Chapter 1
Chapter one
Training
The alarm went off. Rico stretched out, and blindly tapped his phone until the blaring stopped. Then he pulled the blanket over his head with a groan. He didn’t want to get up.
It was in these early morning hours, alone and snugly comfortable, that he fought his inner demons.
He could say fuck it and stay in bed. Or he could get up and make something happen.
He normally chose the latter, preferring to get out there on his dirt bike and outrun those demons—at least for a while.
He flung the blanket off. One more day of getting up. The dirt was calling.
It was barely thirty degrees out. Rico rubbed his hands together.
It was too fucking cold to smell the oil and dirt.
His damn nose was frozen. He wore thermal underwear under his jersey and a cold-weather jacket and pants over that.
He wasn’t so bundled up that he couldn’t move, but it wasn’t as free and easy as warm weather gear would be.
Still beat the shit out of freezing his balls off. Fucking New Mexico!
After grabbing a quick breakfast, he met Tim Albright at the track behind Davey’s house. He was bundled up in a long coat that went down to his thighs, and he wore dark glasses. He was half I’m cool and half I don’t give a shit, and as always, he brought a ton of attitude. “Nice of you to join me.”
Rico jutted his chin in the air. “I’m not late.”
“No, but are you ready?” Tim probably needed all that sass to deal with most riders, but not Rico. He didn’t need that, but he wouldn’t let anyone know if they were getting to him.
Tyler, their head mechanic, rode up with his bike roaring loudly and ending the conversation.
He was a much more welcome site with all those gorgeous muscles and one of the main reasons Rico wanted to join the team.
He’d never get tired of seeing Tyler. Rico raised his hand in the air and called out, “Ty, my man!”
The engine on the bike died. “Hey, Rico!” Tyler was all smiles.
Rico didn’t feel special, Tyler was naturally happy, smiling at everyone, but he could still harbor a bit of hope down below—way down below.
Despite his not-so-secret longings to get busy with Tyler or his seemingly flirty ways, Tyler was all about one man and one man only. Davey McAllister—the boss.
“How’s the bike? It’s fucking cold out here.”
“She’ll run like a champ. Here. Get moving.” Tyler got off the bike, holding on to the handlebars to keep it upright.
Rico’s eyes traveled the length of him, eating up every inch from his boots, up his curvy legs, hidden in jeans, to his broad shoulders underneath a number twenty-seven jersey.
He looked delicious. Rico couldn’t help but lick his lips.
Tyler smirked, knowingly. Damn, I’ll never have any of that, and he knows it.
“Right. Enough eye-fucking, Dominichi. Get on the bike.” Tim was not about any of Rico’s games.
“Sure, fine.” He wouldn’t deny checking Tyler out.
He took the two-hundred plus pounds of machine from Tyler, throwing his leg over the seat.
“The sand here?” This year, several tracks would have sand pits, and they wanted Rico ready for it.
That meant practice-practice-practice. He would probably end up going to bed with sand still stuck in his ass-crack, not unlike a trip to the beach.
“Yep. They worked it late yesterday. Think you can handle it?” Tyler gave him another smirk.
“We’ll see.” He pressed the button of the electric starter, and the bike roared back to life. He crammed his helmet on and pulled his googles over it.
He was about to take off when Tim motioned to him, rolling his hand in the air.
Then he tapped his forehead, reminding Rico what he’d told him about the sand.
It could be harsh. The best course of action was to keep his weight shifted to the back of the bike.
If that front tire planted in the sand, he’d go over. It was simple physics. Whatever.
Since it was practice for sand, he didn’t worry about imitating the starting gate.
He simply shifted gears and took off. He hadn’t walked the track since they’d made changes, but the only change was supposed to be adding the sand.
He knew the rhythm section and the turn.
He anticipated the whoops. Then he took the next turn and straightaway before climbing the wall that dumped into the sand and. ..
The front end bogged down.
Rico went over the handlebars, rolling himself to the side. He was thankful to the sand for the softer than normal landing.
