Chapter 2 #2
Dillon snorted and gestured toward the remote. “Thought we were watching something?”
Rico leaned forward and grabbed it, then handed it to Dillon. “Sure, whatever you want.”
Dillon flipped through the Netflix menus then pulled up a series about fast cars.
It was some kind of reality racing show.
A few of the people were in wheelchairs.
It told Rico two things about Dillon. First, he was right, racing was in his blood, and second, Dillon really wanted to race again, even though he knew he couldn’t.
Maybe. He could still go fast. Faster than he did in a wheelchair.
Rico put those thoughts in the back of his mind and tried to focus on the show. It was kind of stupid though. Especially when he really wanted to focus on Dillon. “So what? These sleepers are cars that don’t look fast but are?”
“Something like that?”
“Do you think I look fast?”
“What?”
“Have you gone to any real street races?”
“Oh, right! Davey said that’s where he picked you up—off the streets,” he teased.
“Ha! Funny. I happened to be racing when I met them there, but I’ve been around Supercross and moto my entire life. I was doing a lot of 250 races, but as a privateer, you’re limited by the bank account.”
“Why didn’t you get sponsorship?” Dillon paused the show and turned his upper body to face Rico.
“You really interested in my story? We can watch the show.” Rico wanted that hungry look in his eye to be about him, but he knew better.
“Yeah, I am. Come on, tell me.”
“I’ve had smaller sponsorships off and on, but none of the teams were really interested.
I guess I have kind of a bad-boy reputation.
They didn’t want to take a chance on me.
I’ve got skill, but with limited funds, my bikes weren’t great.
I started street racing to earn fast cash to pump into the bikes. ”
“That seems counter-intuitive.”
Rico shrugged. “I was racing on the street way more than on the track. If it weren’t for Davey’s interest, I’d probably still be in Vegas.”
“Did your street bike look fast?” Dillon gestured to the TV with the remote. “Or did you have one those sleepers?”
“I guess it might have been a sleeper. It was dinged up. Didn’t look like much, but it was fast. I won a lot.”
“I’d like to see that. I may have to go watch you race this year.”
“You don’t go to the races? I’d think you’d be at all of them with your connections.”
A frown tugged Dillon’s face down. “No, it’s not easy. You know?” He nodded to his wheelchair. “I do PT a lot.”
“PT? What’s that?”
“Physical therapy.”
“Oh, gotcha. Does it help?”
Dillon shrugged. “I guess. It keeps the pain down.”
“Pain?” Rico did not like the idea of Dillon being in pain. That had to stop. “What?”
Before Rico could go on a tirade, Dillon put his hand on his thigh. “It’s okay. It’s not bad. Sometimes I get flare-ups. Like I said, though, the PT helps with that. I get pain more if I’m not using the legs.”
They were back to Rico’s original question. “So you can use them? You can walk some?”
“Kind of, but not really. They’re too weak. The signals they get from my brain are minimal, and they get crossed. Most of my walking is done in the therapist’s office.” Dillon relaxed back into the couch, facing the TV, but he didn’t turn the show back on. “But what about you?”
“Huh? What about me?”
“Are you fast? Are you going to win some races this year?”
“I damn well hope so.”
“Me too. I’ll cheer you on.”
Rico put his hand on Dillon’s leg, and Dillon jerked around to face him with wide eyes.
“Can you feel that? Does it hurt?”
Dillon shook his head. “I only feel a little pressure, but...”
“But what?”
“Why are you touching me?”
Rico gave him a sly smile. “I like you.”
Dillon raised his eyebrows. Was it so hard to believe he was likable?
“I mean it,” Rico whispered and leaned forward. He brushed his lips softly against Dillon’s. It couldn’t even be called a kiss, only something that put the decision on Dillon. Did he want to move forward? Did he want to race?
Dillon slowly pressed in—a gentle, tentative kiss.
His tongue flicked across Rico’s lips, teasing.
Rico couldn’t stand it any longer. He needed to find out what Dillon tasted like.
He dipped his tongue between Dillon’s lips.
They scraped their tongues against each other like a slide of hot, wet velvet.
The tang of salad dressing, the sweet syrup from his soda, and something more that had to belong solely to Dillon danced over his taste buds.
Then he knew. He knew what he was going to be missing when Dillon pulled away.
Then he did.
Rico was right. He immediately missed the kiss.
“I don’t think I can do this.”
“I’m sorry.” Rico stood up. “I didn’t mean to push you.”
“Oh, I think you did.”
Rico didn’t know what to think. Had he pushed too far? “I mean if you want to be friends.”
Dillon didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he cleared his throat. “Yeah, Rico. I want to be friends.”
“I can do that, but I’d better go to bed now.”
“I’m going to call my ride then.”
Rico turned around. “I hope you can make some of my races. I’d like that.”
“Me too. I’ll see you around.” He waved his hand with the phone in it.
“Do you need help? Want me to wait?”
“No. No, I got it.” He tapped on his phone then, and a second later it dinged. “Jerry will be here in two minutes. We’ve got this.”
“Thanks for the show.” Rico knew he was stalling. He’d been rejected. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to live in this awkward space with Dillon, but he didn’t want to leave either.
“Go on, Rico. I’m fine.” He started moving to the wheelchair.
Rico raced around the couch and grabbed the chair before it could slide out and send Dillon to the floor. Dillon mostly had it anyway. Once he was settled, Rico moved to leave, but Dillon grabbed his arm. “Hey,” he said softly. “I like you too.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Maybe we should start as friends? You said, friends.”
He could start in the friend-zone and work his way out. Challenge Accepted! “I need your phone number then, friend!”
They exchanged numbers, and Dillon went home. Rico went to bed. He lay awake a long time, thinking about Dillon and racing.