Read Online Motocross Me by Cheyanne Young - Free Book Online Page B

opinion. She points to the pink one with sequin decorations on the neckline. I toss it to her and change into the other shirt, a blue V-neck with similar sequin decorations.
    “I pointed to this one,” she says, wiggling the pink shirt in her hand.
    “You’re wearing that.” I pull a sock on my foot.
    “I can’t borrow any more of your clothes.” She goes to hang up the shirt.
    “Yes you can.” I push the shirt away from the rack. “You can’t wear the same clothes you wore yesterday, and besides, I don’t mind.” I adopt a maternal look and point a finger at her, “Now, missy.”
    “Okay.” She blushes through her tan skin. “Thank you.”
    “Take some shorts too, I think we’re the same size. I’m a six.”
    “Me too,” she squeals. She drops to the floor and digs through my bag of shorts. I think she’s getting the hang of borrowing things.
     
     
    Exhaust fumes fill the air as the day progresses into the hottest day ever of my new life in Mixon. Though harmful to the environment, and probably my brain cells too, the smell of exhaust has grown on me. Unlike most sixteen-year-olds, I don’t work in a greasy fast-food joint or in a retail store with pushy customers. I have an easygoing job outdoors with little supervision, great pay and dozens of hot guys who prefer to walk around shirtless. Life is pretty sweet.
    Although Shelby offered several times to stand at the front gate with me, I banished her to the tower with Molly, saying she should enjoy the air conditioning that it so graciously provides. My real reasoning for standing solo in the sun, bored to death, signing in riders is so I’ll be alone when Ryan inevitably shows up to practice.
    After investing two hours alone at the gate, it finally pays off when I hear the low bass beat of rap music thundering in the distance. Ryan’s black Dodge rounds the corner and rumbles to a stop in front of me. There are no other cars in line, so he cuts off the engine and jumps out of the driver’s seat, landing with a thud on the paved road.
    He’s as gorgeous as ever in shredded-up jeans that were probably bought that way, a black shirt embossed with a motocross brand logo and a backwards baseball cap.
    “Good morning, Miss Hana,” he says. I hand him the clipboard and admire how he towers over me by a foot. This is fortunate because I’ve always thought I look better from a tall-boy angle. He must think so too because he watches me the entire time he prints, signs and dates the form on the clipboard.
    I offer the only bit of conversation my brain can think of under the stress of being within five feet of him. “I don’t know if I can save that electricity spot tomorrow, but I’m seeing what I can do.”
    “Thanks, it’s not a huge deal. I could always get a hotel.” Perhaps he should entice me with a kiss , I think, blushing. Since when did I become so skanky? He adjusts his hat.
    “What’s that look for?”
    “What look?” Had I really been that obvious that I was internally gushing over him?
    “Just looks like you’re up to something.”
    He touches my chin with one finger and raises it so my eyes meet his. I love it when he does this. His cologne gives me butterflies.
    “I don’t think I’m up to anything,” I say, staring at his collar bone.
    He reaches into the pocket that covers his perfect backside and gets his wallet. In a moment of sheer flirty courage, I decide to win him over by saving him ten bucks.
    “Don’t worry about paying today.” I wave away his wallet and put the envelope of practice fees behind my back, daring him to try to pay me. He hesitates, his head cocked to the side. His eyes meet mine. I smile, and he seems convinced.
    “Well, thank you.” He tips an imaginary hat at me and gets back in his monster of a truck. He drives to the pit area and parks in his usual spot. It’s a shame I have to stand at the gate and can’t watch him change into his motocross jersey. I lean against the tree where he