Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Our section was cordoned off from the rest of the general public, with seats and a refreshment stand. I didn’t know if this was the norm or something Kane had organized for us.
Brax was there. On the phone when we arrived, his eyes running over me dismissively, Kiera sleazily before he gave us a patronizing nod and returned to his phone call. He hadn’t gotten off that thing since we arrived, which I was glad about.
“Yep, you were right,” Kiera said in my ear as we settled ourselves in the seats. Her eyes were on Brax. “Total asshole. My detector has taken a while to calibrate, but I can spot them from a mile away now. Unless I’m sleeping with them.”
I suppressed a chuckle. She wasn’t wrong. Not that I socialized with her ‘boyfriends’—though that was a generous term for them—but I’d heard about them plenty, had had a crying Kiera on my couch and in my kitchen eating chocolate mousse cake many times.
I nodded in agreement, deciding that I was going to ignore Brax if he was going to do that to me. I’d stopped forcing myself to be polite to assholes long ago.
I looked around at the arena. It was much like any sporting venue stadium with the staggered seating, the thrumming crowd. But instead of a baseball or football field, there was a large dirt pit in the middle, with various hills and valleys—the ‘track,’ I assumed.
My eyes traced over the various slopes and ramps with interest. Not having anything to compare them with, I could only use my imagination to figure out what they would be used for. Jumping through the air. On motorcycles. My nails bit into my palms, thinking of Kane doing that. He’d been doing it for weeks and survived—he’d been doing it for years and survived—but still, dread curled up my spine.
Then I moved my attention to the stands. People were still filtering in, but the entire place was packing up. Quickly. It looked like every one of these seats was going to be filled. How many were there? Thousands. Tens of thousands?
“Wasn’t extreme sports like a ’90s thing?” I asked Kiera, leaning over in her direction while staring at the crowd.
Kiera scoffed, downing her drink before looking at me with an arched brow. “Honey, where have you been for the past five years?”
“In a kitchen or sleeping,” I replied. She knew this.
“You don’t scroll through social media, like at all?” Her nails drummed on the screen of her ever-present phone. I couldn’t even be sure I’d brought mine. I must’ve. I was keeping better track of it now since it was my only line of communication to Kane. Plus, I wanted to ensure the restaurant could reach me in case of problems. Not that I could do anything in New Jersey.
I wanted a night out like a normal person. A normal person who was going to watch her kind of boyfriend perform motorcycle tricks in front of thousands—tens of thousands—of people.
“I only have social media because you made me one, and I only follow you. I haven’t gone on since you created the profile,” I informed her, something again, I thought she knew.
Her horrified face told me that my best friend had been ignorant of just how unaware I was to the goings-on of the virtual world.
“Babe, I knew you were not a social media addict, but I didn’t think you were off the fucking grid.”
I rolled my eyes, taking a sip of my drink before scanning the area again. People were still taking their seats, the music pumping over the speakers, but there were also people seemingly finishing setup on the track.
My stomach felt like it was trying to climb up into my throat.
It must almost be time.
I looked back to Kiera. “I don’t think I can be classified as ‘off grid’ just because I don’t know about influencers … aside from you, I mean.”
“I’m the only influencer that anyone needs to know about.” She gave me a sly smile. I knew it was a joke, because despite the seemingly vapid title, my friend was a deep person who struggled with a lot of insecurity. All of her makeup, her online persona was just that… a persona she wore to survive her insecurities.
I knew a thing or two about that.
“But we’re not talking about makeup gurus or lifestyle vloggers here,” she continued. “We’re talking about culture.”
I pursed my lips, gesturing to the track. “You’re going to classify this as culture?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I miss your weekly pilgrimages to the Louvre or the Met?” she asked dryly. “Or did I neglect your love of the opera and classical music?”
I smiled at my friend’s gentle ribbing.
“Like it or not, darling, pop culture is the culture of the time.” She nodded her head to the arena. “Which happens to include super-hot dudes riding on motorcycles and jumping shit. Which people have dug in a big way for a long time. Although I’ll give it to you, it used to be a certain societal niche that enjoyed things like X-Games. But the sport has had somewhat of a resurgence. Not entirely because of Kane Rhodes, but let’s just say this stadium would not be at capacity if it weren’t for him.”