Spokes (4 page)

"Next time you come on the flats with us." Luca was suggesting a next time? "What of tomorrow?" he now wanted to
know.

Lie in bed, turning slowly to stone.
"I hadn't planned yet."

"Do slow, gentle recovery ride," Luca pronounced. "It chases lactate from your muscles. Tomorrow and the day after. I do the
same for tomorrow."

"Okay." Getting back on his enemy the bicycle didn't sound like a good idea at all. He could agree and then stay in bed until
the last possible moment before work.

"Half hour, slow pace. No hills. Where is good place?"

"Out and back to Niwot." Christopher figured Luca either knew the route or had maps.

"
Bene
. I meet you at 28
^th
Street and Iris. Eight o'clock." Now Luca sounded pleased with himself.

"Eight?" Oh, damn, he actually could make that. The lure of seeing Luca fought with the knowledge that he didn't really have
to be out of bed until nine to get to work on time. "Luca, I don't think your recovery ride is quite the same as my recovery ride. The
team will grind my ass into the road."

"No, they won't." A throaty chuckle came across the miles to tickle Christopher's ear. "Tomorrow is you
and I alone, no team. You set the pace, I promise not to grind ass."

If that wasn't the most double edged promise Christopher had ever heard. "You and me? Uh, why?"

"I see your face on the descent, I worry. I push you--I have to make you well again."

"Um, thanks." A sense of honor and obligation was all well and good, but Christopher had hoped for something more.

"And I push you to the peloton today, because I see you in the store, I like you."

That might only mean in a friendly sort of way. Christopher tried not to read too much into it; it could be the combination of that sexy accent and
tiredness.

But it didn't matter. He could find out tomorrow if there was anything more to it than riding, and even if not, he'd had Luca
Biondi's hand on his ass once.

Chapter 4

Christopher could manage a half hour recovery ride, even with the distance to the rendezvous point. Stripping off his underwear, he mused that he
wouldn't be stirring for anyone but Luca. To be invited on a private ride by the sexiest thing on a bike would get him to do far worse than drag
himself out of bed an hour and a half earlier than he'd planned. If he could figure out what that something worse might be.

Standing in the shower spray that had to be considered therapeutic more than hygienic, he let himself remember Luca's steely glutes flexing with
every thrust of his carbon fiber thighs, all encased in spandex tight as skin. Riders to his right and left--he moved smoothly between them,
pedaling in such smooth circles that the power never fed the bike unevenly. Even on the incline, his bike didn't rock with the effort. Beautiful.

Luca's slender, whipcord body would be beautiful too. Every rope of muscle outlined, long, strong, rippling with his movements. Did Luca leave
the hair on his legs over the winter? Every picture Christopher had found of him, on line and in the magazines, showed his legs shaved. Whether for
aerodynamics or to make treating injuries easier, his shaven skin was damned hot. Funny, this might be the only mystery those skin-tight leggings
concealed.

Because every flex and motion showed so clearly. Now, in the safety of a non-moving bathroom, Christopher could think of what he'd watched. His
cock rose, lifting under the spray, and he slid his hand down, bringing the slippery bubbles. Rising and falling with the rhythm of Luca's
peddling, Christopher's hand helped him remember the fluid action of Luca's legs, the way they bent and straightened. The way they
straddled his bicycle. Christopher envied the saddle--the support it gave that rounded ass, the slender point of the seat poking between
Luca's thighs, rubbing the flat plane behind his balls, slick with chamois cream, touching him all the way up the mountain and back...

Christopher's cock throbbed in his hand, the waves of orgasm pulsing from deep within, rolling outward with every spurt of come. Shaky with the
explosion, he leaned against the wet tile while the water beat lightly on him.

He had to get this out of his system now, because he was going to spend at least part of the next hour watching the same sight he'd just
imagined. Swabbing himself with the towel, he decided that today was a good day to wear a jockstrap under his leggings.

***

The waiting rider in black, white, and yellow had Luca's springy brown curls peeking out from under his helmet, and a big grin that said he
didn't need a turquoise jersey to identify his riding companion. Christopher pulled up beside Luca, still amazed that they were really going
riding together.

