Rebel Rider, page 21
“Jackson,” I say gruffly, nodding tersely.
“Ah, well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in, boys!” Jackson roars, and they all laugh raucously at my expense.
I walk to the bar and nod at the bartender.
“Whiskey. A double, actually. Neat.”
He nods back, turning to grab my drink as I breath deep to try and calm my nerves.
“Hey, barkeep! I’ll get that. Our friend here is a little broke, it seems. Ain’t that right, Aiden?”
I grit my teeth, suppressing the urge to turn and launch myself at Jackson.
“Turns out he was only good at one thing. Racing. And not even that good. I’m beating all of your race records now, Aiden. Haven’t you heard?”
His voice is whiny and nasally, entitled and prideful. It makes me sick. I nod at the bartender and pick up the whiskey he’s poured out for me, taking a large gulp before turning to face my adversary.
“I don’t follow the races, Jackson. But you’re right. Things haven’t been going so great since... well, you know,” I say, trying to put on an air of defeat.
Jackson snorts derisively.
“Since you attacked me, and got yourself kicked off the circuit? Yeah, I know,” he sneers.
I take another gulp of whiskey, trying to wash down the bile I feel rising at the thought of what I need to say next.
Stay calm. One conversation with this weasel, and that’s it. You won’t ever have to see him again.
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I overreacted,” I say sincerely, despite how much it hurts to say. “I probably cut the corner a little tight too. Could have been bad. For both of us.”
Jackson is studying my features, a disgusting grin on his thin, boyish face. Then he shrugs, draining his glass and gesturing rudely at the bartender.
“Well, at least you’re man enough to admit you’re wrong,” he says, as if he’s won some sort of major, life altering victory. “See, I told you boys. The best man won.”
He picks up his drink and him and his group of cronies clink their glasses together. He turns back to face me, studying me as if he’d forgotten I was there.
“I’m a little busy, Aiden. Go be a good boy and wait for me in a booth. Get yourself a couple drinks on my tab, while you wait,” he says, waving me away before continuing with his story.
Asshole. And making out like you’re being generous, buying me drinks. I bet all of this is going on daddy’s credit card, just like it always does.
I make my way to an empty booth, in the quietest area of the bar I can find. I try to forget where I am, and who I’m going to be having a one-on-one conversation with, when he decides to grace me with his presence, that is.
I take out my cell phone, and look down to see a few messages from Hailey, who’s back in Bernwood.
Go get him, tiger. Let’s take him down. I’m rooting for you! xoxo
Another message pops up from Matt.
Hearing U fine on mic. Guessing the whiny one that sounds like a bitch is Jackson? Keep him talking like that. We’ll get every word he says.
I chuckle, taking a sip of my drink.
“Yep, that’s him,” I mutter into my jacket.
My phone dings with another text, from Hailey again.
Hey, PS. Dad has his phone up to the radio, and I’m listening in too. OMG, Jackson is SUCH a fucking asshole!! How are you not punching him right now? Stay strong, babe. I’ll make you feel better when this is all over ; )
“That a promise?” I murmur into the hidden mic, before suddenly remembering its Hailey’s dad who’s listening too.
Is what a promise?
I snort a grin, shaking my head. “Just talking to myself, Matt.”
I smile, distracted by thoughts of Hailey. It feels better, knowing she’s listening in too. As soon as this is over, we’re going to celebrate.
I settle back into the plush, slightly worn leather of the booth and go over what I’ve planned, and how I’m gonna get Jackson to talk.
* * *
Jackson keeps me waiting for almost an hour before he bothers to come over to my booth. I’ve made a show of going to and from the bar to get a few drinks, but I’m drinking slowly. I want to be sober, calm and level headed.
I glance in his direction. Jackson rises to his feet, a little wobbly, and mutters something to his cronies. They laugh in return, and all but one of them rises to leave, making their slightly drunken way out of the bar.
