Supercross Me (Motocross Me #2) by Cheyanne Young

renewed and alive, as if I’d never been worried in the first place. “Hey,” I said, exhaling. “What’s up?”
    “Just watching this hilarious spectacle with some drunk guy.” The roar of background noise made it a little hard to piece together what he was saying, so I upped the volume on my phone. “Apparently the bartender cut him off and he wasn’t having that. Turns out two off-duty cops were sitting next to us and they handcuffed him and walked him outside, but he kicked over like, five chairs on his way out.”
    “You’re at a bar?” I asked. Funny how my good feelings could disappear as quickly as they came.
    “Yeah,” Ash said. “Well, it’s like, a Cajun restaurant thing, but we’re in the bar section.”
    “You’re only nineteen. How did you get in?”
    “No one questions the guy with dreadlocks and a beard,” he said with a laugh. “Plus, I’m with the rest of the guys on Team Yamaha, and they’re all old enough, so I guess I blended in.”
    I sat up in bed. “You have a beard ?”
    “Yeah babe, did you not watch the race last night?”
    Pressing my palm to my forehead, I tried to play it off. “Yes, well . . . I watched most of it. Then I fell asleep, but my supercross app told me you got second place.”
    “Aww, babe,” he said. Something in his voice felt a lot like hurt, and guilt prickled through me. “They interviewed me on the podium for like, five minutes after the race. I mentioned you and everything.”
    “Really?” I cursed under my breath and grabbed onto the comforter beneath me as if it were responsible for all of my idiocy. “I’m sorry. Dammit, I wish I had seen it.”
    “I’m sure it’s on YouTube by now.” The rest of whatever he says gets cut off by a shrill girly voice screaming his name. “Um, hold on, Hana.”
    The sound muffled on his end of the phone, but that girl’s voice didn’t go away. Likely, it was one of his many admirers. My throat felt dry as the seconds ticked on. Finally, he came back on the phone. “Sorry about that. I should probably go; it’s busy and loud here.”
    “Yeah, okay.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out, wishing that I were more important to my boyfriend than the girls in some bar in another state. “Bye.”
    Hanging up without waiting on his reply was bitchy, but it also felt good. He was having fun, and I needed to have fun, too. Shelby was out with Jake, as evidenced by her Facebook picture of them together at mini golf in the next town over., so I texted my only other friend in the area, a girl named Alyson who often sang the national anthem at the track.
    Hey, do you want to hang out tonight?
    She replied quickly. Come to Trey’s house off cty rd 80. Party!
    I wasn’t known for being a party girl. But tonight, with my underage boyfriend at a bar with girls screaming his name, I figured I’d make an exception.
     
    *
     
    Trey Fletcher’s house was easy to find. Even though I’d never been there before, I’d heard about his parent’s mansion on the outskirts of Mixon. It was the only home on the entire county road, and it could be seen from half a mile away. Even in the dark. Trey was a local motocross racer who wasn’t very good, especially after he turned twenty-one because he chose to dedicate his talents to drinking instead of riding. He’d only managed to become somewhat well known in the motocross community because his dad was super rich. I only knew him from the track, and we weren’t exactly friends, but he’d know me if he saw me. Of course, since my dad owns the track, everyone knows me as Jim’s daughter.
    Nerves had me gripping the steering wheel of my truck as I guided it into the Fletcher’s long gravel driveway. I hadn’t talked to the party host himself, and now suddenly it seemed like I should have waited for an invitation before just taking Alyson’s word for it and showing up. At some point the gravel turned into concrete, and it made a circle around a large fountain in the