Chapter One
Jason stood there with the big fake check for the event win, watching the crowd go one of two ways—up and out of the stands, or down to wait for the guys to make the autograph circuit. He fucking hated this part.
That little gal from the XSports channel was waiting with her bright orange hair and her too tight jeans. He knew how it’d go, too.Blah blah blah Jason Scott blah blah blah race for the finals blah blah blah new kids chasing his ass.
Goodie.
He managed to get through all the questions without being an asshole, but not before a huge stack of fans were hanging over the fence, waving programs and hats, hollering his name. He ducked under into the pens and headed toward the back. He just wasn’t good at that whole meet-and-greet thing.
“You’re gonna get a reputation as a giant dick, man.” His best buddy, Andy Baxter, fell in beside him, boots clacking against the concrete walkway back to the locker room.
“Yeah, yeah. Better let them think I might be than know I am. ‘sides, I don’t see your happy ass out there, Bax.”
And shit, nine times out of ten Bax was out there glad-handing.
“It was a long night. My knee’s killin’ me.”
That slow Texas drawl always made him smile, because it made everyone think Bax was laid-back, maybe not so bright.
Jason knew better.
“Yeah?” He winced, shook his head. “You came down on it fucking hard. I swear that bull has it out for you.”
It was hell getting old.
“I did.” Bax shrugged, sticking his hands in the pockets of his old school Wranglers. “I ain’t the man of steel I used to be.”
“Bullshit.” There wasn’t any bastard on Earth tough as Bax. He knew it to the bone. “You want to go get a steak?”
“Hell, yes. Someplace not at the hotel.” They were staying at the sanctioned hotel because the sponsors had asked Jason to but eating there was like sitting in a fishbowl.
“I got the truck here. We can go anywhere.” He nodded to Little Jack and Harvey who were still waiting outside sports medicine. DJ had taken one hell of a spill, just got caught up and dragged. “Y’all heard something?”
Jack shook his head. “They ain’t called the am’blance. That’s gotta be good, huh?”
“I guess.” Jason knew that Doc waited if he could, so that some of the crowd would dissipate. Fans liked to believe that the wrecks left bruises, not breaks.
“Well, you call me, you hear something, yeah?” Bax said, nodding once before tapping his arm. “Come on, man. Food.”
“I hear you, old man.” He winked at Jack, headed off, following that tight little ass to get their gear from the locker room.
“Not that much older than you, Mini.” Bax took every opportunity to give him shit about how much shorter he was, but God help him if he mentioned Bax’s age.
“Three years is a fucking eternity.” He ducked the lazyswing, just hooting with it. “You still scattered from the round, man? You missed.”
“You were on the move. Stand up and let me hit you, man.” That laugh was sure enough the best way to make him forget all the shit his sponsors wished he would do. He hated being all social and shit. He just couldn’t quite look the business part of cowboying in the eye.
“Fuck you.” Jason started stripping off his shirt, hunting something clean and less dusty.
“Here.” One of his hanging shirts landed on his shoulder. “That one looks good on.”
“Thanks.” He redid the smell-good, the deodorant. Then he changed his boots. “Man, I need a beer.”
“We can have that with supper. Or, hey, we could go play some pool.” Oh, yeah, because Bax wanted to shark that five thousand he’d won in the second go-round.
“We could do both. Hell, after a steak, I might feel ten years younger.” He got himself put together, tucked in his shirt and got his belt buckled. Okay. Wallet. Phone. Bag. Time to get out of Dodge. “Besides, all the buckle bunnies’ll be gone home by late.”
“True enough.” They went out the back way, Bax’s white shirt setting off his deep tan, that black hat playing hide and seek with Bax’s dark brown eyes and smile lines.
