Spokes (10 page)

"Exactly. Machines not always best for what you need." Luca watched another attempt on this nameless exercise.

Christopher switched sides and had to splay his arms farther apart to keep from tumbling. A few passers-by watched curiously and went on to their own
routines. "So this is the key to staying upright and pain-free."

"Part of it." Luca nodded. "Bands are good. Especially for adductors. You want strength without bulk there. Else bike saddle
is very uncomfortable."

"No kidding." Christopher sold a lot of replacement seats to riders overburdened with inner thigh muscles. "Some brands are
thinner than others." He lifted his foot again, though it came nowhere near his elbow. Luca had made it look easy, but he was very flexible,
something Christopher had already determined privately.

"Pressure points not always the same, have to swap out on different stages. But always with cut-out, distributes pressure better."

"Really." Maybe it was time for an article on a bike component that had a lot more visibility than the glove linings Christopher was
still collecting data on.
CycloWorld
had mentioned.... Maybe if he impressed them enough, he'd have a shot at some of the race
articles, although Ryder Martin usually covered the American road races. And he had no chance to take any of the European coverage away from Dave Pauwels,
who'd written every Classics article for the last three years. Christopher had to start somewhere, and a pro with an opinion was talking to him.
"Any you like especially well?" Christopher folded to sitting, fanned by his waving journo's ears.

"Jindo XRR have right width for me. Rolf likes Cassowary HTs." His snort might mean he didn't like Cassowary saddles, or that
he didn't like Rolf again today.

"You aren't riding a Jindo, though." Christopher hadn't seen the distinctive metal kanji character Jindo riveted to
the back lip.

"Smooth leather, too slippery. K-Aeros have right shape and little holes in leather. I stay on better, even sweaty," Luca explained.

Diverted by the thought of Luca's sweaty butt, Christopher still remembered to ask, "Can I quote you on that?"

"You sell some saddles, okay." Luca was on his feet in one imperceptible move. The man was part lightning bolt. "I go use the
glute machine, need some reps."

Maybe he'd sell a lot of saddles. Christopher filed away his tidbits and tried the proto-pretzel core move again. And when they got home,
he'd have Luca run naked checks for improvements in his balance and flexibility.

***

Christopher pulled a couple of cans of chili off his kitchen shelf. "My treat." The cans went into the pockets of the heavy jacket on
the arm of the futon. "The sports expo will be fun." That and he could afford the price of entry--donations to a food bank
were enough to get in. Luca tended to grab the tab anywhere they went, but Christopher had his pride.

"A theater is dark; we could hold hands." Luca slipped his hand up the curve of Christopher's shoulder.
"Let's see a movie."

"True," Christopher admitted, "but we saw a movie the other night, and all we do is look at the screen; we aren't
really doing anything together." They hadn't held hands, though their thighs had pressed together for an hour and a half of sheer
torment. Christopher's focus hadn't included the screen. "Besides, do you even remember the main character's
name?"

"Sports expo is public; people know us," Luca objected. His other hand found its way around Christopher's waist.

"Some of them might recognize you; there might be people who know me, but if we're looking at snowboards and inline skates,
we're just a couple of guys doing guy stuff. My friends aren't jerks." Christopher let himself be drawn into the kiss.
"Everybody goes."

"So I fear."

"It'll be more fun than sitting in the dark with boners we can't touch." If doing something as neutral as the
sports expo was going to be a problem, what was it going to be like if he actually took Luca up on his offer to come to France during the racing season?
Were they going to hide in some villa where hounds would eat trespassing photographers?

"We stay here and touch boners?" Thrusting his hips against Christopher let Luca make a pretty persuasive argument. Okay, the hounds
might not be such a bad idea.

