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My cheeks heatedwatching a group in the infield as they partied near their campsite. They allraised their drinks of choice when they saw who was in the golf cart and yelledsomething along the lines of, “Whew Rowdy Riley!”

We grinned at eachother and rode in companionable silence as we drove around the outside of thepits, through the entry gate and then around the other side of the venue,toward the grandstands.

Jameson turned off theignition, removing the keys and tossed them in one hand. “Come on Joanie—let’sgo to the sock hop.”

I walked a few stepsdown into the grandstands of Bristol Motor Speedway before turning my face upinto the moonlight.

This was no sock hop,but it was better. After a few minutes, I felt him come up behind me, stoppinginches away. I smiled, enjoying the warm summer night against my skin, happy tobe here with him, alone.

His hand brushed alongmy hair as he stepped closer, his body touching mine from head to foot. Isighed, feeling content and leaned back to increase the contact between us.

“You’re so beautiful.”He murmured, his arm finally coming around me. “Your skin glows under the moonlight. It’s breathtaking.”

“It’s the hormones.” Iturned, my eyes remained closed, wrapping my arms around his neck and keepingmy head angled up for his kiss.

His lips felt cool foronce against mine. He pulled me up off my feet holding me to his body. Beingthis close I could feel the erratic beating of his heart, relieved I had thesame effect on him. His head angled so his tongue could enter my mouth, and Ifisted my hands in his hair. He groaned in appreciation, his tongue stroking ina blatant, sexual rhythm, ravenous and restless against mine. Needing air, weeventually pulled away but he continued to press soft, wet kisses to my lips.

Taking a seat in one ofthe stadium seats, he tugged me on to his lap looking over the speedway fromthe view the fans would see tomorrow night.

It had been a whilesince Jameson had seen a track from the view.

As we sat there, theonly sounds were from our steady even breaths and the cicada in the distance.

“I’ve always dreamedabout this.” Jameson whispered into my hair.

“Racing here?”

“No.” he chuckled.

“What then?”

“Notjustracing. I mean yeah, there’s that, but mostly I dreamt of beinghere.”His face brushed against the side of mine softly, his attention remained on thetrack. “Seeing my dreams come true. Having everything I ever wanted. Being herewith you,”

“And you do, have everythingyou ever wanted?”

“Yes.” His voice hadthat familiar smooth velvet tone. He kissed the side of my forehead once. “Withyou, I have it all. I’m gonna make our dreams come true, just don’t give up onme, honey. I know I’m hot headed and I have an anger problem that wouldfrighten most but I love you. I’m gonna take care of you, andourbaby.I’m going to do everything I can to keep you with me forever and Iwillmake you my wife.”

“You act as I don’thave a choice...” I laughed.

I felt him shrug with indifference.“You don’t really.”

I giggled staring backat the track as was Jameson.

“What’s it like beingin the car during a race?” I asked changing subjects.

“Uh, it’s an intensefeeling that’s for sure and different than being in a sprint car race. Withsprint cars, the race format is different and of course you’re in the carlonger with stock cars so there’s that too.”

“Do you get too hot?”

“Ohyeah.You sweat something like five to ten pounds of water in each race.”

“No shit?”

“Yep.It’s hard on yourentire body. My hands cramp from gripping the wheel but you can’t grip it tootight or you won’t feel the changes happening to the track. Sometimes it’s hardjust to hang on in the beginning or re-starts when you know yougottabe on it but you’re shaking from the adrenaline.” Ifelt him sigh as this was what he loved. “Like I said, it’s intense andsomething I’ve never felt, other than behind the wheel.”

“Can you see the crowdwhen you go past the grandstands?”

“Not really. You can oncaution laps but in races, no. It’s just a blur but the fact that they’rethere, cheering you on is enough. People pay to see you race...it’s a hard thing to grasp at times.It’s like being a musician, pouring your heart, your soul, your sweat into asong and then people buy it and actually want to listen to it.” I felt himshift again, adjusting against the seat. “I feel that same way about racing. Iput so much of myself into racing that it’s hard to draw a line between thatanything else. It all blurs together eventually and you find yourself balancingon the edge of whatever line that is. Soon, you don’t know yourself withoutit.”