J. Huss - PANIC

“She walks away from everyone. Including me. I can’t push her either.”

“So why are you?”

“What choice do I have? Just let her hold it all in until it explodes?”

“I told you about Wade. I think she should talk to him. Maybe that will spur her in one direction or another?”

Silence from me now.

“If she chooses him, then there’s nothing you can do, Ronin.”

More silence from me.

“She won’t choose him, though. I’ve spied on him, sifted through all his online records. He’s not her type anymore.” He waits a few seconds to see if I’ll respond, but I don’t. “Well, it’s been fun. Here’s Spencer.”

“Yeeeello.”

I laugh a little. “You’re a dumbass.”

“Hey, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll go kiss her goodnight for you.”

“Asshole. OK, I’ll check in tomorrow.”

“Later, Larue.”

The line goes silent before I can respond to Spencer’s dig.

Nothing I can do. Ford is right, this is all about her and there’s just nothing I can do. 

I’m up with time to spare the next day. I throw on some black yoga pants, a black running tank, a Shrike Bikes zippered hoodie, and my running shoes. Ford lives above the shop, so I grab my camera and head down the driveway to see if he’s awake and ready.

Spencer has all his doors coded like Chaput Studios so the crew and other employees can get access when they need to, so I punch in my code and walk through the shop reception area. This is where I’ll be working. Answering phones, making appointments for clients to Skype in with Spencer and place a custom order, driving around town picking up and dropping shit off.

Your basic receptionist-slash-delivery driver position.

Right now the shop has eight bikes in progress. Spencer and another guy named Ryan build the custom bikes, while Fletch and Griff make the showroom bikes. Customers are allowed to ask for modifications, so they do a little custom shit too. What Ford will be doing here is beyond me. As far as I know, he doesn’t build bikes. But he’s been known to surprise me before. He lives upstairs above the shop in another apartment. I walk to the far end of the work area, picking my way between half-built bikes and tool chests, then climb the steep steps.

I knock.

I hear a faint, “Come in,” from behind the door.

“Ford?” I call back as I open the door.

“You’re early,” he says through a mouthful of toothbrush. He’s wearing a pair of old jeans that hang low on his hips, exposing his happy trail because he has no shirt on.

Hmmm. Ford is not a bad-looking guy. He’s all muscle, but not the same way that Spencer is. Spencer is bulky and buff. Ford is lean and taut.

Taut. What a great word. I laugh internally at that, then realize I laughed externally as well.

“Stop staring at me. I never stared at you when you were prancing around naked all summer.”

“I didn’t prance! And I’m not staring,” I reply, blushing. “I was comparing your body to Spencer’s.”

He walks back into the bathroom to spit and rinse. “How do I stack up?” he asks, walking across the hallway to his bedroom to change.

“Umm—” I shouldn’t even go there.

He peeks his head around the corner and tugs a black shirt on. “Well? You can be honest because let’s face it, I’m much better built than Spencer.” He ducks back into his room and I laugh.

“Well, you’re certainly more full of yourself.”

“Right. That’s a good one. I’m humble compared to Spencer.” He comes back out into the little living room with his shoes and sits down on the couch. His jeans are gone now, and replacing them are his usual black running pants. “Why do you have that camera? Is this gonna be your thing? You’re one of those film students who records every moment of their life?”

I shrug. “Maybe. What’s it to you? I’m eager, that’s all.”

He looks up from lacing a shoe and smiles. “Yes, I can tell.”

I’m not sure if that was innuendo or not, so I change the subject. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“CSU Football stadium. It’s southwest of FoCo, but there’s a back road we can take from Bellvue, so it shouldn’t take too long to get there. It’s a scenic drive, that’s for sure. So you can film that if you want something nice for B-roll.”

“I love it when you talk film to me, Ford.”

He smirks up at me as he finishes up his shoes. “You’re not allowed to be this happy at five in the morning. I will train that smug smile right off your face in about twenty minutes, you wait.”