Jackson walks over to me, and I can tell he’s already drunk. He rests his hand on the surface of the booth’s table to steady himself as he sits down heavily, exhaling loudly as he hits the leather seat.
He stinks of alcohol, and I wonder how much he’s had. I manage a wan smile, and raise my glass, before draining the last of the contents, which is mainly water now from dissolved ice.
I gesture at Jackson with my empty glass and raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah, why not. A couple more will help me sleep better tonight, wake up nice and fresh for the race tomorrow.”
He’s racing tomorrow? Illegal modifications, and still over the limit for time trials in the morning? What an idiot.
I feign concern, studying him. The fact is, I want him as drunk as possible. But I don’t want him to know that.
“You sure, Jackson?” I ask. He frowns at me.
“Which one of us is still the NMC racer? Yeah. Go get me a whiskey. Large. No ice.”
His eyes are glazed, but he’s not quite slurring his words yet. A few more drinks, and he’ll be singing like a bird.
After a moment I return with our drinks and settle back down into the booth.
Jackson raises his drink, and I clink my glass against his, taking a small mouthful as I watch him gulp down a third of his drink, gasping loud.
“Now that’s the stuff. Hey listen, Aiden. No hard feelings, all right? What happened earlier…” he pauses for a moment, a brief flash of guilt passing across his features. “You pissed me off, man. But I figure we’re even now, you and me. Right?”
I shrug, as if it's no big deal.
“All in the past, as far as I’m concerned,” I somehow manage to say. “Like you said. Only one racer at this table. And it sure as shit ain’t me.”
My words flatter him, and he smiles smugly, reveling in the ass kissing for a moment. This is too easy.
“So, you opened a bike shop? Not surprised it didn’t work out. A disgraced racer, going into the business he was shamed in as a biker. But hey, shit happens, right?”
He pauses to take another gulp of whiskey, and I quietly agree with him, acting sheepish.
“If you really want to work for me, Aiden, I can get you a job. Sure, the money won’t be great, and you’ll be working for me. But it's better than nothing, ain’t it? I don’t go easy on my guys, and you’ll be no exception.”
“I’m handy with tools,” I say quickly, acting desperate. “I think I’d be a good addition to your mechanics, Jackson…”
He cuts me off, pointing at me with a finger. His eyes take a second to focus as he looks up at my face.
“That’s what I’m thinkin’. But you'd be bottom of the pile. You’d have to prove yourself to me, and the other guys. You think you can handle that, ex-superstar?”
Malice returns to his voice, and he chuckles to himself.
“Sure. I think I can handle it. You’ll see, Jackson. You won’t regret it.”
I grimace as he takes his eyes off of me to take another drink, almost draining his glass.
One more, and I make my move. I’ve got you right where I want you, asshole.
Jackson gestures drunkenly in a sweeping motion with his right hand.
“I’ll speak to my dad and I’ll give you call after I’ve won the race tomorrow. Get you in for an interview. Shouldn’t be more than a week or two. You’re on your own until then.”
There’s a moment of silence between us, and another look of regret passes over Jackson’s boyish features. He rubs at his eyes and drains the last of his drink. I follow suit, only having ordered a single measure.
“One more for the road?” I ask, grinning at him.
“Yeah su-sure. One more. For old times, yeah?” He’s clearly drunk now, stammering.
I rise to my feet and get another round of drinks. Adrenaline is coursing through me. Now is the time to twist the knife.
I walk slowly back to the booth, and set the drinks down, before settling into my seat.
Jackson has a faraway expression on his face as he stares out of the frosted glass window into the gloomy, drizzly evening.
“I just wanted to be the best, you know? I mean, you of all people should... should understand that. Right?”
I nod, taking a small, slow sip of whiskey, hoping he’ll carry on talking.
“It was nothing personal. You just... got in my way, Aiden. You had it coming. No matter what I did. Trained. Modifications. You just beat me. Every time. And I hate losing.”
