Tammy Karasek
Nickie Hanson sped into her pit row tent, knowing she wasn’t supposed to. She grabbed the clutch, put her Ducati Superbike into neutral, squeezed her front brake handle—what was left of it—and stomped her foot down on the back brake pedal. Trent, her mechanic, grabbed her bike when it stopped. Nickie jumped off.
“Well, this is great.” Nickie yanked her leather gloves off and threw them to the ground.
“What happened? Why’re you in?” Trent asked.
She walked around to the right side of the bike, grabbed the hand brake handle, and wiggled it. “This is what happened. That jerk tried to pass me on the inside and clipped my brake handle.” She released the helmet strap and took it off.
“Don’t throw that too. Did your hand get clipped?”
“I don’t know, only worried about the points I just lost. Who does this guy think he is? And with three laps to go. I’d like to smack him.”
“That won’t help. Let me see your wrist. You’ll need to go to First Aid.”
Nickie looked down at her wrist. It was red and already swollen. She tried to flex it. “Well, that didn’t feel good. I’m going to give that guy a piece of my mind and tell him . . .”
Trent looked past her, his eyebrows rising. “Uh, sit and rest.”
“I don’t want to. I told you I’m—”
“Nickie, STOP.” Trent motioned with his eyes and head for her to turn around.
“Excuse me, Nickie?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” She turned and there stood the Brayden Spencer, superbike racer that had just run into her. All six-foot-three-inches of him and his curly blonde hair. He didn’t look this tall squished up on his bike. She’d never seen him up close nor without a helmet and was mesmerized.
“Sorry to bother you.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Bother me? You more than bothered me, buddy.” Those gorgeous eyes. She shook her head and brought herself back to the moment.
“. . . and I misjudged my lean.”
“You sure did, and I felt it.” Handsome. Get a hold of yourself, girl.
“I’m sorry. I need you to know that.” He glanced down at her hand and reached for it. “That looks bad.”
No time for distractions, Nickie moved her hand behind her back. “You apologized, thanks.”
Brayden turned to Trent. “A feisty one, isn’t she?”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it with this one.”
Nickie narrowed her eyes. “Dudes, ‘this one’ is standing right here. You want feisty, I’ll show you feisty.” She stomped away, headed for the First Aid tent.
The EMT had examined her wrist and wrapped an ice pack around it when she heard that voice again.
“Nickie, I feel bad. Please let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a drink at concessions.”
“Nearly kill me and you want to buy me a drink?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I’d offer dinner, but I’m thinking concession stand food wouldn’t be that grand of a gesture, considering.”
“Considering what? What makes you think I’d go to dinner with you?”
“Well, considering you’d rather smack me or give me a piece of your mind. And my hope is there for dinner.”
He’d heard her rant? She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll have an iced tea.”
Brayden wiped both hands down his face. “I guess I should’ve expected that. You did say you’d show me feisty.” He motioned toward a picnic table. “Rest and keep that ice on your wrist. I’ll get iced teas.”
“You like iced tea, too?”
“Surprised?”
“Well, yes. I figured you were a beer man like most of the guys.”
“Nope. I’m not like most. I’ll be back.”
Trent walked up. “Still going to smack him?” He grinned. “The brake’s fixed. So, give the guy a break. He’s into you.”
“Get out of here, but thanks for the update on my bike.”
Trent winked at her, then turned and jogged back to the tent.
Brayden placed a cup of iced tea in front of her. “Tell me, Miss Feisty, when you got into racing four years ago, what made you choose superbike?”
She stared at him a moment. “How do you know when I started racing?”
“Uh, busted.” Brayden grinned. “I’ve followed your career since you started at twenty. I know you’ve been on a bike since you were about four, is it?”
Nickie’s mouth dropped. “Why haven’t I seen you on the track before?”
“You know how hard it is to find your way into this level of race. But I’ve been up here almost a year. I know when you’re here at the track, you’re in your zone and don’t pay attention to much around you, so you’re easy to watch. I admire your drive.”
Nickie raised her right eyebrow. “You admire my drive?”
“That and more,” he mumbled.
“Creeper much?”
“Or fan.” He smiled.
They bantered, flirted, and sipped tea a while.
Nickie moved her hand and winced. “Ow.”
“Did they give you ibuprofen?”
“No, I need some.”
He reached for her hand, and she accepted it. They stood. She was grateful for his strength. Handsome and strong. Nice.
She reached for the sunglasses on her head with her left hand and tried to get them on.
Brayden laughed. “Let me help.” He took the glasses and aimed for her face, but managed to poke her eye instead.
“Still trying to kill me? Take off my hand, poke my eye out.” Her eye watered.
Brayden dropped his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry. Again.”
Regret filled her. She touched his chin, and he lifted his eyes to hers. “It’s okay. I know it wasn’t on purpose.”
“Thank you.” His grip was gentle as he held her hand to his lips, brushing his lips over her knuckles.
She decided feisty could wait today.
She’s a writer of Romance—with a splash of sass. Her debut, Launch That Book, released in November 2023. She is also published in a couple compilation books.
She’s a writing team member for The Write Conversation, The Write Editing, and Blue Ridge Conference. As The Launch Team Geek, she helps authors launch their books, works as a Virtual Assistant for authors, and is Social Media Manager for the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference.
Connect with Tammy on Facebook, Twitter (X), Instagram, Pinterest, Goodreads, Bookbub or on her website.
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