Free Strike by Jennifer Ryder Page A

pressure. Be fucked if it’s any of their business, anyway.
    “You know me, Mac,” I say.
    “Well, regardless of whatever the fuck you got up to last night, put some effort in today. We’ll work on your seat bounce and scrubbing the jumps. You’ve got it in you, boy.”
    No matter how late I get in, or how hungover I am, Mac always tells me I have it in me. One of these days, I might just believe him.
    “Will do,” I promise. Today I’m gonna hook in. I’m not letting the championship get any further out of reach.
    ****
    Sunday
    After giving it everything I had, every fucking muscle in my body is aching like a bitch. I’d gotten an early night last night, spending it alone at home rather than out on the town drinking.
    I’d pushed through the pain this morning. I’d clocked some good times, and I’m sure Billy boy was less than impressed with the roost he had to deal with this morning, but he managed to cope with it pretty well. If anything, he was pushing harder. It was kinda cool to see. I know that after this weekend I’ll be more prepared for the next round. I wonder if April has anything to do with my newfound enthusiasm.
    After another long day on the track, I head back to camp. I park my bike next to the others and take off my helmet. Looking back at the track, the sun catches on a pair of aviator sunglasses, sending a spark of light in my direction. Jeans, a tight white tank and caramel hair piled high on her head, I see her … with a camera in her hand.
    April? It must be. But why the hell would she be here? She told me she was working this weekend, but the last place I’d expected to see her is here.
    I watch her from a distance as she moves around, bending over the railing. I’d recognise those legs anywhere. They’ve featured one too many times in my dreams. Mostly bent over my couch, but after our dinner the other night, the favoured position is taking her on her kitchen bench. She positions herself as riders continue to burn around the track, taking shots, and checking the settings on her camera.
    “Not a good idea, Jones,” Stone says in a gruff voice from behind me. Even though he’s taken me by surprise, I still can’t pull my eyes from April as she works her camera.
    “What?” I snap.
    He points in April’s direction. “You don’t know who that is?” he says, his dark eyebrows darting up.
    Of course I do. All too well. And I’m going to get to know her a hell of a lot more.
    Stone laughs, and the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. He’d better watch his mouth where April is concerned. Staring back at him, I keep my mouth shut. I’d rather he just spat out whatever the hell it is he thinks is so amusing.
    “I knew it. You don’t know who she is. This is funny as shit.”
    “You gonna tell me?”
    “Nah, you’re a big boy … You’ll work it out, and when you do, please let me be around to witness it.”
    Stone walks off, leaving me to stare at April’s perfect arse in those spray-on jeans. And the motorbike boots. Damn it if they don’t do crazy things to my imagination. Maybe one day she can wear a short little skirt and leave her boots on, and I can take her from behind. Fuck yeah. That’d be the ticket.
    I’d better head into the trailer and get changed out of my filthy gear. Then I’ll go talk to April and find out what she’s doing here.
    I need to explain why I’m here too.
    ****
    My hand is on the trailer door when Mac wolf-whistles to get everyone’s attention. Stone and Billy walk over to him, and I put down my helmet and gloves. I guess Mac wants to chat about next round. I hope he’s noticed the effort I’ve put in this weekend. I’m fucking wiped.
    “Well, boys, I gotta say I’m really impressed with how you’ve handled the track this weekend. The strength training we re-jigged seems to be making a difference to your fitness. I’m proud of you lot,” Mac says.
    I step closer to the guys when April breezes in under the marquee. She’s all