He pauses to take a large gulp of whiskey. I’m stunned by what I’m hearing. He’s practically giving me his admission without any pressing.
I guess he does have feelings. The guilt is eating him up inside.
“But now…” he continues, perking up a little. “I’m beating your records. The crowd loves me. All thanks to a few…” he glances about, and leans towards me, talking behind his hand. “Special additions to my bike! I can’t lose, Aiden!”
I chuckle along with him, grinning wide, I can taste victory.
“Yeah. I got to say, Jackson. I did hear about your special modifications. It was getting pretty fucking hard to beat you,” I pause to take a sip of whiskey, not wanting to appear overzealous.
“Since I’ve stopped racing, I’ve had a few ideas. My work in the bike shop has given me time to look into... extra modifications. I bet I can help you shave at least a second off most of the courses,” I add nonchalantly.
Jackson straightens at my words, sitting up in his chair. He leans forward onto his elbows, his whiskey sour breath washing over me.
“Yeah? I could use some extra help. Most of the guys... well, they don’t want to... ah, you know…” He winks at me.
“Cheat?” I add, shrugging.
He taps his nose, and nods.
“Yeah. Well, that’s what some people call it. But I call it having an edge. So, what you got in mind?”
I shrug again.
“Well, if I tell you that now, what’s to say you won’t give me the job?” I say.
His eyes burn with a mischievous glow as he studies me, trying to decide if I’m bullshitting him.
“Tell you what,” I add calmly. “You tell me what you’re running with now, and I’ll give you a couple of ideas. On the house. But there’s plenty more, if you take me on. Plenty more. I know bikes, Jackson.”
His eyes widen, and he seems to sober up for a moment.
“Why... I... we shouldn’t be talking about this. What’s to stop you from blabbing?” he says, anger in his voice.
I remain calm and stick to the plan. I gesture with a hand, indicating our surroundings.
“Jackson. It’s me and you. And I’m a nobody now, remember? No one else is listening, or even within earshot. Look around. This place is near closing.”
He looks around, over each shoulder, half standing to peer about. I know there’s no one within ten feet of us, and his expression softens.
“Anyway, if you want me working for you. Getting you those precious seconds, you gotta let me in. I can help you, Jackson. You said, what, one week or two weeks until I can start? Think of all the research and tests I can do in that time. I mean it’s not like I’ve got any business to do, what with my shop failing.”
I calmly take another small sip of whiskey, stilling the tremble I can feel in my hand.
He glances about one more time, then leans forward, speaking in a low, conspiratorial tone, boasting about his illegal bike modifications, directly into my microphone.
And he tells me everything.
23
Hailey
I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne and laugh as the bubbles fizz over the top and start dripping onto the ground.
“Hey!” Aiden yells, laughing. “Don’t waste it!”
He rushes over to me and tries to put his mouth to the top of the bottle.
“Gross!” I laugh. “Damn, are you thirsty or something?”
He winks at me.
“Thirsty for you, baby.”
I groan. “Wow, what a line. Does that work on all the ladies?”
“Nah,” he grins. “Just the easy ones.”
I hit him on the arm, then pour two glasses of the champagne, handing him one.
“There,” I say, “much more civiliz…”
My voice trails off as I watch Aiden guzzle the entire thing in one mouthful, then hold out his glass for more.
I just stare at him.
“What?” he says, the picture of innocence. “If you’re gonna pour me these baby size glasses, don’t be surprised if it’s gone in a mouthful. I’m a big man, I need a big glass.”
I just shake my head and pour him another.
“Now, before you drink it,” I tell him, “I’d like to propose a toast.”
He holds his glass up to mine.
“To us,” I say. “And to this place. Together, nothing’s gonna stop us.”
“To us,” he replies, eyes fixed on mine. “But mostly, to you, Hailey. Without you, this place would probably be in the hands of those fuckin’ bikers right now.”
