RIVALS | MxM MPreg

Chapter 8

"Mr. McCoy—based on results from the past few months, your chances of winning the Daytona are slim; will you be taking a different approach?"

"Do you think the reason for one of your biggest sponsors dropping you last week for Jackson Blaze might be because your performance has gone down in recent months?"

No question had ever overwhelmed Landon. He had always been a natural in his responses—always polite and professional when dealing with the press. Today though, the constant flashes from camera lenses, the yelling; everyone talking over each other, all asking the same bloody questions—it was too much. And not to mention, Jackson fucking Blaze sitting right next to him with the most shit-eating grin, and oozing a barely-there toxic Alpha pheromones to tantalize him, only added to the fire.

Landon was sweating buckets through his red racing uniform, his heart thundered in his chest. He was sitting by the press table, facing the media in the conference room. Today the NASCAR Racing Committee hosted the annual Daytona 500 press conference, and everyone who mattered attended said event. Landon, Jackson, Ray White, Dylan Tylor—a racer from Europe who switched circuits three years back, along with NASCAR organization leader, Jonathan Marshall, all sat at the same table.

As Landon opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. For the first time in forever, he was... speechless.

A lot had happened since he made a questioning deal with Jackson nearly two weeks ago.

For one, Jackson wouldn't stop texting him damnit. All day and all night his phone buzzed with messages from the younger man, most of which were unintelligible with emojis and words he had to Google to know their meaning. And despite Jackson's regular unnerving behavior, he didn't press when Landon flew back to Texas the very next day since their deal, never to step foot back into California until yesterday. So it was safe to say, they hadn't had sex as yet.

What subconsciously kept holding Landon back from going through with it was knowing that he was taking advantage of Jackson's young, naive, sex-driven, hormonal self. Although this wasn't his proudest moment, whatever—life happened.

He was starting to stomach Jackson too: the rookie wasn't diabolical; at least not always. Their back-and-forth texting took an easy toll, and he liked to think they would've had an okay relationship, a rivals-with-benefits sort of agreement. However, then he got dropped from his GEICO sponsorship a week ago and everything went back to falling apart.

Since GEICO's dropout, he kept himself busy at the ranch, he couldn't talk to anyone—especially Jackson since GEICO replaced him for the rookie. He shamefully felt resentful of Jackson, so he started ignoring his texts and calls and voicenotes; ones that went from desperation to outright demands that he should answer if he knew what was best for him. Entitled kid, he thought. Jackson had too much time on his hands.

Landon hadn't spoken to him ever since. Now, seeing Jackon with an emotionless look plastered on his face when he was practically throwing a hissy fit over unanswered text messages only this morning, seemed strange. Then again, Jackson was sorta strange himself.

"Do you think it's time you retire, Mr. McCoy?"

"Statistically, if Mr. Blaze drops out of the race, won't that put you in first place?"

The bullshit questions were back into his ears, snapping Landon out of his thoughts.

"My team and I are taking a different approach," he answered into the microphone, hoping his cap was low enough to hide the lies in his eyes. "I can assure you, I'm ready for Daytona. Landon McCoy is making a comeback. I—"