Fuck this.
He got up and went over to the bike. He figured he’d crash a few times. He shook himself off and started over.
After a few more runs, Rico was getting the hang of it. The last round he even pulled a wheelie through part of that section. It was kind of fun when he wasn’t wiping out.
He raced around the final corner and saw Tim motioning to him. He rode over and hit the kill switch, planting his boot in the dirt. He pulled off his helmet. “What’s up? I’m getting it.”
“I see. Great progress, Rico. Davey wants you back at the house.”
“Oh, why? Are we done?”
Tim took his helmet, and Tyler grabbed the handlebars of the bike. “For today.” Tyler gave him a quick wink and re-started the bike. He drove off with it, presumably to clean it up after all that sand.
Tim clapped his shoulder. “You’re doing great, but I don’t need to tell you that. Davey needs you to meet your new fitness coach. They’re in the weight room.”
Davey had his house set up sweet for training. Not only did he have a track in the back, but he also had a pool for swimming and a complete gym. If it weren’t so cold outside, it’d be perfect. He shivered as they walked toward the house. “Remind me why we’re not training in Florida?”
“Because Davey is here.”
“So this isn’t the trainer from Jacksonville?” He’d done a fitness boot camp there, complete with all kinds of monitors attached to him and a breathing mask over his face. It had made him feel like Frankenstein’s monster.
“Nope, he stays in Jax. But this guy probably has all your data. Go on.” Tim turned toward the bunkhouse Davey had built for the coaches.
It was easier to keep everyone on the property, and it was a very nice setup.
Rico stayed in the main house in the room next to the gym, and that was even nicer.
He wondered about the new coach and hoped he was as cute as Tyler.
He hurried across the pool area—totally ready for summer training—and entered the house. He passed through the dining room, kitchen, and into the living room where Davey had his old championship 250 bike. He never added his 450, but the 250 seemed like an integral part of the living area.
“Hey! You Rico?”
Rico glanced across the room at a cute guy in a wheelchair. His arms and shoulders were the same kind of sexy that Tyler had going on—delicious. “Yeah, you must be Dillon?” He was Davey’s cousin who rode motocross—until his accident.
“That’s me. I’m here for dinner. Just a bit early. You look like you’ve been riding.”
Rico nodded. Dillon was cute with the same coloring as Davey only his shoulders and neck were broader and his arms more muscular. He’d probably be nearly the same height as Davey if he could stand.
For once in his life, Rico didn’t know what to say. Should he make conversation—ask about the accident? “Nice meeting you, man. I have to go.” He thumbed toward the hallway like a coward.
“I know. They’re waiting for you. Catch you later.
” He was nice and seemed understanding, but Rico thought he saw a bit of wistfulness or longing in his dark eyes.
They looked navy-blue from where Rico stood.
Dillon’s lips were plump and twitching at the corner.
Did he want to smile? Laugh? Beg to come talk bikes?
Rico wondered how many other assholes had left Dillon out of the conversation, afraid of offending or bringing up bad memories. Well, he wasn’t going to be that way.
“Yeah, hang around. Love to chat with you later, man.” He raised his hand and smiled, hoping he didn’t seem lame. Dillon was super cute.
Rico turned down the hall but stopped, glancing back over his shoulder. Dillon watched him. Checking him out maybe? Rico smirked and kept going. Davey would eventually come looking for him if he didn’t get back there.
He wrapped his knuckles on the door as he entered.
The gym was bigger than a normal room. Bigger than the one he was staying in.
It might have originally been intended as the master suite.
Maybe it had been before Davey’s father passed.
If it had, it in no way resembled that anymore.
It was a big open space with equipment lining the walls and a pair of weight benches in the center and a circuit machine at the far end.
A door off to the side led to a shower room.
That might have been a normal bathroom once as well, but now it was three showers and urinals, more gym-style than home-style, done all in large cream-colored tile.
