JoJo with her arms crossed in front of her chest, but I can see the rage simmering in her eyes.
You’ve got to be kidding me. I was gone for five fucking minutes. Fucker.
Her expressions don’t mince words, and without thinking, I push JoJo away from me, feeling guilty for doing absolutely nothing wrong. Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around the crease of Dakota’s elbow and haul her over next to me, placing my hand possessively at the small of her back.
“JoJo, this is my girl, Dakota. She’s gonna be on the road with me while she’s on summer break.” I don’t miss the dark-haired girl’s reactionary flinch when I say those two words I’ve been half-jokingly, half-seriously throwing around since Dakota got on the bus this morning. My girl.
Of course, we aren’t in a lasting serious relationship, but as long as she’s in my bed, I’m not sharing her with anyone, and I wouldn’t expect her to share either. I asked her to be my guest on this trip, so she’s with me. With me, with me. Until she goes home. Mine.
Fucking caveman sighting.
JoJo recovers quickly, at least having enough wits about her to pretend to be nice in front of me, and lobs a forced smile over at Dakota. “Nice to meet you, Dakota. I look forward to seeing you around,” she shifts her gaze over at me and cocks a flirtatious eyebrow, “for a while.”
Spinning on her heel, she strolls off, purposely swaying her hips back and forth. I snicker at her ridiculous antics, but as soon as I shift my attention down to Dakota, with her furrowed brow and unamused expression, I stop laughing.
“That’s a track rat,” I announce, deciding now is a good time to answer her question from a half-hour ago.
“A track rat you fuck,” she shoots back matter-of-factly.
I don’t bother lying. I like this chick, but I’m not ashamed of who the hell I am. “A track rat I used to fuck,” I confirm, lifting my eyebrows to emphasize the past tense.
“What’s their deal?” Her eyes dart around the immediate area, taking in all the girls dressed in similar, over-the-top slutty clothes, who are here for one purpose and one purpose only—to sleep with a rider. “What’s the appeal? Why do they do it?”
“You’re looking at it, Sunshine,” I joke, holding my arms out to show her all of me, hoping she’ll let the JoJo thing go if I lighten the mood.
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but her mouth tips up in a little smile. “No, seriously. If you wanna give me this crash-course or whatever, let’s start with track rats. What’s their role? I need to know what I’m up against.”
Before answering, I drop my hands to her hips and yank her flush up against me, my body demanding to feel her close. Touching her ignites something inside me that feels a lot like being on a bike. Exhilarating and risky, yet also calming and totally in control.
“Track rats are to motocrossers what groupies are to bands,” I explain as I pepper kisses along her hairline. “When a rider gets off the track, whether he races like Gunner or does freestyle like me, he’s chock full of adrenaline and either wanting to celebrate his victory or forget his losses. Either way, sex is a good way to release all that pent-up energy. Track rats show up to the parks or arenas knowing exactly what they’re gonna get, and to them it’s just like sleeping with a celebrity, some kinda weird claim to fame I guess.”
Relaxing a bit in her stance, she slips her arms around my middle and rests her head against my chest, peering up at me. She appears so at ease talking about this, like the fact I’m talking about finding random chicks to fuck after shows doesn’t bother her in the least. It’s kind of bizarre.
“Do you use the same ones over and over, or new ones all the time? Is there like an emotional relationship at all?”
“I haven’t been with a rat in probably four or five months. I had a bad experience and swore them off, but there was never an emotional
You’ve got to be kidding me. I was gone for five fucking minutes. Fucker.
Her expressions don’t mince words, and without thinking, I push JoJo away from me, feeling guilty for doing absolutely nothing wrong. Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around the crease of Dakota’s elbow and haul her over next to me, placing my hand possessively at the small of her back.
“JoJo, this is my girl, Dakota. She’s gonna be on the road with me while she’s on summer break.” I don’t miss the dark-haired girl’s reactionary flinch when I say those two words I’ve been half-jokingly, half-seriously throwing around since Dakota got on the bus this morning. My girl.
Of course, we aren’t in a lasting serious relationship, but as long as she’s in my bed, I’m not sharing her with anyone, and I wouldn’t expect her to share either. I asked her to be my guest on this trip, so she’s with me. With me, with me. Until she goes home. Mine.
Fucking caveman sighting.
JoJo recovers quickly, at least having enough wits about her to pretend to be nice in front of me, and lobs a forced smile over at Dakota. “Nice to meet you, Dakota. I look forward to seeing you around,” she shifts her gaze over at me and cocks a flirtatious eyebrow, “for a while.”
Spinning on her heel, she strolls off, purposely swaying her hips back and forth. I snicker at her ridiculous antics, but as soon as I shift my attention down to Dakota, with her furrowed brow and unamused expression, I stop laughing.
“That’s a track rat,” I announce, deciding now is a good time to answer her question from a half-hour ago.
“A track rat you fuck,” she shoots back matter-of-factly.
I don’t bother lying. I like this chick, but I’m not ashamed of who the hell I am. “A track rat I used to fuck,” I confirm, lifting my eyebrows to emphasize the past tense.
“What’s their deal?” Her eyes dart around the immediate area, taking in all the girls dressed in similar, over-the-top slutty clothes, who are here for one purpose and one purpose only—to sleep with a rider. “What’s the appeal? Why do they do it?”
“You’re looking at it, Sunshine,” I joke, holding my arms out to show her all of me, hoping she’ll let the JoJo thing go if I lighten the mood.
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but her mouth tips up in a little smile. “No, seriously. If you wanna give me this crash-course or whatever, let’s start with track rats. What’s their role? I need to know what I’m up against.”
Before answering, I drop my hands to her hips and yank her flush up against me, my body demanding to feel her close. Touching her ignites something inside me that feels a lot like being on a bike. Exhilarating and risky, yet also calming and totally in control.
“Track rats are to motocrossers what groupies are to bands,” I explain as I pepper kisses along her hairline. “When a rider gets off the track, whether he races like Gunner or does freestyle like me, he’s chock full of adrenaline and either wanting to celebrate his victory or forget his losses. Either way, sex is a good way to release all that pent-up energy. Track rats show up to the parks or arenas knowing exactly what they’re gonna get, and to them it’s just like sleeping with a celebrity, some kinda weird claim to fame I guess.”
Relaxing a bit in her stance, she slips her arms around my middle and rests her head against my chest, peering up at me. She appears so at ease talking about this, like the fact I’m talking about finding random chicks to fuck after shows doesn’t bother her in the least. It’s kind of bizarre.
“Do you use the same ones over and over, or new ones all the time? Is there like an emotional relationship at all?”
“I haven’t been with a rat in probably four or five months. I had a bad experience and swore them off, but there was never an emotional
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