“Now it’s my turn,” he continues. “I’d like to propose a toast to Jackson Kline. I hope he finds happiness in whatever new career he decides to pursue.”
He laughs, and I giggle right along with him.
The news just hit all the websites. Aiden’s plan worked, and Jackson admitted everything to him. How they’d been using illegal aftermarket parts, and non-regulatory fuel. Once the evidence was submitted to the tour authorities, they hadn’t had a choice.
Jackson’s been banned, for life. The fall from grace is really something quite spectacular. One minute he’s the golden boy of the sport, winning race after race, and now he’s just a washed-up cheat, and everybody knows it.
Whether or not that means Aiden can get back on the tour remains to be seen, but it’s at least a step in the right direction. The tour doesn’t have a big marketable star anymore, and that isn’t going to sit well with them. The year is just about wrapped up, so there’s plenty of time for them to decide that they want him back. It’s just a matter of waiting for the call—and Aiden seems pretty confident that it’ll come.
What that means for us? Well, we still haven’t talked about it. I don’t want to right now. Everything has been going so well for us. The shop is going strong, and Aiden’s managed to find two new mechanics in addition to Carter and Hudson.
Aiden and I, we’re a real team. We work so well together, and beyond that, we’re so good together. Plus, the sex is great. Well, more than great. The sex is fucking fantastic. It’s like our bodies were made for one another—like there’s a connection where we know exactly what drives the other one wild.
But we still haven’t really talked about what comes next. We’ve tip-toed around it, but I still don’t know what happens next. He’s completely focused on getting back on the tour, and even though he’s told me that he’ll make me a full partner in the shop, it’ll still mean losing him if he does go back to the tour. And I don’t know what that means for us long-term.
And of course, me being me, my mind goes to the worst possible scenario—the ones where even though we’ve said I love you, that all of this has just been a little fun for him. I start to go down the rabbit hole of wondering if I’ve just been something to take his mind off his problems, and that maybe he’s happy to go back to the women on tour and forget all about me. I mean, if history has shown anything, it’s that Aiden’s never been the kind of guy to want to be tied down.
But when I tell myself that, and then see the way we look at each other, or talk to each other, or hold each other, or the way we fuck each other, I know it can’t be true. There’s something between us, something real.
He’s sipping his champagne more slowly now, watching me watching him.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks me. “You look too serious. We’re supposed to be celebrating!”
“Nothing,” I say breezily, brushing it off. “Wanna dance?”
His eyebrows shoot up in something resembling fear.
“I’ve never been much of a dancer…”
I advance upon him, hips swaying.
“Everyone’s a dancer, once they let go of their inhibitions,” I say. “C’mon, bigshot, you tryin’ to tell me that you’re too shy to shake those hips? Let’s start with something simple.”
He drains the rest of his glass and places it on the counter beside him, and I follow suit.
I advance on Aiden, and his eyes are on my hips as my body presses against his. I take his hands and place them on my hips, and I wrap my arms up and around his broad shoulders.
I start to sway from side to side in a slow dance, and Aiden’s hips sway in time with mine. His hands lower to grab my butt, and I raise my eyebrows at him.
He’s staring at me with some kind of unreadable emotion, his eyes wide, a serious expression on his face. I wonder for a moment if he’s thinking the same thing I was earlier, about us staying together, no matter what happens.
I feel myself blush a little, from his attention, and from the strong champagne that’s gone to my head, aided by the bubbles and strength of the expensive stuff Aiden bought.
We simply stand there for a moment, swaying almost in time to the completely unfitting, tinny music that’s playing from the small radio on the counter.
I burst out laughing at us, slow dancing to some rock music, in the front of a bike shop.
“What’s wrong?” Aiden asks, a curious grin on his handsome features. “My dancing ain’t that bad, is it? And just when I thought I was getting the hang of it…”
I shake my head.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just... I’m happy. For you, for us. And I... well, I’m glad we met again,” I say lamely, not wanting to say the words that are truly on my mind.
