Page 3

Chapter 3

Party Life

ZARA

T he promoter’s party is at the best hotel in Bridgeport, on a huge deck on the beach.

Tiki torches decorate the venue and give the party a relaxed vibe.

I’m glad I let Heather convince me to borrow her pleated black miniskirt and a silk blouse that puts my cleavage on full display, without being vulgar.

My hair is curled into loose waves and the makeup Atlas’s girlfriend applied makes the green of my eyes pop dramatically.

“Let’s go get a drink while the guys rub elbows with all the rich sponsors.” Heather says, linking our arms.

“I thought Atlas and Ares already had a contract for the MotoGP? Why do they need to talk to sponsors?”

Heather lowers her voice. “The money they get from the team is ok. But individual sponsorships are where the real money really is. The team that hired Atlas and Ares isn’t the main team owned directly by the manufacturer. It’s a satellite team. The manufacturer or constructor supplies the bikes, but this is a relatively new team. This is why they gave two emerging racers a chance. So the pay isn’t like your dad would get.”

That makes sense. The few times my mom felt like talking about her relationship with Dad, she told me that when they met, there wasn’t a ton of money. Dad had just been signed by his first pro team and had to make a name for himself before the money started flowing in.

She was much happier back then, before Dad got that constant spotlight on him and a gaggle of groupies vying for his attention.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.

“I would love a spicy margarita. What about you, Zara?” Heather says, flashing a smile to the bartender.

“Hmm, I hadn’t thought about it. Maybe a mojito. I’ve always wanted to try one.”

The bartender smiles. “That’s an excellent choice. Would you like a traditional mojito or our signature basil moonshine recipe?”

I open my mouth to answer—basil is one of my favorite herbs—but a deep voice cuts in.

“She will have a virgin mojito and Heather will have a virgin margarita.” Ares steps between us, resting his muscular, corded forearms on the bar. “These two are underage.” He offers to the bartender.

“So are you,” Heather glares.

Ares’s lips quirk up in just the hint of a smile, his gray eyes glittering like stars under the light of the tiki torches. “I know. This is why I’m getting a Coke.”

“Party pooper,” Heather sticks her tongue out at her boyfriend’s twin. “Atlas is way more fun than you.”

Ares laughs at his friend’s childish behavior. “Sure. I never claimed I’m the fun twin. But Atlas and I have a race to win tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll be grateful that I’m keeping an eye on you. The last thing he needs is spending the night babysitting your drunk ass.”

She rolls her eyes. “God, I’m so glad I went out with Atlas and not you. If I think that I thought you were cute… I dodged a bullet there.”

This time Ares’s laugh is louder, his head thrown back as he chuckles. “Of course you thought I was cute. Atlas and I look the same.”

“Here you are, ladies,” the bartender puts two glasses in front of us and then busies himself pouring a soda for Ares.

“So sad,” Heather sighs, taking a pull from the thin, small straw in her glass. “This whole drink is a missed opportunity.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Chance’s voice comes from behind us. “This is just the official party. The real party is further down on the beach. There, no one will even think about carding us.”

Heather beams at the news. “Awesome. Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go where the real fun is.”

Lev takes her glass from her, stealing a sip of her mocktail. “In a second. We’re waiting for your boyfriend. He got into a debate about electric bikes with the rep from a famous helmet manufacturer.” He points out to a cluster of high tables where Atlas is talking to a girl, his hands moving animatedly as he explains his point.

“Who the fuck is that?” Heather hisses, her eyes narrowed into furious slits.

Chance and Ares shake their heads, laughing at their friend’s antics. “Cool your jets, Heath,” Ares reassures her. “That’s the exec manager of one of the biggest helmet companies in the country. They have a line dedicated specifically to racing and each year, they have a few special edition helmets that bear the name of a racer. If Atlas got their interest, it would be huge for us.”

That doesn’t seem to appease Heather, who keeps staring daggers in the direction of her boyfriend and the young exec who are talking and laughing like old friends.

“Come on, Heath,” Ares’s hands land on her shoulders. “You know, my brother only has eyes for you. Let’s go get our party on. He’s going to catch up with us in a few.”