"And then we go to the sports expo." Christopher backed Luca up the two steps to the futon, whose shape shifting tendencies had been
curbed, not by the moon, but by never pushing it to the couch position. Luca fell backward, bringing Christopher down too, for some wild tonguing and slow
thrusting. "Wild man," Christopher panted, sliding down until he knelt on the floor between Luca's knees. Without a glance to
the draperies, which stayed closed these days, he undid Luca's zipper, releasing the curved, uncut cock that he was becoming so familiar with.
Slipping the skin back, he drew his tongue over the head, tasting salt droplets. With Luca's hand in his hair, he set to licking and sucking,
enjoying the little gasps and groans. One day he'd get Luca to cut loose and yell, someplace he felt really private. The footsteps from the
upstairs neighbor kept Luca quiet, but didn't keep him from climaxing. With his cheek against the soft hairs on Luca's belly, he held
his softening prize on his mouth just a moment longer, letting Luca come away from his post-climax high. The sudden raspberry Christopher blew into
Luca's navel made him bounce.

"Don't go to sleep on me just yet," Christopher warned.

"Now you?"

"Later. It'll give you time to recover and both of us something to look forward to." He hauled Luca to his feet.
"Let's go."

Once he got Luca past the big glass double doors at the arena, the displays stole the last bit of reticence. "Have you ever tried
this?" Luca wanted to know, ratcheting the gears on a bit of hardware at a rock climbing booth.

"A little. That's called a friend, and they come in different sizes, for different size cracks." Christopher
wouldn't allow himself to snicker about jamming friends into small tight places. "Do you want to try the climbing wall?"

"Maybe something in my contract about not doing such things," Luca murmured, but he got in line anyway. The broad grin while unbuckling
the harness after a trip up and down the artificial wall made Christopher wonder what else Luca had missed out on because of his racing.

A boat dealer's display took up the center of the enormous arena's floor. Bright orange kayaks danced across the surface of a pool
twenty-five yards across. Squealing children and laughing adults paddled around, occasionally flicking water at each other.

"Do you want to try?" Christopher had learned the basics in a fully aproned kayak--these were open plastic shells, toys
really, meant for calm shallows. Anyone who rolled would spill out. In the hip deep water, the worst they would get was wet.

"Looks fun!" Luca peeled off a few dollars and collected a double-ended paddle for each of them.

Once in their orange watercraft, Christopher feathered out into the middle of the pool, intending to scoot to the far end. Luca, meanwhile, was struggling
with the laws of physics which made it much easier to go in circles than in lines. His prow swung out; clipped by a passing craft, he got turned the other
way.

"Dip the paddle evenly on each side, and undercorrect, because the kayak keeps moving." Christopher paddled backwards, pacing Luca, who
threw him a crusty glance before devoting his attentions to arriving at the far side of the pool.

Luca muttered something under his breath when he caught a crab, his paddle barely grazing the surface of the water. The splash soaked a bystander
who really should have been expecting such things.

"Didn't quite hear that!" Christopher shot forward, away from Luca's much louder "Smartass!" To
the end and back again, to find that Luca had worked out how to do a U-turn and stay in a more or less straight line. Evading a teenager intent on playing
bumper-boats with everyone on the water, he swung around behind Luca, and they paddled together for a few strokes before they ran out of pool.

Twenty minutes later they'd exhausted the possibilities of the toy craft on a crowded artificial pond, surrendering their kayaks. "The
batting cage is over there, we could try that?" Christopher suggested but was arrested by the sound of his name.

"Hey, Christopher!" came from the line that waited for a turn on the water.

"Hey, Stu!" Christopher thought guiltily that he should have called to set up a ride for the weekend; there was no snow in the
forecast. Luca stopped next to him, but with about four inches more personal space than he'd needed most of tonight. "Seen anything
here you can't live without?"

"Only my darling." Stu pulled a pretty young woman closer to him, planting a smacker on her temple. "But maybe you can get
the shop to cut me a deal on that set of Shimano brakes I've been eyeing?"

"Ugh, I can try." Christopher flinched. "I didn't even want to go by the booth: I spent all day discussing the
merits of aluminum versus carbon fiber handlebars. Haven't even looked around until now. Uh, Stu, Liz, this is my friend Luca."

Stu put out his hand. "So you're Christopher's new squeeze?"

Maybe the slang eluded Luca. "Friend, Stu," Christopher hissed.

Luca froze with his hand halfway out. Guess not.

"Friend, right." Stu looked a little too amused. "I'd say any friend of Christopher's is a friend of
mine, but I don't want to get
that
friendly." He shrugged and dropped his hand.