Davey sat on one of the weight benches, and he looked up and waved Rico in with a laugh. “Rico, hey. Want you to meet Orlando Xander.”
The man stood up and reached out to shake hands. He wore a tank top and board shorts. He had to have frozen his ass off coming over, but it was warm enough in the house.
“What’s going on? What’re we doing?” Rico asked after shaking his hand.
Davey stood up. “Orlando has your stats from Jax. He’s going to use that to plan a routine for you. Not just workouts but your diet too.”
“Oh?” Rico had never had anyone plan his diet.
Or his workout for that matter. Or even coaching him on the track.
He’d always gone it alone. When he was young and running the amateur circuits, his brother helped him, but he’d drifted away to find his own life outside of motocross.
Racing was in Rico’s blood, though. His father had raced motorcycles, granted that was on a flat dirt track where speed was the primary factor, but it was racing all the same.
Rico had grown up with it. He loved it. He’d never forget taking his first jump and getting major air on a 250 bike, rather than the mini.
He wouldn’t give that up for any of the biology crap his brother was studying in school with his four fancy degrees.
Racing. Everything in racing seemed simple—except now. “Diet?”
“Of course. If you’re really going to perform and make it through the season...” Orlando tilted his head, green eyes sparkling against his tan skin. “You need to be at your best. You have to be fit. You need to have the right food to keep fueled.”
“Trust me. Rico.” Davey clapped Rico’s shoulder. “We want you to win, but we want you racing for multiple seasons, and you have to be in top shape to do that.”
Rico glanced down his chest. He was lean, muscled. He’d considered himself fit. He quirked an eyebrow at Davey.
“I know.” Davey held his hand up with a chuckle. “You’re fit. To a point. But you’re about to be in the best shape of your life. Supercross stars are top athletes first, and you have to train like one.”
“I train. Bike, swim, weights, even that fucking treadmill.” Damn, Rico hated the treadmill.
“Oh yeah! And now we’re going to add more.” Orlando crossed his arms as if daring Rico to challenge his authority.
“More? Like what?”
“Specialized exercises. More rowing.” He pointed to the row machine in the corner. Rico hated that more than the treadmill and hadn’t even used it yet. He preferred lifting, and he involuntarily glanced at the free weights stacked neatly along the wall.
“Rico,” Davey said, grabbing his attention, “you’re still going to lift, but trust me, Orlando knows what he’s doing. He’s trained some very successful athletes. Swimmers, boxers, triathlon—”
“Moto is different.” Rico ground his molars. A part of him wanted to give in and let them direct him in whatever way they wanted. Then if he failed, it would be on them. The bigger part challenged everything, and this wasn’t any different.
Orlando glared at him. “Do you think you can’t keep up?”
“What?”
“I mean, other racers are doing very similar things. I can do all this.” He stretched his arms wide, inviting Rico to look his fill.
He saw cut muscles, firm and well-defined arms and shoulders.
Then Orlando lifted his shirt and gave Rico a good look at his chest and thin waist. He was fit right down to his thick thighs.
Muscles, but none were big like a weight lifter—none like Tyler’s sexy curves.
Orlando was athletic all the same and pretty sexy.
Rico imagined him with those long quads wrapped around his waist, and his heartbeat kicked up a notch.
“I can do it.” Rico swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure if he meant Orlando or the training, but he never stepped away from a challenge. That was why he had ultimately accepted Davey’s offer. Tyler had challenged him—dared him. “I suppose we’re starting now?”
Orlando laughed, his smile lighting up his face. “Nope. First, you’re going to shower and change into workout clothes, then meet us in the kitchen for food. You have to fuel up.”
“Can do, boss.” He gave them a quick salute and headed for the gym shower.
“And Rico,” Davey interrupted.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t hit on the trainer.”
Rico threw his hands up. Don’t hit on Tyler. Don’t hit on the trainer. What the hell was he supposed to do? The image of a sexy man in a wheelchair ran through his head. Maybe he could hit on Dillon. He chuckled and pulled off his clothes.