Chapter eleven
Stewart pounded on the door right at noon.
Davey still lay on his bed, facedown in a damp pillow.
He sat up and rubbed at his face and eyes, not wanting Stewart to see his tears.
"Coming!" He pulled on his Spiderman T-shirt, the first one he could get his hands on, and headed to the front of the RV.
The eggs from breakfast still sat on the table, Tyler's half-eaten, his own just shoved around. He should be hungry, but he just wasn't.
He opened the door and Stewart practically launched himself up the stairs and into the living room. "You ready?"
"Not particularly."
"What the hell? Is he still here?"
Davey sighed deeply. "No. You don't have to worry about it."
Stewart eyed the breakfast table and Davey felt his eyes on him, too. He'd figure it out, Stewart had a quick brain. "What's that mean?"
"I scared him off. We're over. I guess." Davey didn't want to believe it, not after the words they'd exchanged and everything they had done. It had been so much more to him than just a physical relationship. A good fuck.
Stewart put his hands on his hips, cocked one knee out, and looked at the floor. "Damn. I don't know what to say. I mean, all this time I've been damned thankful that you were so serious about your riding that you didn't let chicks get to you. I never realized. And now I feel bad."
"What do you have to feel bad for? I'm the one that just lost his boyfriend, asshole." He spit the words out before thinking about it. "Shit. Sorry. I'm just, I feel like shit."
"No, that's okay, Davey. I just meant that I felt bad for you. Guess I didn't quite realize, or want to admit it. How serious were you?"
"Apparently, I was a lot more serious than him."
"You don't know that. Maybe—"
"It doesn't matter," Davey said. "Just give me a minute to get ready.
" He jumped in the shower real quick wanting to wash off what was left from his last round of sex with Tyler.
Part of him wished he could keep it, but that was stupid.
Under the shower, he could only think about Tyler going down on him there, and washing Tyler's hair.
That simple act had been so sensual, like nothing else.
His heart just flat out ached. He forced himself to think of other things.
He had to pull his shit together. He had a job to do: autographs to sign and a fucking race to win.