Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Moto Club in North Carolina
For the next few days, Tate and Bryce were almost inseparable.
They ate meals together in the mess hall and practiced together on the track.
Tate could see almost immediate improvement in Bryce's ride and was stupid-happy with that. All of that. He really liked Bryce. They never ran out of shit to talk about and just generally got along well. Tate tried to swallow down that higher level of attraction and just be the kid’s friend.
Knowing that he'd helped Bryce on the track made his chest warm, and he told himself that had to be enough.
As they pushed their bikes back to the garage, Tate swallowed down how proud he was of Bryce, but after they released the bikes, Tate clapped Bryce on the back. His hand stayed between Bryce's shoulder blades. Not wanting to move.
Bryce looked up at him with wide dark eyes and thick fluttering lashes, and whatever Tate had meant to say left him.
“Uh,” he stammered completely and totally ineloquent.
His hand slid slowly down Bryce's back. “Want to come to my room? Uh, to hang out?” He was pretty sure he'd mentioned that he had a private room, so when Bryce bit his lip and gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, Tate's cock shifted behind his track pants, trying to harden.
So much for not thinking about Bryce that way.
Tate finally moved his hand and they shuffled off toward the bunk rooms where four or five guys shared three or four bunk houses, each with shared bathrooms and showers.
Bryce bunked in one of those, but Tate's team paid for one of the eight private rooms. MSR always went all out.
The little mini-houses lined up four each on both sides of the common bunks.
Tate led Bryce to his and used the keypad to punch in his code and unlock the door.
The camp made it easy to remember the number—two nines plus his race number, 87.
Inside the front door was a small room, not unlike a hotel.
It had a queen sized bed against one wall and a big screen TV on top of a chest of drawers on the other.
A small desk with a rolling chair was next to the dresser.
Next to what passed for a kitchen, was a bathroom.
At least it was private and had the basics: sink, toilet, and shower.
The small kitchenette with a mini fridge, a microwave, and a two burner stove top also had a small sink and a few cabinets if he wanted to put some dishes in there.
He didn't have any dishes, but there were two boxes of dry cereal that he'd picked up from the little town down the road.
If he could actually call it a town. It wasn't much more than a handful of store fronts.
Bryce pulled out the rolling chair and sat in it, looking up at Tate, expectantly.
Tate sat on the bed and leaned toward him, grabbing the chair by the arms and pulling it forward.
His thighs pressed against Bryce's knees, trapping his legs between his own.
That purple hair hung down in his eyes, making Tate want to push it away.
Bryce bit his bottom lip again and lifted his chin.
The look on his face, full of want, made Tate's brain fizz out.
He heard white noise and his vision narrowed to focus solely on Bryce. Nothing else in the world existed.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips, gently on Bryce's, then pulled back slowly and waited. His heart beat twice before Bryce opened his mouth and leaned into Tate.
Tate's hands pushed through Bryce's thick, dark hair as his tongue plunged into Bryce's hot, wet mouth.
Bryce slid his tongue back and forth against Tate's, a bit nervously, but that little timid move drove Tate nuts.
He needed more. He leaned forward, trying desperately to get Bryce closer.
He wanted their clothes off, hot, bare skin pressing and sliding together.
The kiss continued; Bryce's tongue flicks grew braver and more demanding by the second.
Tate reached down between them, barely skimming over the bulge in Bryce's track pants.
And damn if Bryce didn't look hot in those blue and white Alias pants.
Bryce moaned softly into Tate's mouth, encouragingly.
Tate pulled at the tab and belt that held them together, and Bryce jumped back.
The chair wheeled farther away, out of Tate's reach.
“What?” he asked. “I mean. We don't have to.” Tate didn’t want to push him, didn’t mean to push him. He normally dealt with older guys who knew what they wanted, but Bryce might not know, might not be ready. He seemed like the kind of guy Tate could wait for, though.
Bryce's eyes widened and his gaze darted all over the room, landing on the door. His body hummed like a rabbit ready to jump. Tate could feel the energy rolling off of Bryce like lightning.
