Supercross Me (Motocross Me 2)

“I will,” she says quickly as she waves him away with her hand.

When the door is closed, and I glance around the tiny room to verify that we’re alone, I turn on my best friend and slam my hands on my hips. “What the hell was that? Why would you send Ash to me when you know what seeing him does to me? And what the hell was Teig talking about?”

“Whoa, one paranoid question at a time,” she says, holding up her hands. She leans in, resting her elbows on her knees. I can tell she wants to tell me something, but she’s thinking it over instead.

“Just tell me. What did Teig want you to show me? I’ve already seen all the photos of Ash’s new girlfriend.”

“Ash doesn’t have a girlfriend, Hana.” Shelby tucks her hair behind her ears. “I asked him last night. He said no, and he wouldn’t lie to me.”

I don’t even know why a quick, fleeting spark of happiness hits me. I shove it away as fast as I can. “So all that means is that they’re not putting labels on it or whatever. She called him when I was with him, and her stupid picture is saved in his phone, Shell. So stop acting like it’s nothing, because it’s definitely something.”

“Wait, when were you with him?”

I gnaw on my bottom lip. “Last night. He gave me a ride home from some party.”

“Mike’s party?” Shelby asks. “I thought you went with Lincoln.”

I pull out the chair next to her and sit down. I didn’t want to have this conversation with her, mainly because I’m embarrassed about it. But she’s my best friend, and she’ll find out eventually. With a sigh, I explain to her everything that happened, from the way Carly ambushed me to the left-handed punch Ash threw at Lincoln. When I’m done, Shelby’s eyes are barely still in their sockets.

“Holy crap,” she says. “Lincoln didn’t seem like that much of a jerk.”

“I know.” I shake my head. “Look, it’s over and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. But you also have to realize that things with Ash and me are also over, so you can’t keep throwing us together.” Tears trickle into my eyes and I don’t bother hiding them around my best friend. I just ball up my fists and blink them away. “I know you’re trying to be nice and all, but it just hurts, okay? It hurts really bad. I don’t want to see him—not right now. Maybe one day, but not now. He’s already moved on, and it’s killing me inside.”

Shelby frowns and reaches up, brushing away my tears. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she says sweetly as she pulls me into a quick hug. She wiggles the mouse on the computer to take it out of the screensaver. “Ash hasn’t moved on. Not by a long shot.” Her eyes flash with excitement. “And I have proof.”

Chapter 20

Five months ago – January

I held the scissors in my hand and watched as the readied blades trembled in my nervous grip. Those cheap drug store shears couldn’t have been meant to perform a good job on anyone’s hair. With my long, unruly hair, I was no cosmetologist, yet here I was, pretending to be one. I let out a breath and looked up at Ash in the reflection of the hotel mirror in front of us.

“I can’t do this.”

His navy blue eyes met mine in the mirror. I thought about how much more tanned he was now, how his golden brown dreadlocks seemed lighter. Spending months in the California sunshine sure did improve his already handsome features. I didn’t have to look at my own reflection to know that I was exactly the same as always: mousy brown hair swept back in a ponytail, plain, boring features.

His lips twisted into a smile. “Sure you can. Just pick them up and chop them off.”

I lowered my hand and gnawed on my bottom lip. “I don’t want to mess up your hair. You’ve been growing these dreadlocks since before you met me.”

“It’s a bunch of tangled up old hair, Hana.” Ash turned on the barstool until we were facing each other. He took my hand in his and gave me a reassuring look. “Whatever you do to my hair now, LA Motocross can’t possibly say anything worse. So hack them off, babe.”

He turned back around and adjusted the white hotel towel around his shoulders. He was acting fine, but I knew he was bothered. A few days earlier, the famous motocross magazine had released a Rookies of the Year article in which my boyfriend was featured as the stoner kid from Hicksville, Texas. He’d had to field a few annoyed phone calls from his sponsors.

Ash Carter was the most straight-edge guy I knew, but the dreadlocks that made him famous a year ago were now a bad boy albatross around his neck. After reading that article and a host of unsavory comments about himself online, he decided that it was time for him to shed the negative image his dreads seemed to portray. Here, in our hotel room in Dallas, Ash wanted to redesign his look and part with his signature locks.

I picked up one of the dreads on the back of his head and leveled my scissors over it, just an inch away from his scalp.

“You can do it,” Ash whispered, cupping his mouth with his hands.

I shook my head. “I don’t think you really want me to do this. You love your hair. What if I just . . . I don’t know—cut them shorter, maybe? I could make them shorter so they fit under your helmet.”

“That would be great if I could walk around wearing a helmet twenty-four hours a day,” he said impatiently. “Besides, if we cut them shorter, we’ll have to tease the ends back into shape and that takes forever.”

“You don’t have to be rude,” I snapped, clenching my jaw together. Just when things were starting to feel okay again. This hotel room for the weekend—the roses on the nightstand. This trip was supposed to be a way to put us back together, to fill in the cracks in our relationship left from the past five months of Ash being on the road touring the country for the motocross season. Things were feeling better, finally. And now he had to ruin it all by being an ass.

Ash turned back around, regret painted on his face. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just upset about the article. It’s not your fault.”

“We haven’t seen each other since your very short Christmas visit.” I stared at the scissors in my hand because it was easier than meeting his eyes. “That was two weeks ago, and family was around constantly, so it wasn’t quality time. I really don’t need you snapping at me. I’m just trying to stop you from making a mistake.”