"Ready? I follow you to get your pace. You keep your heart rate under one-twenty, okay? We take it easy today. Out, back, flat, slow. Better for
your muscles than sitting." Luca waved Christopher to make the turn up Iris.

Leading was easier on his libido, which reminded Christopher that it had more than enough time to recover. He concentrated on maintaining his pace without
flinching every time traffic whizzed past, which on this road and at this hour, was constantly. His sense of timing, verified by the bicycle computer
mounted on his handlebars, said he was doing about eighty rpm, and his gear was low enough not to offer much resistance. He hoped Luca wasn't
bored to tears behind him. Too much to hope that Luca was watching his butt with the same interest Christopher would try not to display when they swapped
positions.

They'd reached the turnoff to 63
^rd
Street when Luca spoke. "Christopher, what is your heart rate?"

"Um..." Christopher poked the computer to clock mode and rested his fingertips on the base of his throat, counting.
"About ninety. I think." He might have missed a few beats or miscounted the fifteen seconds in his rush to answer the question.

"But you aren't sure?"

"No, but it's still under 120, what's the problem?" Christopher thought he'd been doing very well to keep
the confounding factor riding behind him from raising his pulse.

"It's good to be sure. If it was high as 120 now while we go slow, I would worry. You didn't wear your heart rate
monitor?"

"I don't have a heart rate monitor. I sell them, I can't afford them." The cheap cycling computer was the best he
could afford right now, and it didn't have that function.

"Pull over."

Christopher turned right, into a parking lot that had a few cars scattered about and some big cottonwood trees to one side. He stopped at a picnic table
under the trees. "Okay, why?" They leaned their bikes against the table.

"My heart rate today isn't so important--I pace you, I'm good. Your heart rate we need to know." Luca
reached up under his jacket and jersey, fumbling with both hands to produce a sensor on a black elastic strap. "Pull up your jersey."

Startled, Christopher reached for the hem edge, hesitating a moment, but Luca's "lift, lift" flip of fingers had him exposing
his belly and chest. Luca wrapped the strap around Christopher's chest just below the nipple line, coming close enough for Christopher to smell
his hair. Close enough to kiss. Luca unclipped a monitor from his own handlebars to pop onto Christopher's bike. He poked a button. Nothing
happened.

Nothing happened to the monitor, that is. Christopher was glad he'd put on the jockstrap and hoped it was enough.

"There isn't enough contact gel." Luca licked his fingers, sticking the damp digits under the monitor. Christopher forced
himself to move neither closer nor farther away. Luca poked the monitor again, but nothing happened. One corner of his mouth pulled back. "Hold
still."

He pulled the sensor down from its resting spot just below Christopher's nipple, bent, and licked. Popping the sensor on the damp spot before
Christopher could twist away produced a series of beeps. Upright and frowning, Luca poked the monitor to silence, and again, to get the quick beeping.

OMG, Luca had just licked him!
Licked... Right there... A little higher and... Or a little lower... Or not here at all, in the middle of a parking
lot, idiot.
He didn't mean a thing by it, except to get a good contact. And now the damned machine was betraying Christopher's interpretation. The
display flashed 105, then 106.

"It was working before." Luca quieted the device.

"It's working now." If the monitor had an infrared detector, Christopher's burning face would light that up too. He
pulled his jersey down over his stomach, wishing it covered him to approximately the knee. Maybe he should put his hand over the traitor display, now
flashing 110.

"It is? Oh, it is." Luca smiled broadly, exposing very white teeth with a slight gap between the front two. His eyes, hidden behind the
wrap-around sunglasses, could have been looking at Christopher's flaming face or at his groin, and the happy note in his acknowledgement was the
only thing keeping Christopher from wishing himself swallowed by the earth. "Good!"

So Christopher didn't have to worry about his desire offending Luca. It wasn't the same as being sure of a welcome. He swung his leg
over his bike, ready to ride away, not ready to ask for more. And not sure how he was going to pedal with this boner he'd just popped.

"We have no margin to your maximum right now, Christopher." Luca didn't reach for his bike. "If you wish to ride, I
should look at your pedaling. I think you work harder than necessary."

