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535 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 5, 2012










Shey StahlThe USAC Midget series opened in March of ‘95 in Chico, California. Racing was in full swing come April while I ran two USAC races a month and the weekly midget and sprint races at Elma. I had to be sixteen to compete in the USAC Silver Crown and sprint divisions so this left me racing only at Elma in a winged 360-sprint car.
It wasn’t hard to make the change between midgets and sprints but there were differences to get used to. The biggest differences were the wings. I preferred running non-winged cars but I raced anything I could and that left me in a 360-Sprint my dad had built over the winter.
I wasn’t sure what that chick wanted when she asked me if I was his girlfriend, but these last few days I was constantly being asked if I was his girlfriend by the other driver’s girlfriends and wives. I gave them all the same answer, “Just friends” when I wanted to say “Touch him and die.” The whole pass thing was enough but really, did everyone have to constantly ask and then stare at the paper pass around my neck? Talk about a bunch of superficial bitches.
I watched him sleep for an hour. He was on his stomach clad in a pair of black boxer briefs, his arms curled under a pillow. Every muscle in his body was sculpted to perfection and I wanted to run my tongue over every inch of the exposed skin, tasting him. I wanted to rape the poor boy for Christ sake.
I hated to admit it but I was at a stage in my life where I had a sex drive. I was eighteen, with wants, desires, and downright needs. That need was being intensified by my best friend, who I couldn’t have. All this resulted in me taking this trophy girl to the men’s bathroom when Sway disappeared with Emma. Still not knowing her name, I never even asked if she wanted it. I assumed that’s what she wanted. It was what they all wanted. So there we were in the bathroom, locked in a stall. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her kisses just as frantic as mine. The problem was that I felt nothing. When I kissed Sway, I felt everything. Each kiss I felt with a burning desire for more. This wasn’t like that, but it was providing a distraction. I hesitated not knowing if this trophy girl wanted this or not but I figured when I unzipped my racing suit down to my waist and pushed her panties aside, that she would have stopped me if it wasn’t what she wanted. She never did stop me, and, Jesus Christ, she was loud.
I knew I would eventually turn back to Chelsea, as I always did but I also knew in that moment that if she so much as mentioned Sway’s name again, I would have thrown the wrench bar at her. I only wanted to race but because I was seventeen and my hormones seemed to rule over my actions I found myself wrapped up in the middle of this bullshit.
I made Emma stay in the car while I picked her up. I was in a hurry and had no intention of dealing with airport parking garages. Also, if you hadn’t picked this up by now, I didn’t like Emma for obvious reasons and had no desire to stroll around an airport with her. I’d buy her lunch but strolling the airport, nope, not a chance.
I knew what he meant by that and that was his way of telling me to be safe. In all the years I’d known him, he’d never said anything nice to me. I wasn’t sure how to react.
Much like Uncle Randy, Grandpa is only remotely approachable when he’s drinking, otherwise he’s a cold-hearted prick but he was also my grandpa and, like any other Riley, hotheaded.
I nearly lost all control when my mom came for a visit. She spent most of the time in tears and crying about her baby boy leaving home and some shit about a nest and birds and I frankly stopped listening at one point until she started to make sense.
I don’t know why I felt I needed to drink, I just did. My dad noticed around my fifth beer while I glared in Cooper’s direction as he danced with Sway.
I had the rest of the evening free and did what I always did to get my mind sedated … I drank. Three hours later, I was sitting at the bar in my parent’s kitchen drowning my sorrows in a country song. I felt like a country song and then started to wonder who would sing it. Staring through a whiskey glass, I saw the reflection of my brother walking back toward his room carrying Alley in his arms. I didn’t even bother to look up, just grabbed a bottle off the table and popped a couple of pills. Squinting at the bottle I attempted to read the label. It was probably wise to know what the fuck I took with whiskey. Vicodin. Nice. I need pain relief and lots of it.
Tommy had this curly orange hair that looked like Carrot Top or something you’d see on a clown. I usually steered clear of orange heads because the orange hair just didn’t seem right to me and usually meant the individual was off their rocker in some way but Tommy was cool.
I didn’t think of the consequences, which was usual for me and Sway, she did everything on a whim and looked at the consequences later. Tommy, well in his defense, he had orange hair, we shouldn’t expect much decision making from him, in general.
I couldn’t understand the purpose of a damn graduation ceremony. It seemed like a silly waste of time to me. On top of that, I had to deal with Jameson’s crush brigade.
I wasn’t known for being nice on the track, I knew that, as did the handful of other drivers I’d raced with all these years. I was ornery, surly and would call anyone out on their bullshit passes or unjustified hits. I also wasn’t afraid to back it up, if needed. So far this year, I had brawled with track owners and officials over rules, shoved photographers, and sparred with a few hometown favorites. I had a temper. What can I say?