Throttled

Callum Davis I don't like men, I remind myself. But something about this man makes me question everything about myself. This man. He angers me like no other. He challenges everything I say like he has any right to argue. I’m the son of legendary driver Carl Davis. I know cars and racing like I was born to do it. And this guy walks through the door with his air of superiority and flamboyance and expects me to cower? His very presence annoys me, so why does he make me feel things I’ve never felt before? It doesn't matter because this could never happen. It’s just not an option in our world. I was born to race, it's what's expected of me and I have to put that above everything else. Even my heart.

Elijah Hayes Out of all the drivers, why was I chosen to work with NASCARs bad boy Callum Davis? God must have a screwed-up sense of humor. His debauchery is plastered all over social media and newspapers. Snapshots of him drinking, partying, and hanging all over women are the center page spreads. He had a shit season last year and rumor has it, Eisenhower has given him an ultimatum. Maybe I won’t have to deal with him for long. Being the only openly gay mechanic in NASCAR is enough to deal with, I don't need a driver with a chip the size of Texas on his shoulder to deal with. But you know what they say about best-laid plans...they were run over by an eighteen-wheeler truck the second my eyes meet the sad dark gaze of the man who was made to be mine. Let the games begin.