Christopher knew perfectly well he worked harder than necessary; what he didn't know was how to fix it. Following directions out of books was a
poor substitute for direct coaching, and the people who coached the best around Boulder either worked for one of the pro teams or cost three hundred bucks
a session.

"What do you want me to do?" He surveyed the parking lot, which they had mostly to themselves. Luca couldn't have found a
better diversion to take his mind off things he couldn't pursue here and now.

"Ride in a big circle around me, moderate pace. Do nothing different than usual." Luca marched out into the parking lot, his gait
clunky because of his fixed-sole cycling shoes with their pedal clips on the bottom. Again he flipped his hand, "around, around."
Christopher complied, rolling counterclockwise. He made three circuits around his new coach before Luca called out to switch direction. Another three laps,
and then Luca called him to halt.

"We use big machines with sensors to determine this for the team." Luca sounded apologetic. "I think I know where problem is,
but the leggings..."

"I'm not taking them off." His heart rate had calmed down as he rode, but shot up again by thirty beats a minute with the
suggestion.

"No, no... That's not..." Luca either choked or snorted. "I ride beside you, feel how your
muscles contract. Some part of rotation gets not enough energy. If you permit me to touch you."

If he permitted Luca to touch him... The real wonder was that he hadn't already begged Luca to touch him. And that Luca asked so
formally, after what he'd done already, seemed strange, but then Christopher realized he'd put himself outside the circle of pro riders
by reacting. He
knew
coaches, fans, and other riders pushed one another, but had never experienced it until yesterday. He
knew
riders had to
be of easy modesty with their form-fitting clothing, close quarters, and the occasional need to line up at the side of the road for a group whiz during a
long race. He knew all that, and yet, a little slurp to improve the performance of some equipment had him reacting like a nervous virgin.

Or like a man who was afraid to reach for what he wanted. Which was only too true. So if all he was going to get right now in the middle of a parking lot
off a moderately busy street was some world class coaching, he'd take it. "It's fine. Do what you need to."

Describing a large loop around the parking lot with one finger, Luca showed Christopher what he wanted. "I ride beside you, feel how your legs
work, okay?"

Christopher nodded
. Coaching, this was coaching...
He set off, and in a moment Luca was beside him, his legs working in tandem in such a
perfect way that Christopher despaired of duplicating such effortless motion. Then Luca gripped one of Christopher's legs, his fingers lying atop
the thigh, his thumb dropped downward. Torn between worrying about the desire his freshly engorging woody was betraying and worrying about what amateurism
his leg was betraying, Christopher almost forgot to pedal.
Focus!
he reminded himself.
Ride!

They made a lazy curve at the corner of the parking lot, Luca on the outside. He shifted his grip closer to Christopher's knee, which was a bit
of relief. Christopher stared straight ahead--he'd probably run into one of the few parked cars if he glanced aside. Around again, and
now Luca cupped Christopher's thigh from below, the gesture too reminiscent of what he'd do as a lover, with Christopher on his back,
legs parted...

Scraping a pedal against one of the concrete parking chocks brought his attention firmly back to the here and now. Hitting that differently could have put
them both on the ground. If he landed on Luca, he wanted it to be on purpose, naked, and with no protruding bicycle bits as inadvertent sex toys.

He could only hope Luca's powers of concentration were well developed and centered on quadriceps and biceps femoris, and not on the glans penis
that was doing battle with the jockstrap. Awkward didn't begin to cover this--he was uncomfortable and could do nothing about it without
making things worse.
Just pedal, idiot!

Luca didn't react to the scrape, either by swerving or retrieving his hand, but after another half-circuit that put them back at the picnic
table, he called a halt. "You're mashing," he informed Christopher, who thought he'd been behaving himself pretty
well for a guy who was getting groped.

"And that's bad?" he guessed.

"Could be better. Lance Armstrong mashed too, and still became pro. But--" Luca lifted his chin in what could have been
reminiscence, but could have been a really good look at the chaos in Christopher's revealing leggings. Damn the dark glasses for hiding
Luca's eyes! "When he stopped mashing, he started winning.