Spokes (9 page)

Rocking to keep his balance, Christopher was glad of the break. His legs weren't quite as jelly-like as the invertebrate on the slab Luca admired
next, but closer than he wanted to admit. He remained standing to check out the rest.

"So much of this rock all over town." Luca straightened in a hurry when the high-pitched scream of a stone saw destroyed the quiet. He
waited for a break in the noise, which only lasted a few seconds. "University buildings, houses. I like it. Maybe get a fossil for
house." The saw shrieked again.

"Let's go!" Christopher thought every filling in his teeth would vibrate out from the sound. And he was ready to go again,
making it to Lyons where they refilled their water bottles at a convenience store and turned around.

He said nothing when they came to the turnoff that would take them up Lee Hill--even the gentle rolls of their current path were just about
enough. Yesterday had cost him more than he thought. He did give the road a baleful look--beyond Lee Hill lay the steepness of the Jamestown
route, or worse, the near vertical above Jamestown, and if he survived that to reach the Peak to Peak Highway he would end up in Ward again, where he could
have the joy of the gradient down into town. But no, not one foot would he go to challenge the cruel hills.

Once they hit the city limits it was straight down Broadway, where every light was another moment to let the lactic acid drain from screaming calves and
thighs. Head tipped down, Christopher waited for Luca's movement to tell him when to cross streets and when to wait. Once at his own door, he
fumbled at the lock so badly that Luca took the keys away to let them in.

"Drink, Christopher." Luca pressed a bottle of sports drink into his numb hand. "Shower. Sleep a little if you can, and do
stretches before work. You'll be okay, and I'll be back later to take care of you. Not very late, New York man has to go back today. I
have to run home, clean up and get to meeting." Luca wrapped his arms around Christopher, which felt more like support than caresses. They sat
down hard on the futon and Luca stole his helmet.

"You had a long ride too. I should drive you home." And he'd get to his feet, too, if Luca would just let him up. His lower
back ached. Couldn't be he was getting old, but he'd hurt more and more after riding these days, and it wasn't anything Luca
was doing to him in bed.

"Not so long. I'll be fine. Quick trip home, fresh clothes waiting." Luca kissed him, right next to Christopher's
nose where he didn't get in the way of the air: nice.

"But--" Christopher flailed, trying to stand. "Your house is up above NOAA." The National Oceanic and
Atmospheric Administration cuddled into the earth about half way up the foothills.

"No problem." Luca dismissed more vertical with another hug. "Twenty minutes to home if I go slow."

Oh Lord, Christopher'd sooner try to climb the wall than ride another hill today. "But--"

"No buts. I'll be fine. So will you, but I'll set your phone to ring in an hour so you get to work. And you sleep, be lively
when I come back tonight, okay?" Drawing anxious thumbs across Christopher's eyebrows, Luca leaned in to enforce his command.

"Okay, but--"

"No buts. You take care of yourself here, and I get home and take care of other business. And then come see you later, best part of my
day."

Best part--um, okay, but.... "I'm about to fall down and you're going to take another hill at
speed."

"Listen, Christopher." Luca took his shoulders in a grip tight enough to demand attention. "You're tired.
That's okay. You are fine amateur rider, you go distance and speed most people can't go. You go farther and faster now than two weeks
ago, you go farther and faster two weeks from now. But."

Always a but. Christopher wobbled and hated that Luca was all that kept him from swaying like an aspen in the wind.

"You compare to wrong standard. I'm GC for a world class team. I go farther and faster than everybody. Handful of riders in this world
go as fast. If they beat me it will be strategy and strong team, not always speed. Yes, I go one more hill now."

"So today was a pity ride." Fuck. Maybe the stupid futon would shape shift again into a small brick with him hidden in the middle.
He'd worked hard, just as he feared, trying to match Luca's recovery ride, or half a recovery ride.

"No, today was a very great pleasure. We both went a good pace and saw something that belongs in museums. For sale in the middle of a parking
lot. No one from my team ever stopped to look. They laugh when I say 'Let's stop.' That makes you better than all Team
Antano-Clark in this important way."

But not faster.