Spotting the location of the unofficial party couldn’t be easier. Bonfires warm the chilly night air, and rock music comes from a boombox. Some people are dancing, while others are just laughing and talking by the fire. Everyone has drinks in hand and the vibe is cool and relaxed at the same time.

“Come on,” Heather grabs my hand, pulling me to a spot by the biggest bonfire. “Dance with me, Zara.”

Her energy is contagious and before I know it, I’m shaking my booty and drinking something fruity and very alcoholic from one of the solo cups Levin and Chance offer us.

If Mom could see me right now, she’d blow a gasket. Guilt surges all the way up my throat, but I swallow it down.

I hate lying to her, but she leaves me with no choice. If it was up to her, the only places I would be allowed to go would be school and possibly church. She keeps promising me that she isn’t trying to spoil my fun, that she’s just looking out for me. Something about keeping me from making the same mistakes she made when she was my age.

I think everyone should be allowed to learn from experience. Mom regrets her entire relationship with Dad, to the point that she moved us to the other side of the country. She’s determined to give me the stability my father’s lifestyle could never offer me, or so she says. The truth is that she’s sad. When she was with Dad, she was a totally different person; vibrant, fun, alive. It feels like when their relationship ended, a part of her died.

There’s no doubt in my heart that she’s trying to do what she thinks is best for me. I know that with every fiber of my being. Clipping my wings isn’t the way to keep me safe from heartbreak, though. Of course, I don’t want to get hurt like she did, but what’s the alternative? The dull, joyless look in her eyes is scarier than any heartbreak. Scarier than a crash at high speed on a wet track.

I want to live life to the fullest. I want to experience all the highs and lows, the thrill of the unknown. If that comes with some pain, I’m ready to accept it. You have to bleed before you heal. Pain isn’t as scary as being numb.

So I ignore the guilt at the thought that I lied to her and dance my ass off to the music.

Shell Cove is more of a family oriented beach destination. Bridgeport is a party town, and I soak up every ounce of its wild energy.

The beach is wide and flat, the tide is low enough that the water is very far away on the dark horizon.

The party has been set up at the far end, away from all the bars and hotels that dot the boardwalk.

An actual bridge looms over us a few hundred yards away from the bonfires. It looks old, built in stone, with arches that interrupt the thick pillars at regular intervals.

I wonder if the water used to run under those arches, or if it still does when the tide is high enough.

“Zara,” a familiar voice pulls me out of my reveries and I find myself staring into Cal’s dark eyes. “I was hoping I would see you here.”

I stop dancing, crossing my arms over my chest to put as much distance between us as I possibly can. “What do you want, Cal?” I scowl.

“I want to talk to you. You came here with me, you’re my girl. You don’t get to leave me high and dry.”

His tone rubs me the wrong way. “You should have thought about it before you started acting like a psychotic jerk,” I bite out. “I thought you cared about me.” I hate the way my voice breaks at the end.

“Of course I fucking care about you!” he yells, in part to be heard over the music, in part because he’s clearly upset and possibly a little drunk. “Why else would I be so patient with you, huh? I’d have dumped any other girl who didn’t put out after a week. If you think you can break up with me after I’ve been waiting for you to be ready to go all the way for three months?—”

I laugh, but there’s no mirth in it. It’s such a bitter, sad sound that it feels almost foreign. If I didn’t know it just came from me, I wouldn’t recognize my own voice. “So that’s the reason why we can’t break up? Because you’ve been waiting? I’m sorry, Cal, but that’s exactly why I wasn’t ready. There was this constant pressure, it’s like the only reason you wanted to be around me was to have sex.”

He grabs the ends of his shaggy dark hair with both hands, as frustrated as I am. “You’re my fucking girlfriend!” he snaps. “Of course I wanted to fuck you. Why else are people together?”

We’re on completely different wavelengths. I’m glad I realized that before I made a huge mistake. “Because they love each other?” It comes out like a question, but I’m sure about my feelings.

I don’t necessarily need to be head over heels with someone to want to sleep with them, but I want to feel like I could really fall for them. I want to be able to trust them with my heart.

