Racing Heart, page 3
Shaking off my self-conscious moment, I walk back around the bar and put the glasses in the dishwasher.
“So, how often are you in here?”
“Why, are you thinking of coming back in?”
“Why not… unless you can find a reason not to? Maybe I could take you to a race while I’m here.”
“Maybe…” I answer with a smirk. “The thing is, it's not really my cup of tea.”
“We’ll see.”
“I might not see you again after tonight, you might forget all about me and enjoy your holiday instead.”
Lifting the short tumbler to his lips, he necks the dark liquid and places the glass in front of him.
“I doubt that…” and with a sexy wink, he smirks.
Looking at the clock, I notice it’s almost eleven pm and start emptying the trays of the beer waste, so I can start closing the pub. All the time I’m doing this, apart from a quick few glances at the TV, he watches every move I make. The door opening again catches my eager eye, and I catch sight of another hottie walking in.
Well, aren’t I the lucky one tonight?
Walking straight up to the bar, he slaps the man I know as Finlay on the shoulder, making him turn around.
“It’s about fucking time, what are you having?” Finn questions.
“Just a beer, thanks.”
“Ah Jordan, this is my brother Braydon.” Patting him on the back, he leans his arm around his neck. I look between them, from one to another.
“There’s two of you. Oh Jesus, double trouble?”
“No, I’m the good one out of us.” Braydon protests.
Pouring another JD and Coke for Finn, I slide the beer over to his brother. He pays for the drinks, and I ring it into the till then go about cleaning the bar.
Once I’ve collected all the empties from the tables and have stacked them at the end of the bar, I make my way back around.
“So, guys, are you having any more?”
Nope.” Finlay answers, “I have to go. I have an early start tomorrow.”
He knocks back the dark liquid covering the bottom of his glass, as Braydon does the same. Grinning at me, he puts the glass back down, throwing me a wink. They exchange a few words quietly, and Finn leans across the bar.
“I’ll see you soon, Jordan.” He whispers, before taking my hand again and kissing it.
The skin tingles where his lips were less than a second ago, and I watch him walk from the pub. When the doors close behind him, I realise I never even asked him what it was that he did for a living. Oh well, it looks like that man will only be the star of my dreams - I’m sure I’m not going to see him again.
There’s only a couple of regulars in now, so I set about getting ready to close. Looking at my watch, I can see it’s already almost midnight. I wipe down the bar, the empty table and wait for the guys to finish up. Then I can go home and chill.
Chapter Six
Finn
We make our way to the nearest track from the hotel, which, by the way, is like a thirty-minute trip.
“Tell me again why we’ve had to start testing today?” I call out to David, my manager.
I’m fucked. Jetlag is a whiny bitch and really takes some getting used to. I barely slept the night I went to the bar. I thought after those drinks, I’d go to sleep easily, but no such luck. It was almost four am when I dozed off. Then all day yesterday, all I seemed to do was eat and sleep. I just kept being reminded of the bit of stuff that was working in the bar. Her ass was at the forefront of my dirty, fucking mind since I left. I’ll make a point of going back there.
“Because you need to get used to the track and the time difference. Oh, and don't forget the shitty temperature here. Now get some coffee and get your ass on that bike.”
Coffee does sound appealing, as long as it’s decent. At that, Braydon comes from behind me with three to-go cups.
Taking mine from him, I open the spout on the lid and take a sip.
“Ugh, fuck me, what is that?”
“That’ll be good old British coffee, enjoy.” One of the track hands says, laughing, walking past.
“Is there not a Starbucks around here?” I shout to anyone that listens.
“Course there is, but he didn’t ask about that.”
“Dick.” I curse Bray. “Starbucks next time.”
I take another sip of the tar that’s sloshing around inside the cup and force it down. Mainly because I need to stay awake, and I need to get on that bike today, or Dave will have my ass.
“Right, you good?” Dave asks. “Get on the bike and down to the track, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Being the new kid on the block in another country, Dave wants to make sure we have it right. He wants me to be able to master the bends in all kinds of weather. Although we get bad weather every now and again, it’s not like this; even the track looks slippery.
Sitting in the garage, with a cover over her still from transport. I inspect the bike I’ve been sent, the one my sponsors have sent me. The charcoal paintwork with red flames, makes it look mean as fucking hell, and I can’t wait to ride her. Pulling off the tarpaulin, I smooth my hand over the tank, then the leather of the seat. I throw my leg over and sit down, to get used to her. Pulling back the choke and revving up the engine, I hear her purr beneath me, bringing a smile to my face. Giving it a clean-out, I let the throttle go and walk the bike down to the track.
Sitting at the starting line, I keep an eye on Dave with his stopwatch as he counts down with his fingers. When his arm goes above his head, I’m away. I keep to seventy mph for the first lap, but take it up a notch to ninety, as I pass through the starting line. I’m steady-going around those bends, but once I’m on the back straight, I open my baby up and let it rip.
By the time I’m back, I feel exhilarated again. This is what I’m meant to do with my life. I’m meant to be here.
