I curse myself as I walk to the signing table. I can’t believe I was so weak. It was her eyes. That slight frown of her lips. Maybe it was the whole package. She just looked so unbelievably desperate.
I know Marcus put her up to this. He’s tired of arguing with me so he thought he’d get his way by sending the sad looking girl my way. Well, dammit, it worked.
I regret it the second I sit down.
This is not my type of scene. I can’t stand the crowds, can’t stand the smiling faces who eagerly tell me how great I am. I’ll have to get some payback with Marcus when this is over.
The floodgates have opened and now a line of people stretches across the whole room. I can’t believe so many fans come out to these things. There’s not even any racing. We’re just stuck in a fancy room in a fancy hotel signing autographs. It’s pathetic if you ask me.
I reach for a poster in front of me and uncap a new Sharpie. This poster has a pretty good photo of me on my bike. I’m soaring through the air, pointing at the crowd. I think it was taken during the Anaheim race last season. It’s when I won the race after an intense battle for first and I decided to show off a bit for the crowd.
I look up and see the first kid in line. A little boy, maybe six years old. He grins at me, while holding three other signed posters from my teammates. He’ll go home and put them on his wall and who knows how long I’ll be stuck there on some suburban drywall hanging up like an idol.
I sign my name across the poster and hand it to him.
“Thank you!” he says, his chubby cheeks dimpling.
I nod back. “No problem, man.”
He beams and his mom shuffles him away. The next several dozen autographs happen much the same way. The only good thing is that there are so many people here, the line moves quickly. People don’t have a chance to stop and chat, although some of them try to.
I hate every second of it.
I can’t exactly pinpoint why. I just do. I’d rather be home, or on my bike. I think it’s weird that I’m idolized just because I can ride. It’s not a magical skill. It’s a talent I got by practicing my ass off. Anyone could do it if they were dedicated enough.
Some girl about my age smiles at me from the line. I see her waiting there, wearing skimpy shorts and a tank top that’s barely holding in her boobs. She’s staring at me so hard it’d be impossible not to notice. She barely acknowledges the other guys as they sign posters for her, and I brace myself for when she reaches me.
“I love you so much,” she says, leaning down and placing her palms on the table. Her boobs are perfectly positioned in front of me. Girls know damn well what they’re doing and this one is no exception. That shit might work on the other guys, but not me.
“You don’t know me,” I say, turning my gaze to the poster. I sign my name.
“I love you as a racer,” she says. “You’re my favorite out of everyone. I love watching you ride.”
I slide the poster off the stack and hold it out for her. “Thanks.”
“Your tattoos are so great,” she says, her smile never fading.
“Yeah, they are,” I say back.
She smiles again at me, looks like maybe she wants to say something else, but then she doesn’t because I turn my attention down to the stack of posters.
She leaves and Zach kicks me under the table. “Dude, she was into you.”
“Yeah, I got that,” I say, quickly signing a poster for the next guy in line. “I’m pretty sure the whole world noticed that.”
“She was hot as hell,” the guy says.
I hand him the poster.
“You’re the only single one left,” Zach tells me between signing autographs and talking with his adoring fans.
“And I very much like it that way,” I say. And I do, right? I prefer being single. I don’t know why it felt weird to say that just now.
“I’m just saying,” Zach says, glancing at me with something a little like pity in his eyes. “Now that you’re the only eligible bachelor of the team, you’ll probably get all of the attention from fangirls. You need to prepare yourself.”
I snort. “I’m not worried about that.”
Even if I wanted to date someone, it would be pointless. I’m not into that long distance crap.
