main sponsor logo on it.
We all played the game. “But it felt really good out there. I was comfortable, even though it was a tricky track. Needed precision and getting extra speed in the corners. Had to fight for it. Finley’s no joke.
We were racing. But I have to thank the BikeMax team, Andrew, like I said, as well as my coach, Zeke Hill, and the rest of them as well as my sponsors…
” After listing all the sporting brands, I walked off the stage, but I didn’t go far.
I wanted to know what Slade had to say. This was his first Supercross event, first main, and first podium, all in one package. Rookie or not, he had to be excited.
Finley went through the same rigamarole as me, then it was Slade’s turn.
“You, Slade, are the star of the night. Coming from nowhere to podium on your first Main Event, you must feel great right now.”
“Yeah. I do. I mean, I didn’t come from nowhere, I was riding SMX NEXT earlier this year, and I’ve been working my way up, you know, like everyone else, but this is sweet for sure. So, I have to really thank my family. Myers/Aztec Moto race team. And especially Clay Preston.”
“Clay?”
“He knows why.”
Son of a bitch. The press was going to have a field day with that one.