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giggled. “You’re
adorable.”
    “Shut up.” He snapped
and continued to pout picking at his cast. “I’d settle for some micro polishing ... ?” he suggested south with a lazy nod,
letting his voice get that particular drawl to it that he knew would leave me
weak.
    “Jameson, no ... you’re injured ... badly.” I objected with a slight smile.
“There’s no way I’m doing anything besides kiss you while you’re in this
hospital.”
    “So ... no chance of bleeding my pressure valve
either ... ?” he gave me the sad
puppy dog eyes attempting to seal the deal.
    “Jesus
Christ ... no!”
    “This is ridiculous.
I’m injured.” He roughly pointed this out as though I didn’t know. “You should
be taking care of me.”
    I made a firm rule that
he needed to be discharged from the hospital before we had sex. To say I was
horny as well was a fucking understatement. My surplus hormones were out of
control, I had an oil leak that needed a new filter, desperately. Don’t think I
wasn’t ready to ask nurse pussycat for a shot of valium, because I was.
    I was also moments away
from climbing on top of him and riding the shit out of him, despite the broken
ribs and punctured lung.
    What was satisfied
immensely was when Jameson showed absolutely no interest in the pussycat doll
or any other nurse that snuck in to try their luck with him. And there were
many.
    Tommy however, was
madly in love with pussycat and asked her to marry him on more than one
occasional. She thought he was adorable and actually gave him her number. Crazy lunatic. She must have liked orange heads and men with
the mental maturity of an eight-year old.
    Jameson was a cranky
jerk by the time Sunday rolled around and he was forced to watch the race on
television—something he’d never done until now.
    I actually had to leave
the room a couple times and beg the nurses to sedate him, or me, when he was
yelling so profusely at the reporters that I honestly thought he was going to
give himself a heart attack.
    Everyone in the NASCAR
garage knew exactly what happened and that Darrin intended on killing Jameson
that day in Pocono but the media painted a very different picture.
    They went through every
possible scenario from maybe he was testing something out on his car; maybe he
didn’t realize Jameson was on the track; to maybe Jameson shouldn’t have still
been on the track.
    Bullshit ... all of it bullshit.
    Darrin Torres knew
exactly what he was doing when he pulled off pit lane and hit Jameson’s car at
approximately one hundred and seventy miles per hour.
    That was not a goddamn
fluke. It was intentional.
    What shut Jameson up
completely that afternoon was when they replayed the accident and he watched it
for the first time.
    He was quiet for a good
hour and I think the only reason he spoke after that was because I threw up
beside his bed after watching it.
    It was sickening to
see. The video footage they had didn’t show Darrin coming but instead showed
Jameson doing his burnout with his arm out the window, and then you saw a
glimpse of Darrin’s car in the smoke ... then
this horrible metal-to-metal thunderous noise.
    When the smoke cleared,
Jameson’s car rested demolished against the outside wall, the camera focusing
on his body slumped over his steering wheel.
    It was one of those
horrific accidents you see in movies where you can’t believe they walked away
from it; gut wrenching is what it was.
    Jameson never did make
any remarks about the accident. And knowing this boy my entire life, he
wouldn’t.
     
     
    By Monday morning, Emma
was prohibited from his room after she brought in a fluffy stuffed cougar that
was practically the size of Jameson.
    His response, after
making me set the cougar outside his door, “You have to be shitting me?”
    Nancy was dangerously
close to being banned as well when she brought me Burger King .
    Jameson had to sit and
watch as I wolfed down two Whoppers and a milk shake.
    He was not so amiable
after