Page 116 of Rogue Riders Duet

“Hey.” I rest back on my elbows as Piper digs into another knot. “I mean, shoot your shot. He’s single, he’s a nice guy. And honestly, girl, you’re pretty cool yourself.”

I don’t say the rest aloud. That I’d be glad, relieved to know somebody is there for him when I’m not anymore.

She exhales through her nose. “I’ll think about it. But maybe not. Maybe we just go our separate ways from now on.”

“Not gonna happen.” I raise an eyebrow. “I need you, and I need him. So, you’re kinda stuck.”

“Stuck with the hot-as-fuck Dane Crews,” she muses. “Yeah, there are worse fates.”

“Ew,” I mutter. “He’s still my brother.”

“Sorry.” She lifts her hands in mock surrender. “Anyway, there’s nothing I could really find. I mean, aside from the obvious, your muscles are all in tension, rock hard around the hips. But for the new pain, if I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s period stuff.”

“It hurts like a motherfucker though.”

“Yeah, it does. Want painkillers?”

“Already on them. Thanks.”

She leans against the counter, folding her arms. “Well, if I’m wrong about it being the drink messing with your stomach, you’re about to make history as the first guy on the circuit to get his period.”

“Ha ha,” I deadpan.

“Speaking of gender crises, Otis told me he found you in Delacroix’s room yesterday morning. What was that about?” Her smile is pure maniac.

Fisher, you little gossip.

I sit up. “I’ve got shit to do.”

“No waaait,” she whines as I start pulling down my hoodie. “It was just getting interesting.”

“Uh-huh.”

I’m halfway to the door when she says, “Wait, hold up.”

I stop, glancing back, and she grabs her phone and holds it out. “Put in your number so I can text you mine. Next time, instead of stomping in here like it’s an ER, you could just call.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, taking the phone and typing quickly.

Piper steps forward and hugs me before I can make my exit. “Call me if it gets worse.”

“I will,” I promise quietly when she lets go of me.

The moment I step out of the pit, it hits me just how alive everything is, with people everywhere. Riders laughing, mechanics hauling gear, someone walking past with fries drowning in cheese, and something that smells suspiciously like bratwurst. The whole place buzzes with energy. Adrenaline and carbs in equal measure.

My stomach growls, hunger now overriding the nausea and pain. Maybe I should get some food for Dane and me. He’s probably hungry for more than the sad crackers and canned soup he’s been living on. Putting something in my stomach will probably help settle it. And maybe I’ll find Luc there.

I start toward the gondola station, since there’s a restaurant next to it, tucked just above the pit level with a little walk-up takeaway counter. Fries. Schnitzel. Kaiserschmarrn.

But I barely make it to the edge of the locker room zone when a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“Crews! Number seven!”

I go rigid like I’ve been shot.

One of the UCI officials waves me over, stepping fully out of the big white tent half-swallowed by the gondola building. “We’re doing doping tests. Come on.”

“Wait, what? That wasn’t on the schedule.”