That competition pulled up to the makeshift starting line. Mason Bradshaw. He was known to race rough. He had no qualms about shoving another guy out of the way to win. Well, he wouldn’t be pushing Coop around.
The man with a clipboard, acting as the official, waved Coop over. “Two circuits.” He held up his fingers in a peace sign.
“Got it.” Coop gave him a thumbs up, then revved the throttle. Ahead on the road, a girl in tight pants held a bright neon green flag up. All his attention was on that little scrap of silk. He anticipated the drop and raced off, praying people weren’t crowded into the corner ahead.
He took the lane wide, tires gripping the pavement only lightly. They weren’t dirt bike tires with their heavy tread, but made for the street, slick and giving him speed he wouldn’t have otherwise had.
If there was a holeshot for this type of racing, Coop had grabbed it, but Mason was on his ass. He almost felt the heat of the other bike. It was what Coop thought of as a monster-bike. A rebuilt frame with whatever parts could be cobbled together, and a fast-as-fuck engine, but you couldn’t really call it by any type or brand. You could call it trouble, though, and Coop wanted none of that.
He pushed his bike harder, knowing he’d take the turn too fast, but his bike could handle it. He couldn’t lay the bike out like the MotoGP guys, but he could get a pretty mean lean on it. When he approached the turn, he did exactly that. He angled to the inside of the curve and leaned. The edge of his back tire skid on the gravel road before catching again, the traction pushing him like a rocket. Old Mason had not been prepared for that, and Coop left him behind.
The run down Bells Chapel went smoothly. He ripped through apartment complexes on both sides, gaining more time. At the intersection where he had to turn, he pulled to the left. Farther along the road, someone had blocked traffic, so he didn’t worry about that. He spun the back tire around behind him, then gunned it like on a dirt track. The tires handled well, and he shot out on Country Home.
He could pull a similar move on Old Firetower—if onlookers weren’t crowding the intersection. But of course they were. He had to slow down to get through without hitting anyone. People had been drinking for hours, drowning their common sense in alcohol.
Coop looked back before he hit the corner. Mason closed the distance, but he’d have to slow down, too. Maybe. He might not have any compunction against hitting some drunk who didn’t move out of the way.
It didn’t matter; when he moved onto Old Firetower, Coop shifted and hit the throttle, leaving the other racer behind. He didn’t even get another glimpse of Mason through the rest of the circuit. No challenge from him, Coop was the clear winner.
Coop lifted his arms in the air. Someone in the crowd mentioned that Mason’s bike blew something, leaving him pushing his wreck back to his truck. Vick ran over to him. Crowds of people cheered, but they were too close for Coop’scomfort. He wished they’d back off. A couple of young, half-dressed women pushed up against him. “Careful. Bike’s hot.” He pointed at the muffler and engine beneath him. If they didn’t listen, someone would burn a leg or some other body part.
They had entirely too much bare skin showing, but it didn’t do a damn thing for Coop. Vick knew it and gave him that famous smirk. “Ladies, I’m Coop’s right-hand man. Let me tell you all about his bike.”
Coop rolled his eyes. Vick could have them. He was more interested in...
Hey—look at that. Dark hair, cut super short on the sides. He looked broody and thoughtful. He bit at his bottom lip and then...looked straight at Cooper. Was that hunger in his gaze? Or Cooper’s imagination? He suddenly wanted to find out what that slim body was like under those jeans and that tight t-shirt. He needed to get closer.
Vick had left with a fan-girl or two, but too many people were still hanging around, making it hard to get the cute guy’s attention. “Hey!” he called. The cute guy looked up at him with startled eyes. “Yeah, you. Come here.”
The smile that spread across the guy’s face was ridiculous and gorgeous. Then his brow lowered as he scowled and tried to push his way through the crowd.
“Hey. Get out of the way, man, let him through.” No one was listening to Coop or paying any attention to the guy who shouldered some much bigger dude out of the way. Thankfully, that dude was too drunk to notice, but Coop liked the guy’s determination.
Then he was in front of the bike, straddling the tire. He grabbed the handlebars between the grips, above the 272 race plate. “Hi.” His word wasn’t more than a breath.
Cooper smiled. “Hi, back.” He was going to get this guy alone where they could talk. And maybe other things.
Chapter Three – Rick
Damn, he was better looking up close. When he pulled off his helmet, his hair stuck up in places and was wet in others. Rick could just imagine making him sweat in his bed.Whoa, need to back off before I get my ass kicked.
“So, do you race here all the time?” Rick asked. He didn’t think there were races all the time. This was more his cousin’s thing than Rick’s, so…
“Nah, I’m just burning time before my real races. I’m sure if my sponsor knew what I was doing, it wouldn’t be good for me.” The guy shrugged. “Don’t see anyone glaring at me except maybe Mason over there. I’m Coop.” He held out his hand to Rick over the handlebars.
Pulling his hand out of his pocket, Rick shook Coop’s hand. “Rick Stanton. So what’s next? Another race?” He looked around, trying to figure out what was happening.
Coop pulled his hand back and chuckled. “Not for me. I did this one race after I took a dare from a long-time friend. I’m all for a challenge, but I guess I’m not getting one here.”
Time to test the waters. “Like a challenge, do you?” Rick asked, raising an eyebrow. He’d give him a run for his money. He didn’t need to drive home until noon or so tomorrow.
Nodding with a smirk, Coop answered, “Yeah and I think you’ve got the challenge I’m up for.”
It was all Rick could do to not pump his fist in victory. Seemed it was his night. How to get Coop to himself now without being obvious. “You must have burned a lot of calories racing. Want to go grab something to eat?”
Rick closed his eyes. Did he really just ask if the man wanted to go to dinner? Maybe a chasm would open up and he could fall in. Hearing Coop’s quiet laughter, he opened his eyes.
“I could eat.” Coop was barely holding in his chortles.