"Enough, Stu!" The people passing around them cast sideways glances, though at Christopher's mounting fury, Luca's
bulging eyes, or Liz's elbow jabbing into Stu's side he couldn't say.

"See, bad idea, Christopher." Luca practically vibrated in place. "Liz, forgive me." He lifted one hand in a
farewell. "Fuck you, Stu." Then he was gone.

"You ass!" Christopher wanted to smack the bewilderment off Stu's face, but instead of lashing out, he turned, craning to
find Luca, but he was lost in the crowd, maybe long gone with a head start to wherever he'd go to lick his wounds. Christopher wondered if
he'd have to patrol every street in Boulder to find Luca, to apologize, or if he'd go back to the apartment, or worse, to the shared
house in the hills that Christopher had never entered.

He barely heard Stu's panicky, "What did I say?" as he left.

***

Luca hadn't gone back to the apartment, and why would he? They hadn't quite gotten to the key stage. Three weeks were still only three
weeks, no matter how much of it they'd spent together. Putting his bike on the wall rack in the living room, Christopher wondered wearily if he
could coax Luca back sometime before Antano-Clark left for Europe. He tried Luca's cell, going straight to voice mail, and left only the briefest
message. "I'm sorry. Call me."

Stu got shunted to voice mail once Christopher saw the number. He was no more prepared to deal with Stu than Luca was prepared to deal with him. Damn it!
He'd
told
Stu to treat them just like friends. Trouble was, Stu thought the definition of friendship included snooping into
Christopher's sex life. Maybe he should have tried saying, "This is a closet," and slamming Stu's face into the
door six or eight times, just to get his attention.

The phone rang again about an hour later, making Christopher's heart jump, then stop.

"Luca, I'm sorry." Get it out before, instead of, hello.

"That was not-asshole friend?"

"I thought so. I was wrong." Christopher waited--what would Luca say?

"We don't see each other tomorrow night."

"You're getting even with me for what he did." He was only too aware that Luca would be leaving for Belgium soon. None of
what happened tonight boded well for what would happen if Luca still wanted him to come to Europe. Christopher resigned himself to seeing very little of
any foreign country where paparazzi recognized cyclists.

A deep sigh blew into his ear. "No, tomorrow night is dinner for team. I need to be there."

Christopher heard what Luca didn't say. A dinner for the team, the wives, and the girlfriends. "Okay, your dirty secret will find
something else to do tomorrow."

"I tell you at beginning what I have to do, and why. I take big chance with you! You say you understand, and then you say this!" Luca
exploded.

"It's still true, Luca," Christopher barked back. "It sounds ugly, it is ugly, but it's still true. And
I'm sorry for it and I'm sorry you feel it's necessary, but it sucks to be the man you have to hide." He softened
his voice, aware he was jeopardizing making his point. "I'm not telling you to do it differently. I'm just telling you what
it feels like from this side."

"I make you feel bad; I'm supposed to stop that, right? Be good boyfriend? Do what I can't do?"

"You left without me tonight, and I wasn't the one who caused the problem."
Apologize for that
,
and I can deal with the rest. Somehow
.

"
Your friend
did."

"I know. And I'm sorry."

"So am I. But you also know three people can keep secret if two are dead."

"I can keep your secret, Luca." Letting go of the handful of hair he'd grabbed out of sheer frustration, Christopher knew he
could only promise fully on his own behalf, and Stu had already figured out too much. "I'll talk to Stu. He thinks it's
entertaining that I'm gay, that's half the problem. I'll make sure he understands that he screwed up and not to say anything
else."

"Thank you." A pause, and then "
Ciao,
Christopher."

Somehow, that sounded permanent.

Chapter 9

Trying not to think about Luca having dinner with twenty-five men who weren't him, Christopher typed another few words comparing the padding
inside riding gloves. His phone had rung, but one number he didn't recognize and the other was Stu. He hit the ignore key and returned to writing
his article, as if someone would really base a purchase on the stats he'd collected.
CycloWorld
was at least pleased with his efforts.
They'd like the saddle story even better; he'd include quotes.