I’ve waited too long.
I should have fucking told him this morning, or fuck, even yesterday when I knew. Last week, even, when the schedule was posted.
But I didn’t. And now I’m shaky as we unload the bike I don’t actually have time to unload with the hope that a ride will keep him calm enough.
Will he be okay alone all night?
And day?
Then the next?
My fingers tingle as I hand over the helmet and watch him lift a leg over the cradle.
He pops the choke after turning it on and kicks out the starter.
“Don’t forget—” The bike clicks when he shifts into neutral, and he twists the grip. “Good boy, you got it.”
His gaze snaps to me and I feel a sweat start beneath my shirt.
A tiny smile tips up one side of his lips and suddenly I feel like I can breathe again.
It’s only a moment. A fraction in time that he studies me before he revs the bike and takes off.
This time … he doesn’t dump it or flood it and I’m cheering from the sidelines as he makes it all the way around the track. It’s at a turtle’s pace, and it earns him a few dirty looks from riders not wearing helmets but fuck them.
He’s doing it.
I’m pumping my fist in the air as he takes a second turn around, a little faster than the first, his sweet eyes finding me through the open visor just before he passes.
“Hell yeah, bubbles!” I yell out, even though I know he can’t hear me. “You got it, baby!”
“Yo, Ten, your queer is showing.”
Whipping around to the sound of a familiar voice, I ball my fists at the rider coasting up to me.
“Shut the fuck up, Ashton. No one asked you.”
He waves an inked hand all around the track as he circles me, then leans back in the cradle and runs it through his jet-black hair. “I didn’t have to. Entire track heard you, homo.”
I take a step closer. “Why don’t you come say that shit to my face.”
The man is undeterred as he dismounts his bike and dumps it, stepping up so close to me that his nose touches mine.
“Take him home and eat his ass. No one wants to see that here.”
Growling deep, I plant my hands on his chest plate and shove. He stumbles back a step only to propel forward and push me right back.
I swing, my knuckles connecting with his chin and splitting open all over again.
“Fuck you!” I yell and get my arm up just in time to block his hit. It still hurts like a mother fucker when the bones in his hand connects. “You judgmental piece of shit.”
He sneaks a punch past, those fucking bony knuckles busting something open just above my cheekbone. I don’t even feel the sting as I launch forward, wrapping him up in a hold that makes him shout back.
“Fight me like a real man, Ten!”
I tighten my hold. Arch my spine and toss us backward. Slam his ass right in the dirt.
Except he manages to snag me on the way down, pulling me right along with him.