“Come the fuck on, Zara,” Cal scoffs. “How am I supposed to fall for someone I haven’t even fucked? It’s like buying a bike you haven’t even been on.”

I don’t let his mocking tone get to me. I’m not going to let him pressure me into something I don’t want to do. “You’re entitled to your own feelings, Cal. Maybe we want different things.”

He laughs. “If all you want is to make out and hold hands, maybe you should date someone in high school. If you want to play with the grown ups, you need to act like one.”

Cal grabs my forearm, but I shove him off. “Fine. Glad we had this talk,” it’s my turn to mock him. “Word of advice for the future, Cal. Whether you date someone in high school, or someone older, no means no. I feel so stupid, when I think I was gonna sleep with you tonight. Thank you for acting like an asshole before I made that mistake.”

He lunges forward. This time, he grabs both my arms, pulling me to his chest. “You talk a big game, Zara. I don’t believe you. If you really were gonna sleep with me, prove it.”

Before I can say anything, two tall figures flank me. “Get your hands off of her, you fucking piece of shit. Or I’ll finish teaching you the lesson you clearly didn’t learn at the racetrack.”

Chance and Lev are by my side, but it’s Ares who just issued the threat.

“Thank you, Ares,” my hand comes up to his shoulder blade. Heat radiates from his wide, muscular back. “I’ve got this.” I say, feeling safer than earlier at the racetrack.

Cal wouldn’t really try anything in the middle of a crowded party.

“Are you sure?” he turns to look at me, his gray eyes blazing silver with the glare of the bonfire.

“Yeah,” I sigh, turning back to look at my ex-boyfriend. “Maybe you’re right, Cal. I’m just a stupid little girl. So stupid that I thought I was falling for you. Here’s your proof.”

I turn around and lift Heather’s blouse, showing my lower back to the guy I’ve been dating for the last three months.

The winged heart with the name “CAL” etched in the middle still hurts, as the tattoo hasn’t healed completely.

My ex’s eyes bore into me, but I can’t tell what kind of emotion is flashing in the depths of his dark gaze. “You got my name tramp stamped on you?”

I flinch at his choice of words. I thought this was a romantic gesture, but hearing Cal call it a “tramp stamp” makes me feel so stupid. I had to use my fake ID to get the tattoo. Mom would kill me if she knew, and right now, I can’t even blame her. I marked my body forever with the name of a loser who tried to force himself on me and hit me when I said no.

Maybe she’s right about being strict with me. Maybe I’m as easily influenced as she says if I got a tattoo to impress someone who doesn’t deserve me. “I did that when I thought you cared about me, Cal.” I taste bitterness on my tongue. “I guess the joke’s on me. We’re over. Don’t ever talk to me again.”

The corner of Cal’s lips lifts in a lopsided, arrogant smirk. “Nah. I don’t think we’re over. That tattoo says you’re mine and I know you’re going to stop pouting about our little fight, sooner or later. When you do, we can pick up right where we left off.”

CHANCE

I’m dying to wipe that arrogant smirk off Cal Fox’s face. And I know I’m not the only one. The tension in Ares’s shoulders is a telltale sign that he’s about to try to finish the job he started earlier at the racetrack.

My hand lands on his shoulder to hold him back.

Lev nods at me, ready to keep my brother from committing murder if my warning isn’t enough to calm him down.

Zara, however, is quick to react. We might have just met, but it’s clear that she isn’t the type to let anyone push her around.

“No, I won’t stop pouting, Cal. This isn’t just a little fight. We were over the second you decided to ignore my ‘no’ and to put your hands on me. You’re a loser.”

The motherfucker takes one step forward. Ares, Lev and I tense up, ready to kick his ass if he even tries to lay one finger on Zara.

“Aww,” he chides. “How cute. You guys must think that playing saviors is going to get you in her pants? I’d call off the gang-bang you’ve been planning, if I were you. Zara will tease you to within an inch of your life, but she doesn’t give it up once she has you ready and raring to go. That’s why I was trying to teach her a lesson before you douche bags got involved. Begging for someone’s sloppy seconds makes you the losers.”

