Chapter Three
Jake
My team and I landed at the airport in Valencia. Tomorrow, and on Saturday, we have practice, and finally, on Sunday it’s the last race of this season. I love everything about motorcycles: racing, the squeal of the tires, and the smell of the motor oil, but I’m tired of posing in front of the cameras and doing countless interviews. Not to mention the women. They’re everywhere. Sometimes, I swear they’re waiting for me somewhere, and then pretend to run into me by total surprise. I find so many phone numbers in my pockets that I could publish a phone book. Not that I’m complaining—I love the attention of the women—but there have to be some boundaries. All the articles I’ve read recently seem to only talk about me going through women like tires on my bike, but I’m not the womanizer they are painting me to be. Yes, I’ve had my share of girlfriends, but I haven’t taken advantage of any of them. I want a woman who is standing firmly on the ground, who doesn’t submit to my every whim just because I’m famous. I want to be with someone who is strong-minded and has her own opinions.
I put on my shades and we cross the airport to the rental car that is already waiting for us. Of course, a crowd of groupies and fans is already waiting in front of the vehicle. How the hell did they find out about our arrival? They are worse than the CIA and FBI combined. I shake my head and put a fake smile on my face. I wave to them, and Mike, my fellow racer and my best friend, does the same. We try to make our way through the crowd to our car.
“Excuse me, ladies,” says Pete, one of the members of my team.
“Jake, I love you!” I hear someone calling behind me, and I only shake my head. The fans are screaming their heads off, and trying to grab whatever part of my body they can reach.
“Hey there, ladies. This area is off limits,” I say as three of them have their hands on my butt.
“Why?” one of them complains. Seriously? A complete stranger is offended when I tell her she cannot pinch my butt? Rolling my eyes, I continue my way toward our car.
“Can you sign my arm?” another fan asks. This time, I don’t say yes because if I give an autograph to one person, everybody will want one, and we don’t have time for that right now.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, we’re in a hurry,” I try to be as kind as possible. From the corner of my eye, I notice Mike isn’t doing any better than I am. Good thing his wife is by his side so she can control the groupies. I have no such luck. But that doesn’t mean I want to get married. Hell no! That’s not for me. But Debbie fights for what is hers, and the groupies know that.
Mike and I are best buddies. In the last five years, we’ve gotten really close, I even had the honor of being the best man at his wedding. We met at some race. He was one of the best racers when I started in the premier class, I looked up to him. He gave me a lot of useful advices that I put to good use. We hung out after the races, went out together, and became best friends. Last year, we even ended up on the same team, which works out great for us.
Finally, we reach the car and drive off very slowly as the fans are still gathered around the car, tapping on the windows.
The drive doesn’t take too long, and we get to our hotel, where we check in. Usually, we sleep in our very own trailers that the circuit employees drive to us. Almost every racer has a trailer, so he doesn’t worry about being late for a race or a practice. We will move our things there tomorrow before the practice, but today we’re sleeping in a proper hotel.
I unpack in peace and then take a shower. I have to wash all the grabby hands off my body. I scrub myself clean, and as I get out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my hips and reach for my toothbrush. Toothbrush hanging from my mouth, I quickly blow-dry my hair, finish brushing my teeth, and head to bed. A tough weekend is in front of me and I have to be one hundred percent ready if I want to win the cup. I throw Ivy’s phone number in the trash. She’s not my type of a woman. She’s some woman that recognized me at the airport, and immediately offered to keep me company. Out of politeness, I took her number and completely forgot about it until now.
The next morning, when I wake up, I feel refreshed and ready to take on the world. Mentally, I prepare for the first two practices ahead of me. I then meet my team in the restaurant downstairs so we can go over some details after breakfast.
“Morning, Jake,” Mike greets me. I say hi, and shovel a spoonful of scrambled eggs into my mouth. “What’s up?”
“Do you want to go running with me? I have to clear my head, I’m still half asleep.”