My helmet gets pulled from over my head.
“How did that feel?”
“Fucking amazing.”
Dave slaps me on the shoulder and tells me to get some more practice in. Braydon meets me back in the garages once I’ve done some more laps, then takes the bike from me so he can do some checks.
We travel down to the national circuit on Wednesday, so I can have a couple of days getting used to it. Silverstone is home to the Superbike Championships. Even though we have some amazing circuits back home, this is supposed to be the best.
“Do you think you’re ready for this?”
Turning, I look at my brother…
“I was born ready.”
Chapter Seven
Jordan
“Ah, come on, guys. Do we have to have the sport on? I have enough of this shit from my brothers. I come here to get away from bloody sport.”
“Jordan, it’s the start of the new Superbike season...”
He says that like it’s supposed to mean something.
“And…”
Flinging both my hands out at either side of me, I wait for an explanation, but he just shrugs and turns back to focus on the big screen. With a sigh, I turn away from the direction of the large telly screwed to the wall and make my way to the other end of the bar, where customers are waiting. Why is everyone suddenly so bothered about bikes and the new season. That guy who was in here a few days ago was here to watch that, surely, they have motorbike racing in the US.
One by one, I serve each of them, placing the pint glasses down on the bar and take the waiting cash.
“Oh, Jordan... pint, please.” The same guy shouts down.
“You can wait your turn.”
“Whatever, I need to piss anyway.”
Going back around to the other side of the bar, I pour my regular customer, Damon’s pint of lager as he walks back from the toilets. He takes his place back at the bar, pushing his elbows behind him, resting them on top, and faces the television, waiting for the race to start.
I take the change from the top, ringing it through the till, before turning back and resting my chin on my hand at the side of him.
“What is so interesting about a load of souped-up bikes riding around a track? If you ask me, it’s just dangerous.”
He turns back with a look of disgust on his face.
“Are you fucking kidding? It’s an art keeping those bikes up. They’re worth thousands, and it has the best riders in the world.”
“Well, silly me.”
With a shake of his head, he turns his gaze back to the front.
“I still don’t get what the big thing is…”
“Shh.” Damon waves his hand like a lunatic cutting me off. “This is a new rider, apparently he’s the best, and he’s come into this, hoping to be the winner.”
Sighing, because I really don’t give a flying fuck. I look down the bar to see if there’s anyone to serve. Hoping to get out of the boring conversation, I seem to have been submerged into, when I hear his voice, the voice that has played on my mind all week. The same voice that has been the star of all my dreams. Even though he was a cocky shit.
Maybe it’s not him, maybe all Americans sound the same and wouldn’t he have told me who he was? Most sportsmen do, they use it as celebrity status.
“Finlay Cooper, how does it feel being pegged to be the star of British Superbike, before you’ve even had your first race?” The female reporter shoves the microphone into his face.
“Well, what can I say? I’m delighted to have this chance, and I want to say thanks to the fans for supporting me and having faith in me.”
My wide-eyed and shocked gaze is fixed to the television. It is him. I knew it was when I heard the name. I must say he looks as good on telly, as he did up close. Donned in bike leathers and his messy, short dark hair, with his two-day old stubble - oh my Jesus, I could definitely see me dropping to my knees for that man. I drooled enough when he stood on the opposite side of me, not three feet away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Damon turn his head to the side and smirks as he watches me.
“See something you like, Jord? He’s the new rider I was telling you about. He rode for MotoAmerica, he’s good, and he was taught by the best. He was given the biggest deal in history to come here and ride for British Superbike, so he’s kind of a big deal.”
You don’t say. I feel like saying, but I don’t. I zoned out from what he was actually saying to the reporter, watching his lips move was enough for me. I catch the back of him as he walks away from the reporter and over to his crew, waiting with his bike. It’s red and black, it’s huge, and it’s stunning. That’s about as much as I can tell you about that, but one thing I do know, it’s bloody gorgeous. He throws a leg over the seat as the camera moves from the back of him and around to the front. I’m just enjoying the view as it moves from him completely.
“What the fuck? Why did they move the camera...?” I huff. “He was here… ohmygod.” I can’t stop my mouth from gaping open.
“What, Finlay Cooper was in here drinking? Have you been taking drugs?” Damon bursts out laughing.
“Fuck you. Okay, why would I know who he is then? I don’t even like racing, you fucking moron.”
My hand settles on my cocked hip, tapping my toe on the floor, an obvious example of my frustration with him. Even though he can’t see it - he gets the gist of it, he’s seen this stance before.
“Why would I recognise him then, tell me that…”
“Where’s your witness?” Damon fires back. “You find me someone that can prove your claims, and I’ll believe you.”
“Oh, whatever dickface.” Throwing my hands up in annoyance, I move to the bottom of the bar and serve waiting customers.