Except--Christopher was the one Luca came to celebrate with, the one he spent free time with, the one he held behind closed doors. Maybe strategy
did outweigh speed.

"Okay, I believe you." Christopher leaned forward for a kiss and then toppled backward with an exaggerated
oof.
"Just
make sure you go faster than Rolf."

Luca gave him an odd look on his way to the door. "Always."

Chapter 8

They'd worn each other out last night, but not enough to sleep, and started talking about what made a top rider--why was Contador a
champ, what made Pantani tick. A brilliant rider who'd retired fifteen years earlier came up in the conversation. "What exactly were
people getting on Big Mig about, 'not showing the emotions of a champion'?" Christopher wanted to know.

Luca had exploded. "The emotions of a champion! The champion races! Emotions are for private life, not the race! For public, confidence,
appreciation for team, humility."

"Humility?" He decided to poke a bit. "Why shouldn't the champion strut a little?"

"Champion did not do everything alone!"

"What about the party-hard guys who win forty stages of the big tours?"

"Image." Luca smiled: had he hung out with the party-hard guy, or was he not a big enough fish in other seasons? "And maybe
everyone expects party man to blow up in the mountains. Big racer, not champion, just scares other guys who live quiet and still can't catch
party man in sprint. But they finish the stage races, party man doesn't, can't be GC."

"But the party man has a good time and gets the palmares," Christopher argued. Stage wins counted as well as any
other race.

"His team not so happy, they don't have good time, they work hard. True champion should be humble," Luca pronounced with
great finality.

"Can I quote you on that?" Christopher indulged a small dream of an article on Luca's opinion, sometime after a notable win.
"My headline will be 'Champions need humility'." He added air quotes with bent fingers.

"Okay, you write that," Luca agreed with a voice that sounded far away. "Also luck. Luck is small difference between fast
racer who doesn't finish and man on podium. Goodwill of team can make that luck. Team works hard, but makes better luck sometimes. For GC they
like."

Christopher couldn't leave this well enough alone, though he'd already heard Luca's philosophy. "And you really
think they won't like you if they know you're gay."

"Not taking chance, Christopher!" Luca jumped up from the futon to whirl around the postage-stamp of a living room. "First
year as GC, no history. First year as team, no history. Sponsors hard to find, harder with bad results first year. This team must succeed, I must succeed,
or I can't stay in US. Other Boulder team has good GCs and many
domestiques
--they have no place for me if I fail with
Antano-Clark."

Watching Luca stomp around naked would be a lot more pleasant if they were discussing almost anything else. "There are teams that race strictly
in the US." Christopher had written about several of them.

"Big step down, sorry but true. Rising sport in US, but will be years, maybe never, until same scale as what I do now. Even if US team does Tour
of California or US Pro Cycling Challenge, still racing the European teams, so same problem.

"Or I go to mountain bikes. Can you see little guy like me chasing the 1.8 meter, 80 kilo guys over the too big, too many rocks and trees hill
with bike on shoulder? Chasing from far, far behind. Never catch up. Wrong sport for me, Christopher. Or maybe start running, do triathlons, make living as
butcher."

"Okay, okay, just asking, Luca." He rose to catch the whirlwind, and with enough kisses, they subsided into the blankets for a peaceful
night.

Christopher's first thought this morning was the same exultation that had wakened him three mornings running.
He wants me to come to Europe. He wants more than these few days.

A silky brown curl tickled his nose, the same way Luca's invitation tickled his mind. This was becoming his normal wake-up routine;
he'd spooned behind Luca for eight of the last ten nights. They stayed in Christopher's microscopic basement apartment because
Luca's house in the hills also contained three teammates. Sharing a dwelling made sense when they only expected to live there a part of the year,
but it would have been nice to have the option of sleeping on something beside the lumpy futon.

