Michelle Valentine: Rock the Beat

Dad follows behind me and shuts the door. After he squeezes around me, he plops down in his squeaky, green chair that’s older than I am—it even has the duct-tape to prove it.

He shuffles the piles of papers around on his desk. It’s the signature move he does while he gathers his thoughts—it gives the impression he’s busy.

I know what he’s going to say even before he does and I open my mouth to apologize, but he beats me to the punch.

“Holly, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me too, bringing a stranger in and allowing him access to everything I’ve—this family—has worked so hard for all these years. I don’t like it any more than you do, but these are the cards we’ve been dealt, honey. If this man doesn’t help us, we’ll lose everything.” I see the sadness in his eyes as he explains.

I hear what he’s saying and I completely understand, but my reservations still stick. If I could tell him why I don’t think Trip can be trusted, maybe he would see my side, but I know I can’t do that. Not without appearing sleazy for throwing myself at a random man in a bar. I would get the “I raised you better than that” speech. “But, Dad, this guy? He doesn’t look like he knows anything about running a business. Did you get a good look at him? He looks like every other biker we’ve seen on the track, and you know they aren’t always the brightest crayons in the box.”

Dad drags his fingers through his thinning hair. His hair, like the rest of his body is withering away. He’s lost so much weight over the last couple months—it makes his six-foot-two frame seem even taller. The stress is really getting to him. “Holly, I know what this place means to you. I’m grateful that you left school and to come home and help me out, but this place isn’t your cross to bear. It’s mine. This place is my dream, and it makes me feel like I failed as your father because I willingly allowed you to throw away your dream of finishing college to come back here to help me. If I can just get this place back into the black you can go back to school, like you planned. Convincing Trip to get this investor on board will make that happen. You can get your life back.”

I frown as I walk around the desk and wrap my arms around my father. “Dad, I made the choice to come back here because I wanted to. You were here, and Jackson. You and this track are my life. Just because I’m not with Jackson anymore doesn’t mean I regret my decision. I love it here. This place is my home and I want to help in anyway I can to save it.” Dad smiles. “Besides, I can always get a loan once we get this place back on its feet. Ohio State isn’t going anywhere any time soon. It’s you and me. And we stick together.”

He folds his arms around me and pats the back of my head. “We do make a pretty great team, don’t we? Since your mom left—”

I stiffen in his embrace and cut him off before he goes down memory lane about Grace. “Let’s not talk about her.”

Dad sighs as I pull away and lean back against the desk. “All right but, honey, please try and be civil to Trip. I really want this to work out. We need him to like us.”

I roll my eyes. As much as it kills me, I know I have to play nice. “I’ll try, but I swear if he comes on to me like the rest of the goons around here, I promise I won’t show any mercy.”

He chuckles. “I would expect nothing less from you. Just please don’t rip his head off. I can’t afford a lawsuit. I’m trying to get money from him, not give it.”

We both laugh because it’s no secret around this track that I’m quick witted and unafraid to put any man in his place. I’m one tough, general operations manager. This may be a male-dominated sport, but at Mountain Time Speed Track it’s most definitely a woman’s world.

TRIP

I rub my forehead, wishing I could take back the last five or so beers past my limit I drank last night. Walking into this place with a hangover wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had. Thank God Mr. Pearson wasn’t insistent I check out the track first. I would’ve puked after the first five minutes of riding.

I didn’t mean to get that hot blonde in trouble with her dad. Flirting with beautiful women mercilessly is my favorite past time. I can’t help myself. And Holly Pearson is one fine piece of ass. No doubt about that. She reminds me a lot of that blonde I kissed last night, or at least I think I kissed last night. Things started getting hazy after my tenth drink, or maybe it was the twelfth drink. Alcohol has a way of fucking up my brain and making shit a blur. The blonde was smoking hot too. One minute she was grinding her ass against my dick, causing me nearly to come in my jeans, the next minute she was gone, dragged off by another guy. Lucky bastard was probably her boyfriend.

So, I had to find some random chick. I couldn’t let a good hard-on go to waste. One of these nights I’m going back to that club while I’m in town to find that girl. It’s a shame her face is kind of a blur today.

I glance up at the clock on the wall. Mr. Pearson and Holly have been gone for nearly ten minutes and there’s no sign of them coming out any time soon.

Holly is really feisty. I’m going to have to figure out a way to make her my friend if I’m going to be here for the next four weeks. I hate tension. It bugged the fuck out of me when Noel and Riff fought. I’m so glad that shit’s over. That kind of shit wears on a persons sanity after a while, which is why I need to squash whatever problem Holly has with me. Most women giggle and love it when I put the moves on them. It’s an ego boost to them. But this one loathes me and I don’t have a fucking clue why.

It’s totally obvious she has no clue who the hell I am because she seemed rather appalled by me, which never happens. Most people turn into over-pleasing twits around celebrities. It’s fucking annoying not to be able to get the truth out of people.

I drum my fingers on the countertop, tapping out the beat of a new song my twin brother and band-mate, Tyke, and I have been working on for the past couple weeks. With a few minor tweaks I think we’ll have the next Black Falcon hit-single ready to record when we finally head back into the studio next month.

I really miss working. Black Falcon and the rest of the guys are my life. I love everything about my job, and I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I consider myself the best fucking drummer in the business. I can pound out grungy, raw beats like nobody in the business, and the combination of my beats and Tyke’s bass flowing in sync creates magic that’s often emulated, but never duplicated. No one can rock the beat like we can. Black Falcon is unique and our bond as a band is stronger now than ever before. It might make me a pussy for saying this but I’ll admit, when we’re not all together I feel a little homesick.

If it weren’t for women getting in the way of our work, we’d be on the road right now touring. The whole situation pisses me off a bit.

Yeah, I know. Sure, Lane and Aubrey are great chicks and have done wonders in getting Noel and Riff to settle down and become friends again, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t cramping the rest of our styles. It’s been over a month since I banged a random groupie and I hate this fucking dry-spell. It makes me edgy, which is why I had to go out to a club in Tucson last night and find a random piece of ass. I needed to take the edge off.

The thought of throwing Holly down on this counter and fucking her seven different way from Sunday entered my head about a thousand times during our little heated discussion. Girls with attitude are hot and she’s exactly my type—a petite blonde with perfect tits. Even when she was mean as hell to me, all I could think about was kissing that rude mouth of hers.