COLE
FMX Bros #1
+Bonus Novel Strangely Normal
Tess Oliver
COLE
FMX Bros #1
Tess Oliver
COLE
Copyright© 2015 by Tess Oliver
Cover Image by Kruse Images & Photography
Cover Modeclass="underline" Robert Simmons
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
COLE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
More from the characters
Strangely Normal
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
CHapter 14
CHapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Tess Oliver
Chapter 1
Cole
Denver twisted the throttle, and his bike hit the metal ramp at top speed. Man and machine flew into the air as if they were both equipped with invisible wings. He tilted the bike sideways and brought his left leg around so both legs were on the same side. He straightened the bike as he swung his leg back over for a smooth landing.
Rodeo clucked his tongue in disgust. “Knew he wasn’t going to do that backflip.”
“Shit, you kidding?” I nodded toward the ramp. “He barely had enough air for a Nac Nac. Our boy, Denver from Boston, has been out of it ever since Melody told him they were through.”
“And that is why I never let a girl get into my head.” Rodeo’s black Oakleys were always a permanent fixture on his face, even when the sun wasn’t shining, which was rare in this part of Southern California. The wild print on his shirt made it hard to tell where the fabric ended and the tattoos began. He was one big blur of ink and pattern. Parker, or Rodeo, as we called him at work and at play, had grown up in Montana. He liked to brag that he’d been breaking colts since he was old enough to sit in a saddle, but now he preferred a horse with two wheels. And he rode a dirt bike a lot like a wild bronc, with grit, determination and a completely insane lack of fear.
Denver pulled his bike up to the retaining wall where Rodeo and I sat. He dropped his goggles down from his face and shut off the engine. “I need a shot of jet fuel in my ass or something. Can’t seem to defy gravity these days.” Denver, my other roommate and coworker, was the opposite of Rodeo. He was the silent, take it all in and analyze the shit out of it type. He should have ended up at MIT or one of the big brainy schools, but he’d hated sitting in class and he’d hated homework. His greatest achievement to date, aside from a near perfect score on the SAT test, was pulling off a flawless backflip on his dirt bike. His smarts came in handy though. He was so skilled on the construction site, I’d promoted him to foreman just six months after hiring him.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard the gravity gripe before, bro.” Rodeo smacked me on the shoulder. “Speaking of gravity, let’s see who can get the most air. Denver will be the judge. Loser has to buy the winner donuts every morning for a week. None of those stale old pieces of dough they sell down the street. And since I’ll win this bet, I like donuts the way I like my women—hot and tasty. Oh, and I’d like the rainbow sprinkles please. None of those boring, monochrome chocolate donuts with the chocolate sprinkles.”
Denver stared up at Rodeo.
Rodeo lifted his hands. “What? Don’t look so shocked. I’ll win. I’m thirty pounds lighter than him.”
Denver pointed to his face. “This look of shock is from you knowing how to use the word monochrome in a sentence.”
“Ah, fuck you, you east coast snob. And maybe next time your parents name a baby they should consult a fucking map so they can see how far Denver is from Boston.”
A flicker of movement caught the side of my eye, and I looked back at the vineyard that ran adjacent to our property. My dad had bought the land as an investment. My sister, Finley, always joked about the many stages in our dad, rock legend Nicky King’s, life comparing them to all the different periods in other great artists’ lives, like Picasso’s blue period. The place I was now living at with my two roommates had been a part of his investment period. He’d decided he wanted to start a winery and purchased the land. One measly crop of grapes later, he got bored of the idea and switched to investing in urban real estate.
Aside from the skeletal remains of the posts where the grapes had been planted, the ten acre spread was mostly barren land. At the front of the lot sat a mid-century ranch house, typical Southern California architecture. When Kingston Construction, another Nicky King investment and my main source of income, landed a big project building a resort and casino for a local tribe, I moved into the property to be close to the job site. It had been the perfect place to set up ramps, a track and even a foam pit for practicing shit that I was sure I wouldn’t land without breaking a few bones. I’d made my dad’s failed investment into my own two wheel playground. Rodeo and Denver had been working for Kingston Construction for two years, and they’d gotten me hooked on freestyle motocross. Or as my dad liked to call it ‘that quick trip to the emergency room sport’. Both of my coworkers had won some respectable competitions, and Denver was now making more money from sponsorships than from construction.