He grabs his keys and one of those trendy running jackets and we hop down the stairs and walk outside to his Bronco. I get my camera ready just in case there is something pretty to shoot for B-roll. You never know when you’ll need a shot of Colorado back country.

We drive in silence—well, that’s relative because this hunk of junk is not exactly quiet. But neither of us mind letting the rumble of the engine fill the silence. I just watch out my window, filming the scenery. We go right through Bellvue and come out on an empty road south of town. It takes us past a lake on one side and a bunch of university buildings on the other. “Research stations,” Ford says, pointing to the buildings. “Horsetooth Reservoir,” he says, pointing to the lake.

A few miles later the stadium comes into view. We have to go past it and double back on another road to get there, but it really didn’t take that long. “Wow, there’s a lot of cars here. They must have quite the AM training program.”

“Homecoming weekend stuff,” he explains. “But we’ve got permission as long as we’re out by eight.”

“How do you get permission for all this, Ford?”

“Money,” he deadpans. Then he looks over at me and laughs. “How else?”

“You have to pay for us to run? Did you have to pay for me at Coors Field?”

He ignores me and pulls the Bronco up to a security guard at the parking lot entrance, then reaches into his jacket pocket and flashes two ID’s. The guard waves us through. “Money,” he says again, looking over at me this time. “And hacking skills.”

I’m not sure if he’s serious, so I leave it. Because I’m not interested in his hacking activities or anything else Ford does with Spencer and Ronin as part of their ‘business’.

I hide my camera under an old jacket that Ford hands me from the backseat and then we head over to the stadium entrance. We pass several more security checks. Each time Ford flashes those badges and each time we are waved forward. Ford seems to know where he’s going so I just follow. We come out in the stands, about halfway up, like we used to at Coors Field.

“OK,” Ford says once we get inside and choose a spot that’s not being used by other runners. “I will slow down for you. From now on, we run together. But I won’t slow all the way down, you need to meet me halfway. So you have to actually push yourself. No more slacking off.”

“Well, that’s no fun. I’m a moper, remember? I come to shuffle.”

“Your shuffling days are over, Rook. And I’m sick of your moping. From now on, you’re training with me. So keep up or I’ll find ways to make your life uncomfortable.”

“Ha! Like how?” I cross my arms in front of my chest in defiance and before I can even process what he’s doing, he leans forward into my personal space and slips his hand under my hair behind my neck, drawing me close to him. His touch affects me immediately and I flush with heat. I can probably count on two hands the number of times Ford has actually touched me, and most of them have happened in the past few days. His mouth dips down to my ear, his breath hot against my skin, and for a second I think my heart will actually stop from the shock of it all.

I swallow.

“Like this, Rook.” Ford’s soft words vibrate into me. “I like you. I’d like to show you how much, actually. I’m being a gentleman to make life easier for you, but believe me, it’s not really in my nature to be so accommodating. I typically just take what I want.”

A shudder erupts as his fingertips drag lightly across the back of my neck. He pulls away smiling. “So keep the fuck up or I’ll make things very confusing.”

And then he turns and takes off running up the stairs.

What the hell just happened?

But I don’t have time to think because he’s already halfway up this aisle. I follow, running hard for a second to try and catch up, but once I match him he slows a little so that I don’t have to exert myself too much. He continues to adjust our pace like this, running harder for ten or twenty seconds, then slowing down for a minute or more.

And I realize something.

Ford knows me. He knows exactly what I’m capable of at my current fitness level. He recognizes the sound of my breathing when I’m getting winded, as well as the sound of it when I’m too comfortable.

He pushes me to do better and try harder in just the right way.

Not too fast, not too slow.

But just right.

We run this way for almost an hour. Much longer than we normally did at Coors Field. That was always thirty minutes or so. I’m starting to lag behind severely, and no amount of threatening me with uncomfortable sexual touching will make me keep up, so he slows to a walk. “We’ll do two sets like this, then we can be done.”

I wait for my hard breathing to slow and my heart rate to come back to normal and then I figure I have to say something. Because the entire run, all I thought about was how his hand felt on the back of my neck. “Are we playing again, Ford?”

“Playing what?”