Damon and I became friends when I first started working here. He's a little older than me by about three or four years, he’s a solicitor and practices criminal law. He comes in most nights after work, just for a pint to wind down and is in here at weekends. We hit it off straight away. You’d think being a solicitor, he’d have that stuffy feel to him, but he doesn’t. He’s funny, likeable and he’s also married with a little girl. It’s nice to have someone that I can banter with and not have to worry that he wants to jump into my knickers.
The revving of the engines breaks me from my thoughts, and I turn my head to look back up at the television. I couldn’t even tell you which one he is, in the sea of all those bikes at the starting line. Damon must be able to read my face, though, because the next thing I hear is him shouting over the volume of the telly and the customers.
“He’s number thirty, if you’re interested, Jord?”
Flipping him my middle finger, I get back to serving customers. Maybe this is a sport I could suddenly get into, though. I mean, if it means watching sexy bastards like that in tight leathers, then I’m sure I could adjust.
“Wipe your chin love, you’re dribbling…” Damon whispers from the side of me.
“I’m not talking to you.”
He turns to rest his back against the bar and goes back to watching the race again.
I’m trying to keep my eyes off the telly, but every quiet period I get, I’m drawn like a moth to the flame, back to the screen. It’s really busy in here today, and it’s hard to keep up. The chanting and the heckling raise the roof in the pub. From what I can see, Finn is in second place. I know I should be cheering on the British guys, but I’ll admit, I secretly want him to win. I just happen to look up from the bar as the chequered flag goes up.
“Jord, when you're ready, sweetheart.”
God damn it, now I won't know. Sighing, I drag my gaze from the telly and walk back to the other end of the bar. Once I’ve poured all the drinks and looked up, I have a bar full of customers waiting.
About an hour later, most of the customers have left, and it’s just a few of the regulars again.
“Damon, I’m just popping into the back, I won’t be long.”
Taking five minutes for myself, I run to the toilet and relieve my bladder. It seems to have been full for the last two hours, and I enjoy the peace for a bit longer. A knock on the staff door shatters that.
“Jordan, you’ve got customers.”
Fucks sake. Give me bloody strength, no peace for the wicked…
Pushing through the swinging door from the kitchen, there’s a bunch of guys standing by the bar. Damon looks like he’s seen a ghost and the pub is quiet.
“Has someone died?” I break the deathly silence, as the guy standing with his back to me spins around smirking.
My mouth drops open for the second time today.
Chapter Eight
Finn
Racing in another country, on a different track to what you’re used to, is somewhat exhilarating. It causes the blood to pump that little bit quicker and the heart to beat all the more. Both dad and I wanted to do this. He never got here, so the least I can do is race for him.
I ride into the garages and pull to a stop. Braydon helps me with my leathers as I pull off my helmet. I strip down to the waist to just my sports tee, then let the guys take my bike through to my bay.
“There he is…”
I try to ignore the excitement of the reporter when she sees me, but I can’t. Instead, I turn around with a smile for her, as she brings the cameraman closer.
“Finlay, can we get five minutes? I know you want to get showered, but if you can just tell the public how it felt, picking up a second-place today.”
“Well, what can I say? It was amazing. I’m in a new country, new track. I had quite a lot of support out there today, so I just want to say thank you. I’m living my dream but also that of the man who taught me everything I know, hopefully next time I can work towards a first-place win.”
“Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Thank you for your time, and congratulations.”
I give her a nod, and she turned away from me. I go into the garages to Braydon and Dave.
“Good race, son. Keep riding like that, and you’ll be picking up the trophy at the end of the season.”
“Let’s not tempt fate. I need a drink, who’s up for it?”
“I’m in…” Braydon speaks up, followed by some of the crew, so Dave has no choice but to tag along.
I didn’t want to stay here any longer, so we got everything in the van, steadied my bike inside, and got it secure. Before making the trip back to London. It might have only been a second-place today, but to me, that’s better than nothing. I’ve made my mark, and these races can either go one way or another. The others have the advantage on me, they know the track, so I’m more than happy with the outcome.
A couple of hours later, we arrive back at the hotel, and we head off to our separate rooms.
Once I’m showered, and in a pair of jeans and a tee, I splash on some cologne, and I’m ready. Lifting the bottle of bud to my lips, I gulp down some of my beer while I wait for Braydon. I swear he was a woman in another life.
“So, then bitches, where are we going?” One of the crew lads ask.
“There’s a place just down the block; I thought we might go in there first.”
“Let’s do this then.”
We make our way out of the hotel and into the cool British air. For ten pm, there are quite a few people milling around, but then, we are in the heart of the city. The traffic is as busy at night as it is in the daytime. While Braydon and I have been getting used to British time, we’ve had some time to get our bearings, taking walks and finding where the main things are.
“Here we are.” I pull on the door, holding it open for the others to follow me in. My first step in there and the place falls silent, there’s not many in, so it’s eerily quiet. Glancing around, I can’t see the pretty bartender from a few nights ago, and I almost kick myself. She’s the only reason I came here tonight. A guy looks up from his phone at the bar; a frown creases his brow. As the worry-free look he was wearing a second ago, has now turned to one of shock. Obviously, he recognizes me.
