Chapter 10 #2
The only sounds between Laney and I are the ambient hum of rubber on road and the occasional click of a gear change.
Is Laney looking to find community within TP races? Or is there something else behind her drive to compete? Creating friendships with other athletes has been difficult for me at times because of how seriously I take it. And how driven I am to excel and push myself to the next level.
Plenty of people run TP races “for fun” but the idea grates my nerves. I know they’re working hard, but it is difficult not to dismiss their efforts outright.
Because this sport is so much more for me.
This sport is my lifeline.
And, I think it’s Laney’s too.
After ten minutes, I sit up in my saddle and turn over my shoulder toward her.
"Ready for intervals?" I call out and she nods. "Your goal is to hit 95% of your max heart rate. We’ll do that for three minutes, recover for three. After four intervals we’re going to max out for five minutes and then finish our ride with a cool down."
"Okay. I’m ready."
"Three, two, one, go!" I call out as I start to smash the pedals. My bike responds instantly and I take off. My breathing is heavy as my blood rushes through my ears. Exertion is my new addiction. I crave it, I get jittery without it. And clearly I lash out when I need a hit.
I glance back under my arm to make sure she’s with me and she is.
She’s fucking crushing it.
I lift a hand when my watch timer goes off and we move into interval recovery mode.
By the time we knock out the final interval I’m exhausted but invigorated.
"We're going to pull over here." I call out to her over my shoulder. Her gaze snaps up from my seat to my eyes and I smile as I turn back.
Whenever I use this path for training I visit the same coffee shop for my post ride treat.
We roll to a stop and she unclips before swinging her long leg over the back of the bike. "That felt so good. What was that?"
"VO2 max."
"What's that?" She asks and I take in the brightness in her eyes and the beautiful flush of her cheeks. She unclips her helmet and I watch as she runs her fingers along her golden plait.
That fucking braid.
"It's a workout designed to help your body use oxygen better when you exercise. So it'll help you in each discipline."
"So I shouldn’t have been drafting behind you?"
"Were you? That’s illegal in TP races."
"I know," she laughs, "and I wasn’t, but it would be so much easier if TP races were like ice dancing."
"Ice dancing?"
"Yeah with like partners. They both have elements they need to hit together, footwork to complete, but then he lifts her up."
"Does she have to lift him too?"
She laughs, "not usually, no."
"So how is that fair?"
"Ohmygods, you’re missing the point. They’re a team but he’s doing the heavy lifting and letting her shine. It’s hard work to hold your body up while it’s being spun around in the air with blades on your feet over a sheet of ice but all eyes are on her."
"So you want me to do the heavy lifting while you shine?" No problem.
Her cheeks flush a deeper pink and the filthy thoughts are back.
"I don’t know what I’m saying anymore, but I have the feeling Isla Covington would understand."
"Who?"
"Ice dancing legend, Isla Covington? She’s one of my favorite athletes."
"I’ll have to look her up."
"Really? You’re going to look up an ice dancer?"
"Yeah, there are always things to learn from other athletes."
"Huh, cool." She looks around. "Are we just taking a break?"
"Yeah, a little spot to refuel before we ride back. C'mon."
I nod to her bike and lock it up next to mine. I hold open the door for her as we step inside.
"Hey man!" Tony, the owner of Deja Brew, calls out as we enter.
"Hey. Can I get my usual?"
"Of course, and what do you want?" He turns to Laney.
"Oh, me, nothing, I'm fine." She clasps her hands in front of her and gives a tight lipped smile.
I follow her eyes to where they're studying the piece of carrot cake in the display case.
"She'll have the carrot cake." I tell Tony and then I turn to find Laney looking at me with wider eyes than she was giving the cake.
Focusing on our ride helped me to recenter. To recalibrate.
Getting blood to flow throughout my body instead of just to my cock helped me gain perspective.
I recognize Laney is doing the work I’m asking her to do. She can improve her punctuality so she isn’t too early or late, but she’s showing up.
And yet, I get the sense she doesn’t think she’s doing enough.
Who told her she wasn’t perfect exactly as she is?
Why can’t she see what I see?
Instead of wringing her neck to knock some sense into her, I reach out and slide my hand along the back of it. My fingers brush the braid I dream about and awareness travels through my body.
Not for the first time I’m reminded she needs someone to take care of her.
I keep my grip firm and lean closer to her. The sweat from her effort smells indecent and I want to taste it on her skin. "If you don't order the coffee you want I'm getting you one of everything off the menu so I can learn your coffee order."
"Miguel." She chastises breathlessly but I keep my expression firm. She stares at me for a moment and I don't flinch.
I get the sense no one takes care of Laney but herself.
And I've learned the hard way you need people in your corner who will back you up.
And buy you the occasional coffee.
She sighs. "An iced Americano please."
"Good girl." I give her neck a little squeeze before trailing my fingers lightly down her spine to the small of her back. She arches away from the sensation but I flatten my palm against the curve right above her ass, reveling in the perfect fit of my hand on her, because I clearly don’t know how to control myself around her, and her little submission has me wanting to treat her like the princess she is.
"Ew," she turns to face me. "I'm all sweaty."
"Doesn't bother me one bit." I say as I tap my card on the reader. "Let's grab a seat outside under the awning, they'll bring our order to us." I keep my hand on her back as we step out the door.
Loneliness plagued my twenties. Ashamed of my addiction but feeling unable to change it was the lowest feeling in the world.
A feeling I thought could only be fixed by getting high.
The years of my long-term recovery have taught me so much about my former misuse. My brain is simply wired differently. Just like how people are left or right handed. It’s a genetic disposition.
Now I understand my chemistry and channel it into training and exercise.
And I haven’t done it alone. I have my sponsor, Jeff, who got me started running.
My family has welcomed me back after witnessing my lowest moments.
But they've been on my team, behind me, supporting my journey back from the brink of ruin.
After all these years, and with their example, is it possible I'm strong enough to guide someone else?
And not just anyone; Laney.
I watch as her lips close around the tines of the fork and almost crush my coffee in my hand as I hear the satisfied moan from her throat.
My brain chemistry might be changing and I don’t feel at all prepared to handle it.
"What's our pace going to be on the way back?" She asks as she slides the other half of her cake to the middle of the table.
"Are you not going to eat all of it?" I ask.
"No, it's too rich." She wipes her hands on a napkin.
"We'll take it to go."
"How?"
"I'll hold it."
"Miguel, you can't hold it for ten miles."
"You don't trust me?" I tease.
"I do, but that's just unnecessary. I don’t need the rest of the cake."
"But do you want it?"
"I mean, yeah, it’s delicious." Laney looks longingly at the plate.
"Then I want to do it for you."
"Wow, alright." She laughs brightly, a blush colors her cheeks and her eyes blink quickly as she looks up at me. "But I'm not going home. I've got to go straight to work."
"Where's work?"
"I deliver for Curryosity."
"At night?" I don’t love this. And that rain might still be coming in.
But I agreed when she arrived to try and let her do things her own way.
Even if it kills me.
"Yes, that's when most people order dinner for delivery." She checks the cracked screen of her phone for the time. "And I need to be there by four."
That gives us a full hour to get home. "No problem." I tell her.
I keep the comment about her safety to myself. I hate the idea of her being out, alone, late at night. But I don't have a solution besides doing her work for her and passing on the paycheck so I keep my mouth shut.
For now.