“It's okay. I'm sorry. We don't have to do anything,” Tate repeated, holding his hands up, but it was too late.
Bryce darted out the door without looking back, without even closing it behind him.
“Damn it,” Tate cursed himself and flung his body back on the bed. His cock still pressed hard against his own track pants. He'd blown it for sure. He'd forgotten just how young Bryce really was. He probably shouldn't have even kissed him. Bryce was still a boy and obviously in the closet.
Bryce ran.
He couldn’t catch his breath, but it didn’t stop him. He ran through camp and straight to his bunk. He climbed up and smashed his face into his pillow. Noises came out, muffled but still frustrating, sobs and screams alike. What had he done?
After spending every free moment he could tagging after Tate, following him around like a love-sick dog, when he finally got that moment he’d been waiting for, what did he do?
Chicken out. He ran away. Tate must think Bryce was some kind of prick tease.
He didn’t want that, but didn’t want to move so fast either.
It had been difficult negotiating his time between his coaching sessions and work outs with Reuben and his time with Tate, but he’d been doing it, and it had been so worth it.
Tate had been so nice to him, giving him tips and talking to him like he mattered.
The electricity between them had been a heady thing.
And that kiss.
Tate’s hot tongue in his mouth, dancing around his own.
It was like their mouths were meant to be pressed together.
His heart leapt like he’d taken a big jump on the track.
His stomach quivered. Nothing else existed in that moment, but Tate’s mouth on his.
Tate. The rock star of Supercross. Tate Jordan like-liked him.
..Bryce...just one of a hundred kids at the camp vying for a spot on a Supercross team and he hadn’t even got his race bike yet. ..and how did any of that even matter?
Bryce rolled over on his bunk and gently touched his lips with just the tips of his fingers.
Tate’s lips had been right there. They still felt warm.
Why did he have to pull away? He could have just asked Tate to slow down, but when Tate had tugged his belt, he knew what it meant.
Tate wanted to fuck him. Right there. Oh and boy did a part of Bryce really-truly want that. Yet, another part of him didn’t.
No. That wasn’t right. He wanted it. All of him wanted it.
But, if Tate only wanted him for sex, it would break his heart and that’s sure what it felt like.
As soon as they’d made the first moves, Tate jumped ahead to the sex part.
He was older, more experienced. After Bryce had followed him around with his moony-eyes, Tate probably expected Bryce to do it.
But, it had been Bryce’s first kiss, first real kiss.
He put his heart and soul into that kiss.
Damn. Bryce was acting like a baby. But, after the way he freaked, he couldn’t face Tate. Couldn’t imagine how mad Tate must have been. He bolted out of there so fast, it could have been a damn holeshot on the track. Tate couldn’t even have caught him.
Bryce had broken his own heart. He turned over and sobbed into his pillow again. He’d done this to himself. Tate had been nothing but nice, and would have slowed down for him, but now it was over. Bryce couldn’t go back and change it; he’d just have to live with it, even if he didn’t want to.
Tate dragged himself through the next few days with an excruciating numbness.
He went back to riding alone. Worse, he saw Bryce everywhere else around camp.
He'd see him in the large community center where other riders hung out, played games, talked about racing, and sometimes watched track footage on the big screen.
Tate would stare at him from across the room until Bryce's gaze met his own.
Then, they'd both turn away. He'd also see Bryce in the cafeteria, usually sitting with a few other riders his age. He pointedly ignored Tate, but still Tate caught a flash from his dark eyes, every now and then, reminding him of what he’d lost. More than sex or making out, Tate had lost his friendship.
Tate reacted by spending more time on the track and less time in the common rooms, logging his hours in the dirt.
He wouldn't have the luxury of riding whenever and however he wanted for much longer.
Oz had said he would be sending a trainer soon enough.
Tate hoped it would be Tim Albright. That man was sex on wheels and an out gay man as well.
He was someone Tate could be interested in.
Tim was older, but not too old. Even if he was, Tate could see Tim as a sexy, silver fox.
Maybe that would get his mind off of Bryce.