Page 69 of Off the Mark
“Now you get why I make so many breakfasts.”
Laughing, I clapped my hands and yelled Charlie’s name as she flew past. She was now in a pack of four going into the second lap. I knew this race had a decent first-place purse—$15,000—and I also knew that Charlie had lost the last few and needed a win. For a couple different reasons.
The stakes were high for this race.
Standing there like that, I couldn’t help but get swept up in the motion, the speed, the electrifying adrenaline. I held my breath and watched her edge around the third rider, sneak past the second rider, thoroughlygun ituntil she was on the heels of the first.
“Come on, come on,come on,” I chanted—sign dropped, hands on my head.
Charlie made a serious play for the top spot, so close that my heart lodged in my throat. My voice went hoarse from cheering. The audience moved as one, like a flock of birds, seeking out the final few seconds of momentum.
There was one last flash of color. Another flag.
And Charlie had come in second.
I was moving toward the finish line before I was even aware of it. Riders kept roaring past the line in a cloud of dust, and photographers were already taking pictures, but I was only aware of Charlie.
Goggles and helmet torn off, her hair a wild tangle, my fake girlfriend was beaming as other racers congratulated her. I understood the very unique pain of second place but based on her body language she was overjoyed.
Per the digital rankings sign near the announcer’s stand, the second-place purse was still a cool $10,000. It wasn’t going to stop her dad’s eviction, but it was at least a start.
Our eyes met through the crowd, and our connection rippled like a shock wave through my body. We were surrounded, a constant press of people and sound, but I couldn’t have told you anything about it.
I stopped twenty feet before her bike, happily surprised when Charlie launched herself into my arms. I lifted her feet off the ground and buried my face in her hair. The ease and comfort of this celebratory moment threatened to knock me off my feet, even more than the force of Charlie’s body leaping to mine.
No part of it felt planned for the positive optics or staged for a social media post. No part of me wanted the illusion anyway.
And as she reared back to send a triumphant fist into the air, I realized with a start that I would absolutely get up at dawn to make this goddess a hundred breakfasts if she asked.
17
CHARLIE
Second place.
Second place, second place, second place.
Half an hour later, I was midway through cleaning off my bike, still in a blissed-out daze. It wasn’t first, and I was so close to beating Riley Miller over that finish line I could taste the bitter near-victory on the tip of my tongue.
But it had been sixlongmonths since I’d placed in the top three. Today I’d feltin the zoneon that track.
It was a long time coming. Only when I’d leapt into Rowan’s arms in sheer joy did I realize how desperately I missed the thrill of this sport, how desperately I missed feeling like I knew what I was doing.
Of course, onlyafterI’d leapt into Rowan’s strong arms did I realize that sharing my delirious glee with him had been instinctual. A pure gut reaction, running to a man who’d always made me feel safe.
It sure wasn’t for the benefit of a bunch of cameras.
“That was a beauty of a race out there.”
I squinted up at the voice, tossing the rag over my shoulder. It was Riley and her girlfriend, Quinn.
I cracked a smile. “Thanks. I tried to catch you, but you were too fast on that final turn. Congrats on the win.”
Riley extended a hand, and I let her pull me to stand. She wore an Archer’s Angels jacket, and her pink hair was tied back from her face. She was about my age, white with bright blue eyes and a gold nose ring that matched the ones in her ears.
“Next time you might,” she said with a friendly grin. “I’m Riley, by the way. I don’t think we’ve officially met.”
“Charlie,” I said. “And you’re Quinn, right?”