That’s it.

We look at each other, and it’s clear that we should have broken all his teeth earlier. But we won’t make the mistake of letting Calvin Fox get away with disrespecting us—and Zara—a second time.

“I’d be very careful about throwing around the word ‘loser,’ Fox,” Atlas’s voice comes from behind us. “After all, you’re starting tomorrow’s race from the third row. That’s behind each of us, the last time I checked. So, if you think about it, that would make you the loser.”

That was the wrong thing to say. “That’s fucking pathetic,” Cal snarls. “You didn’t even have the guts to race today, Hunter. You sent your little brother to earn your pole position. You’re clearly afraid to compete with me. I’m the better racer and I have the best bike.”

To my surprise, Atlas doesn’t let his rival’s words ruffle his feathers. “Or,” he chuckles. “I didn’t even need to race you for the pole position. Chance isn’t even interested in racing professionally and yet, you ate his dust. Besides, I would look for better sponsors, because it would take a much better racer than you to beat my MTT 420-RR with your Beamer.”

A small crowd has gathered to witness the dick measuring contest between Fox and my brother.

No one is dancing around the bonfires anymore and people are watching us, like you watch a tennis match.

The air is rife with animosity. The rivalry between my brothers and Fox has been intense since the Super Bike League was launched last year; things have gotten worse with every race and it feels like we’ve reached boiling point when the MotoGP teams have started watching the Super League as a talent pool.

“My Beamer has been tweaked since last time we raced, and today I used my second bike. Tomorrow we’ll see who’s the real loser.” Fox challenges him.

Atlas’s smile widens. “Do you think you’re the only one who has more than one bike and has been working on his racing prototype? Tomorrow we’ll see who’s the loser.”

“Or,” a woman steps forward, looking at the two contenders. “We could settle this little matter tonight.”

The blonde looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place her; she’s in a pair of skintight, black leather pants decorated with gold zippers and a red bandanna at her waist; a black corset top pushes her tits practically all the way up to her chin. Her long, platinum blonde hair is shaved on one side of her head, flowing down to her waist on the other side. Piercings gleam from one of her eyebrows, her septum and the corner of her bottom lip, catching the bonfires’ light. Her thin arms have full sleeves of tattoos that crawl up her neck. She even has a small black heart tattooed under her left eye.

She’s sexy in an edgy kind of way, and I realize who she is when I notice the way Heather tenses up. It’s the lady from the helmet company that was talking to Atlas at the party earlier on.

“What do you mean, and who the fuck are you?” Fox asks, giving her a hungry once over that ends with his beady eyes settling on the woman’s tits.

“My name is Kristy Black and I’m the marketing exec for Blue Lightning Helmets. We’re here to choose the last racer for next year’s special edition line and I already spoke to Mr. Hunter earlier at the official promoter’s party. I’ve been looking for you all night, Mr. Fox. My bosses are interested in signing one racer from the Super League and it’s between you or one of the guys from the Hunter team.”

A look passes between Atlas and Ares. My brothers don’t look pleased with the news. I know they really wanted to be the face of one of Blue Lightning’s special edition helmets.

“Then you should tell your bosses not to waste their time with these kids and go with a seasoned racer,” Fox says. “You’ll avoid the embarrassment of being associated with them when I destroy them during tomorrow’s race.”

Kristy chuckles, revealing a diamond in one of her canines. “I love the grit and the fight you guys have. But like I said, I could make my recommendation tonight. Everyone can succeed on a racetrack they’ve been studying for months and with the best gear they can get; with a whole team of mechanics at their disposal. Our helmets value the individual rider, the human factor that makes the difference even in the most challenging and uncommon situations. As you all know, Blue Lightning is famous for their extreme challenges. How about we do one right here right now and see who comes out on top?”

The crowd buzzes with excitement. The Blue Lightning challenges go viral every single time.

“Sure,” Fox smiles. “I could beat this loser blindfolded and with one arm tied behind my back.”

Atlas doesn’t back down. “Same. What did you have in mind, Kristy?”

The woman’s eyes gleam with excitement. “I was hoping you’d say that.”