Maybe it was too much, too fast--Luca had all but moved in--but Christopher didn't want to slow down. The warning red X on the
calendar kept a small pit of ice in his stomach. All too soon, Luca would crate his bicycles for the flight to Europe. The racing season had begun.
Antano-Clark could already boast a win in the early spring one-day races, though the
directeur sportif
hadn't put Luca into any early
events, wanting him to spend as many days at altitude as possible. The powerhouse sleeping in his arms would take all that mountain-grown strength to
Flanders in little more than a week. Christopher kissed the back of Luca's head softly, both wanting not to disturb him and hoping he'd
wake for a sweet interlude to start the day.

This morning Christopher didn't want anything getting in the way of how he felt about Luca.
I could be falling in love. And damn the calendar.

Nuzzling softly against Luca's neck, he murmured, "Good morning."

"Good morning, yes." Luca turned in his arms, and they rubbed cheeks, the rasping serving for the kisses that they wouldn't
morning-breath on each other. "Good start for day, you sell many bicycles, write many words."

He had sold several high-dollar bikes this week, but Christopher had chalked it up to spring coming, not the goofy smile that seemed like a permanent
fixture. "That works. My turn to do you?" His hand slipped downward, stroking Luca's side. That was the one thing they
hadn't tried. Christopher had been content to let Luca direct traffic and he hadn't hinted at going that direction.

If Christopher'd said, "Let's invite the team in to watch," Luca couldn't have gone rigid any faster.

"Okay, I can play with this morning wood."

The wood in question had taken on a certain resemblance to damp pulp. Luca twisted away.

"It's okay, Luca; if you don't want that, we won't." Caresses against soft skin weren't undoing
the damage to the mood. "I thought we just hadn't gotten to that, but if you don't like it, no problem." Dang, it
had been days since Luca last threatened to bolt right out the door.

"I like, but..." Slowly he subsided against the futon. "I can't."

Christopher remained quiet. If he left a silence too long, Luca would fill it.

"Eighty kilometers on bicycle today."

"Gotcha." Christopher's own rides lately had been somewhat less than comfortable, even with the ointment in addition to the
chamois cream. Still, there seemed to be more to the story. Luca filled the silence in a different way, rolling atop Christopher, making words irrelevant.

***

Riding together had some obvious drawbacks most days, but Luca was perfectly willing to go the gym with Christopher. With a niggling suspicion that they
were going on Luca's "light work-out" days, unsupervised by the coaches, Christopher was still happy to go somewhere that
Luca considered "just guys" but that felt like a date.

They certainly set the machines differently. Luca went for light weights, lots of repetitions, while Christopher suspected that his heavier weights, fewer
reps routine might draw some criticism if he asked for opinions. Luca hadn't inquired about goals, although he knew Christopher's
riding wasn't the only reason he worked out. He enjoyed the results too--every time he gripped Christopher's deltoids or lats
in moments of passion made Christopher glad for the time he'd put in on upper body work.

It had taken him only one trip to the gym to see Luca's different emphasis. No one could say Luca wasn't strong--he was, but
compared to Christopher's build, his upper body looked thin, and his legs were coated in cables, not sheets of steel.

Tonight Luca came to observe Christopher on the crunch machine. "Going for the washboard look?"

He didn't want to dignify that, since his six-pack would be of six ounce cans, not liter bottles. "Core strengthening."

"Good thought, but wrong exercise." Luca observed. "Front only. Fast track to aching back on the bike."

Well, fuck him now, that's what Christopher had been trying to deal with. That and not depending on Luca as a personal trainer for everything he
did. He stopped, and mopped his face with the last dry corner of his towel. "What should I be doing?" Goodbye, abs.

"Something with more back and glutes. Floor exercises help core, and also keep you from crashing when looking over shoulder. I show
you." Luca headed to a machine-free section of mats. "Pushup position, try to touch foot to elbow. Look at knee." He
demonstrated, getting his foot far closer to his arm than Christopher thought could be done anywhere but on a mattress. "Works back, butt, front.
Maintain control, put back down." He uncoiled and repeated a few times. "Switch." His left foot went just as far as his
right.

Coming from a world-class rider, this had to be good advice. Also, harder than it looked. Christopher's foot came nowhere near as close, and
straightening out nearly toppled him. "Okay." He tried again, feeling pulls and stretches in unaccustomed places in his torso.
"Everything's working."