Dirt Driven (Racing on the Edge Book 11)

stared at him, waiting for him to continue. My heart thudded harder in my chest. Maybe he was upset about last night. Or the fact that I hadn’t won a race yet this season. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. But I gotta start off by saying, I wasn’t lying when I told you I’ve always thought of you as a son, Rager. You are the only driver with an indefinite contract with me. I mean, the boys don’t have contracts, but you get what I mean. You’re the only driver who isn’t blood and has an indefinite contract. Even if I couldn’t find sponsors, I would back you, because I trust your ability and your business sense.”
I knew what that meant. And I never took it for granted. I also knew if I fucked up bad enough, he’d cut his losses like any business owner would. But nothing prepared me for what he said next.
He made eye contact before he said, “I’d like to offer you partial ownership in JAR Racing.”
Partial ownership? I was silent, unsure what to make of what he said, or if I’d heard him correctly. When Jameson signed me on as a driver for JAR Racing, I was fifteen years old. I wasn’t old enough to race with the World of Outlaws yet, but he hired me anyway. For three years, I raced for him in various midget and sprint car races, but when I debuted on the Outlaw tour, he never hesitated to give me a full-ride and lined up sponsors for me. From then on, I was a permanent part of JAR Racing.
Never in my life did I think he’d ask me to be a partial owner someday. Didn’t he want one of his sons to take over? It didn’t add up. I knew Casten wouldn’t want anything to do with it though. The less responsibility he had, the better as far as he was concerned. But Axel, I wasn’t so sure.
Clearing my throat, I shifted my weight from one foot to the next, trying to appear casual. “What about the boys?”
Jameson shrugged, his stare shifting to the pits. “Casten owns CST Engines now, and Axel, he will inherit Grays Harbor Raceway if anything ever happens to Sway and me. JAR Racing… that’s for you and Arie. She won’t want to own it, and legally can’t while being the director of public relations. I’d like you to be partners with me. I can’t do this by myself anymore, and frankly, I don’t want to. I love showing up at the track and racing. I don’t want to worry about where my drivers are and finding sponsors for the next season. At least not with just me anymore.”
I had no idea what to say or think about any of it.
He slapped his hand onto my shoulder. “Think about it. Talk to Arie and see what you guys think. If you’re interested, we’ll do up the contracts.”
And then he walked away and left me with the decision.
He wanted me to be partial owner of JAR Racing.

Crash Pad – Works like a shock absorber on the racing seat to protect your spine.
SILVER DOLLAR SPEEDWAY
CHICO, CALIFORNIA
“I told him all I wanted for Valentine’s Day was a ride in a two-seater sprint car.”
Arie looked up from her phone to Hayden. “Did he do it?”
“Not yet.”
“That’s okay.” Arie shoved her phone in the back pocket of her shorts. Her eyes slid to mine. “That’s okay. My husband didn’t get me anything for Valentine’s Day,” Arie grumbled. “Not even a card.”
“Valentine’s day is a stupid holiday. I don’t see why anyone celebrates it.” I probably shouldn’t have said that to my wife, but Arie wasn’t like every other wife. She’s a dirt track wife. Our lives are lived out between tracks, and she was far more understanding than most. And I say most because judging by the way she was looking at me, something told me my assessment could be off. By the way, it wasn’t Valentine’s Day so I couldn’t understand why this was brought up in the first place. If you knew Hayden, who started this, you’d understand she loved to create arguments. Her and Casten were a perfect match.
Beside me, Hayden smirked and lifted her sunglasses. “Only husbands who didn’t get their wives anything say shit like that.”
My point exactly.
I didn’t believe in buying gifts for every holiday. I saved them for the ones that mattered. Birthdays, Mother’s Day, and our anniversary. Those three days should be celebrated the fuck out of. Everything else was stupid. If you asked me, and again, judging by the look on my wife’s face, she would not ask my opinion on this one.
Arie kissed my cheek, regardless of her mood. “I’m heading to work the merchandise trailer.”
I slapped my hand to her ass. “I’ll work you, later.”
“Uh-huh,” she mumbled, pulling away.
Willie walked inside the hauler, pink-cheeked and frowning. Normally, I wouldn’t have asked, because obviously, I didn’t care why Willie would be frowning. But today, I asked, and quickly wished I hadn’t. “What’s with you?”
Willie snapped his eyes to mine, like he’d been caught stealing something. He really was acting like a weirdo today. “Your fucking wife is what’s up with me.”
I had to laugh because lately it seemed Arie had been pissing everyone off. “What’d she do?”
He swallowed, almost like he was nervous and shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he tugged at the front of his shorts. “Dropped one of those vibrating back massagers in my lap.”
I wasn’t understanding where this was going, nor did I like that he was tugging at his shorts in front of me. This screamed inappropriate. He still wore a look of embarrassment and maybe confusion? “So? You said you threw your back out in Vegas.”
“Well, I kinda liked it.” He dropped his eyes, almost ashamed. “To be honest, it gave me a chub. Does that make me gay?”
Suddenly, the hauler felt incredibly