Page 68 of Off the Mark
A tiny bit of relief had flooded through me at the thought of handing over the reins of the understaffed, underfunded, at-capacity situation I’d been dumped into.
But another stronger sensation had done the same—it was jealousy at whoever got to lead next, challenging as it was.
It’d been almost two weeks now that I was interim director and I was starting to…like it.Like it so much that I hesitated to admit it out loud. Except that enjoying feeling like a leader again wasn’t the same as beingqualifiedto do so.
Dean didn’t respond—just sipped his coffee, held his sign, and peeked over at me like he couldn’t figure something out.
“What is it?”
“Nothin’,” he said lazily. “I thought you were gonna apply for Elaine’s job. She already told Luciana to put you in temporarily. I know she’s been stressed and overworked lately, but she always had a nose for finding the right people for the right tasks.”
“Key word there istemporary.”
He grunted. “So? You seem happy.”
“That’s the sleep deprivation making my skin glow.”
“Rowan.”
I pulled up short at the seriousness in his voice.
“Being new sucks. You used to eat shit at every baseball practice when we were in middle school. Coming home late, tellin’ me and Alice how you were never gonna play pro ball because you’d never be talented enough.” He raised a shoulder. “You’re new at it so it’s only normal to suck.”
There was a painful truth in his words that had me shifting back and forth on my feet. I hadn’t felt like a rookie in a while, and I liked the challenge. But as I cast a sideways glance at his profile, that wasn’t the only thing making me uncomfortable.
The threat to Dean’s job was serious, and I still hadn’t said anything because I wasn’t going to let it happen. Worrying him for no reason felt cruel.
Still. The longer the situation dragged on, the guiltier I felt keeping him in the dark. Wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Do I really suck that bad at it?” I finally asked.
“Nah, you’regood. That’s what I’m trying to say.” He pointed to a bunch of riders walking across the track toward their bikes. “Hey, isn’t that Charlie over there?”
It was Charlie, helmet under one hand, goggles around her neck, moving with a casual confidence to her bike. She swung her leg over and sat back on the seat, pulling her helmet on and flexing her fingers in her racing gloves.
Then she twisted around, her face moving like she was scanning the audience. My stomach went hollow. I’d been head down at work for the past two days, and we’d barely spoken apart from texting about this race. And not asingle wordabout what happened in the lobby—my lips on her throat, the whispered fantasies, the hungry look in her eyes as she dipped down to kiss me.
Charlie pushed her helmet back up, facing me from her spot behind the start gate. With a wry grin, I held my sign high. Glitter coated the tops of my shoulders and dotted the front of Dean’s shirt. He lifted his at the same time, and we let out our loudest, Philly-sizedwhoop.
“Let’s kick some fucking ass,Charlie,” I hollered.
A few people laughed around us. A few more joined in, clapping and cheering her name.
Her response was a smile that dazzled.
Talk about liking something too much.
But a second later, every stray mechanic was scurrying off the track and then a checkered flag dropped. The start gates fell, and they were off in a blur of wheels, rocketing toward the first turn so fast it took me a second to realize that Charlie hit it first.
“Oh, shit.” Dean whistled.
My focus was superglued to Charlie, who was maneuvering her bike off a series of steps, coasting down a short, sharp hill, then gaining momentum before sailing off a jump in a perfect arc, like she was tracing the shape of the sun on the horizon.
Beneath that helmet, I knew she was smiling—knew it because one jump later she pulled off a trick she loved to do.The whipis how she’d described it to me one time on a hazy, late night at Jolene’s. Her upper body stayed mostly upright while her lower body shot to the side, forcing her bike sideways.
The crowd cheered for it. I was grinning myself stupid, could feel it in the muscles of my face. Next to me, Dean said, “That looked fucking cool.”
Eyes on the track, I leaned in. “Now you get why I made too many signs.”
