Tommy winced.
“And last weekend’s race, man oh man. We had it on the TVs here in the bar. Had no idea if it was actually going to happen, the way the weather was that weekend. But then it was like the heavens opened up and said, ‘Tommy Bryant, we want you to win today.’ It was fantastic!”
Marcus slapped him on the back like they were old friends. The brackets around Tommy’s smile became more defined, but to his credit, he didn’t let it slip from his face.
“Hey, can I get a pic? Is that cool? Do you mind if I post it on our Instagram page?”
Camila stared at her boss. She’d never experienced him acting like this, not ever in the six years she’d been working here.
“Yeah, sure, but can you wait until tomorrow to post it? I’d kind of like to lay low tonight, and if you put that up, the place will be swarming with fans.”
Marcus looked like that was exactly what he wanted to happen.
“You’re going to need to order a few kegs of Bud Light if you post it, Marcus,” Camila pointed out. “Otherwise we’ll run out and everybody will be pissed.”
“Good point,” Marcus said, nodding eagerly. “Let’s take the picture and then I’ll call my distributor. I’ll post it late tomorrow morning. That way we’ll be packed from open to close.”
Fantastic. Camila was going to be working her butt off, and she probably wouldn’t get a day off until the end of next week. Although, that was for the best. It would make it easier to keep her mind off the fact that Tommy was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
His phone buzzed in his pocket—again. Chuck, his manager—again. Probably wanting to talk about the text Tommy sent earlier in the day.
He sent the call to voicemail. Again.
There would be plenty of time to discuss the decision he’d made. Right now, he wanted to focus on his girl.
He liked the way that sounded. His girl.
Camila likely wouldn’t appreciate it, so he’d try not to actually use the phrase out loud. But in his head, yeah, she was totally his girl.
It was nearing midnight and Camila’s stalker had yet to show. Jude, the bouncer, had informed Tommy and Elliot that he’d come in on the first night Camila called off, Jude had chatted with him about how the guy creeped Camila out, and he hadn’t come back since.
Hopefully, Camila’s plan to simply stay away for a few days had actually worked, not that Tommy was taking any chances. He’d already talked to both Jude and Philip about keeping an eye on Camila once he left to go back to the circuit.
He couldn’t wait until the end of her shift, when they would head back to her apartment. Just the two of them. He had plans to strip them both naked and remain that way until he had to leave later in the morning. While all the sneaking around this past week certainly held an element of excitement, he was more than ready to be able to simply hang out together without worrying that someone might catch them.
Not that he would have minded if they’d gotten caught, but he knew Camila would have been embarrassed. Especially if it had been one of his parents who figured it out.
Another fan walked up, tentative at first. Tommy had been taking pictures and talking shop steadily all evening. Nothing too crazy, although Camila told him it was definitely busier than normal, so obviously the enthusiasts he had run into were posting about it online. The bar’s Instagram page, though, had a large following, so he was glad Marcus had agreed not to post anything there until the next day.
Tommy didn’t mind the supporters, and with Philip, Elliot, and Jude all here, he didn’t worry about anything weird happening. It was just that more people vying for his attention meant less time focusing on Camila. Which was pretty dumb of him, to be honest, because she was behind the bar, working, and was only able to pause to ask if he wanted a refill or remark about this fan or that one and then she was hurrying away to tend to another customer.
“You’re Tommy Bryant, right?” This admirer had dirty blond hair covered by a baseball cap, wore glasses, and had a clean-shaven face. A Rogers Speedway T-shirt and dark blue jeans completed the motocross fan look.
Tommy lifted his hand to shake. “Yeah. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Vince.” He looked down at his shirt. “If you can’t guess, I’m a big fan.”
Tommy chuckled.
Vince slid onto the barstool that had only recently been vacated by another fan who had asked for a selfie with his favorite motorcycle racer.
Before that had been a trio of young women hovering around that seat, one of whom had whispered suggestions into his ear as to how they could spend their time later that evening. Tommy had politely declined her offer, and then Camila had gnashed her teeth and offered to snap a pic of the four of them together. After the women wandered away, Camila had whispered, “Tinas,” which cracked him up. When the two of them could be alone, he’d show her that he didn’t give a flying fuck about Tinas. Or anyone else. All he wanted was Camila.
Vince prattled on and on about the mechanics of motorcycles, a bunch of technical stuff Kyle, who was a master mechanic, would appreciate far more than he did.
“You’re going to think this is crazy, but I ride bikes too,” Vince said.
“That’s not really crazy,” Tommy responded.
“No, I mean, the crazy part is my bike is
