“Relax, Holley.” Jake chuckles huskily into my ear, and a shiver runs down my spine. “I’m going to take care of you, I promise. Nice and easy all the way there.”
Slowly, he starts to roll forward, and the panic of what’s to come makes me cover my eyes. His body shakes behind me again, but he reaches forward with a hand to move mine.
Frankly, that’s enough incentive to get my shit together because I really think this is the kind of thing where it’d be optimal if he had the use of both hands.
Apparently confident that I’ve come back from the land of breakdowns, I feel him shift behind me—while we’re still rolling—and climb into a standing position on whatever he referred to as pegs.
With nothing to hold on to, I find purchase on his upper arms and hope that doesn’t affect his ability to steer. And it must not because as we approach a crowd of people that makes me crow like a bird in fear, he weaves our way through like it’s no problem at all.
“Wow,” I say when he revs the throttle just enough to beat a group of pedestrians to the path to the stands. Eyes are on me—on us—as we approach the wooden bleachers and slow to a stop. Jake jumps off with ease, somehow both holding the bike standing and offering me a hand of assistance as I climb off. I try not to blush as the group—largely made up of men and boys—stares at me, but I don’t think I’m entirely successful.
With a swing of a leg, I plant my sandaled feet on solid ground and resist the urge to drop to my knees and kiss it. If I’m honest, resisting isn’t even that hard. It was far more enjoyable riding on that thing than I imagined.
I turn to Jake, who’s working on climbing back astride the bike, and swiftly grab the firm muscle of his upper arm. He looks to my grip there first, grins, and then looks me in the eyes with his own.
Framed out by the hole in his green and black helmet, they look almost teal.
“What?” he whispers, thankfully sensitive to the fact that I’m not really looking for an audience with this discussion.
“Why…uh…” I pause, glancing behind me and back again before moving even closer to Jake’s face and lowering my voice more. “Why is it all men?”
He laughs, glancing at the bleachers behind me quickly before answering. “First of all, it’s not. There are a few women peppered in there. But it probably seems like it is because these are the crew bleachers, and as unfortunate as it is, there are more males in motocross than females by a long shot.”
“Am I…your crew?”
I can’t see his smile, but his eyes sure look like that’s what’s going on. “You’ve been…mediocre moral support. But yes, sure. You’re my crew. Now, can you sit down so I can go out there and get some laps in?”
Realizing for the first time that my questions have greatly delayed his entrance onto the track, I acquiesce immediately.
“Oh yeah. Sure.”
He shakes his head but greatly surprises me by reaching out and tucking some hair behind my ear. It feels remarkably intimate and innocent at the same time. My body doesn’t know what to make of it. “Don’t ever change, Holley.”
It’s such a kind thing to say, I’m almost too stunned to respond. Somehow, though, I manage to find the only words appropriate—the truth. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to, Jake.”
He nods, climbs astride the bike, revs the engine, and takes off down the hill onto the track so fast a whole trail of dirt kicks up behind him.
It’s terrifying but, at the same time, makes it obvious that he was practically crawling on the ride over to the stands with me aboard.
I do my best to climb into the stands without taking my eyes off Jake, and as a result, I settle for the first wooden spot my ass comes in contact with.
I’m riveted as he rips down the first straight piece of the track right at a massive hill and sends himself flying into the air like Evel fucking Knievel. No hesitation, no warm-up, just bam!—right into the air. I shriek a little, drawing some eyes around me, but no one else even looks fazed.
How in the world does everyone else think this is normal? He’s, like, higher than a two-story building in the