Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(44)

I don’t know if I can ride tonight without the blow. I just don’t know. I feel like I should back out, wait a couple of weeks until I get past the hard cravings. But then…will I ever be able to do anything again? Fuck.

My hands tear through my hair, feeling the clamminess of my scalp. It’s a million degrees out here on the surface of the sun, and I’m covered in chills.

“You want anything, baby doll?” Tank stands at the bottom of the bleachers, pointing toward the concession stand.

Shaking my head, I wave him on. If I drink anything more, or try to eat, I’m sure I’ll lose my stomach. I set the bottle of beer down and wrap my arms around my legs.

“This seat taken?”

Boone’s deep voice sends a trill up my spine. My arms still secured to my legs, I look up. His massive six-foot-self blots out the lowering sun. I can’t believe it, but I’m so relieved to see him.

I wasn’t sure if I’d done the right thing yesterday by inviting him here. Earlier at the coffee shop, I was regretting it, thinking I’d lowered the barrier between us too much. Hell, I worked hard at releasing him, trying to keep him away from my scene. But yesterday kind of changed everything. He seems to be in the midst of his own messed up scene, so I don’t feel I’d hinder his “personal growth.” And I really need someone who understands what I’m going through near my side today.

Not that I can’t do it on my own. I’ve damn well been doing it so far. But today is a huge test. I need the added encouragement, it seems, and getting that little extra backing from a really hot guy never hurts. I wouldn’t even mind hearing some of his sobriety campaigning right this moment. At least he gets the deal.

“Take any one you want, guy,” I say, smiling.

He settles on the metal riser next to me. I can feel the warmth of his body against my side, my thigh, heating the chill from my skin. It feels good, and I’m tempted to lean into him.

“So you come here to watch?” he asks, like we’re just getting acquainted. Like we haven’t been in rehab together, or swam half naked together, or thought about sexing each other up together.

A nervous half smile pulls at my face. Not nerves from being around him; it’s really the fact that I feel so out of my element. And now, Boone’s presence just confirms that everything has shifted. Some guy from rehab, here at the track, where I race. Where Dar would be partying and cheering me on like a lushy cheerleader while picking up a new boy toy.

Everything feels so far out of trajectory.

Why did I invite him again?

“Yeah, to watch, and other things,” I finally say. His brow furrows. “I’m racing tonight.”

A splash of fear registers on his face. “That’s pretty dangerous. Don’t tell me this is your way of trading one high for another?”

“Har,” I mock laugh. “Believe it or not, I race all the time. Well, I used to before my bike got totaled.” I look past the stands, away from him, to where two motorcycles are gearing up to race down the dragway.

I feel Boone’s hand, his fingers sliding through my hair, as he slips a stray lock behind my ear, turning my attention back to him. “Is that how you ended up at Stoney?” he asks.

Well, he did offer me a partial truth yesterday… “I didn’t wreck it. But I was there, and I did blow the legal limit.” I tilt my head, thinking. “And I had a massive amount of blow in my system.” A twinkle in his hazel irises; his drug of choice, maybe. “Anyway, past is past. I’m out now and have to earn some quick money to buy another bike.”

His lips verge on a smile. “So it was the bike,” he says.

“It was totally the bike, dude.” I nudge his arm. “Did you really think I went with you that day because of your hot ass?”

He chuckles. “A guy can dream.”

His gaze rests on me and I stare back, our sight only on each other, and a stupid flutter wings to life in my stomach. Stupid hormones. I tamp the feeling down and look back to the track.

“So you’re a biker,” he says. “A one-percenter. Living the lifestyle.”

“I see you’ve been doing your research.”

“And then some,” he says. I glimpse a guarded expression crossing his face from my peripheral. “I thought you weren’t in a motorcycle gang.”

“I’m not. Not every biker—especially women bikers—are part of an MC. You can travel the country without an affiliation, ya know.”

He nods slowly. “You really are all about the rush, aren’t you?”

“I can say the same about you.”

His face is so close to mine, I can feel his warm breath feather along my lips. Our stare down is becoming too intense. I lick my lips, watching his eyes follow my tongue’s trail across my mouth.

“Mel!” Jesse calls from the other side of the giant fence, gaining my attention and breaking the moment. I sit back and look for Jesse. He’s down in the pit with Tank, getting ready for his race. “You coming?”

“Go on!” I yell back. “I’ll be there soon.”

Jesse hesitates, his gaze hard on me and Boone, before he turns and heads toward his Forty-Eight. A sinking feeling hits my stomach, and I’m again craving a hit. I push that feeling way down. It’s like chemistry or some shit. Jesse is linked to getting a high. Cause and effect.