Hearts Racing (8 page)

Chapter 14

Buck loved the feeling of being absolutely wrecked after a bike ride. Sometimes he felt like he had to peel himself from his bike’s frame he was so tired.

In his training, he’d learned that bicycles were the most efficient way to move under his own power, which, to Buck, meant they were the best possible way to wring every last bit of energy from his body. Running might be more intense, but that extra intensity meant joint pain or other forms of discomfort, which meant he was likely to stop before completely sapped. But bikes? Ah, bikes. They could totally drain you. And he loved that feeling.

He walked up the stairs to the dormitory area and heard water running. Faith was probably in the shower. He hoped she wasn’t using up all the hot water, although this facility seemed to have an endless supply. There must have been a massive water heater in that basement behind the locked door, because every one of the riders took a shower immediately after training rides and the hot water never ran out. Whatever the plumbing situation was, he was glad for the hot water.

The sound of the water stopped as he was entering his room. The air was a bit foggy. Faith had left his door to the bathroom open during her shower, apparently, and—well, yes she had left her door open. He rounded the corner to see her stepping into view and wrapping a towel around herself, but not before he caught a glimpse of her naked, glistening body.

He’d never seen anything like it. He’d been with women before, but they were just . . . women. Faith was an athlete who happened to be female. She was a statue come to life, cut and hard but also curved and balanced. He’d felt her body the other night when she’d been close to him, but he never had any idea a woman’s shape could hit him like this. He wanted to hug her close to him. Kiss her. Feel her skin on his face. Squeeze her—

“Oh my god,” someone said. Whoever’s voice it was sounded awestruck.

Oh, shit—it was his voice. He’d said that.

Her head whipped around, and she emitted the world’s cutest squeak. She drew her towel tighter then threw her head back and laughed like he’d told the most hilarious joke she’d ever heard.

He smiled. “Hey. I think you, uh . . . forgot to close the door.”

“I think I forgot to close the door,” she agreed. She pushed Buck’s door closed. “Hope you liked the show,” she said from the other side. “Back in a minute.” She laughed again.

Buck knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

“Great show,” he said to the door. Shit. He regretted it. Too pervy?

Her laugh echoed around the bathroom, even through the closed door. Nice. He’d gotten away with it. Not too pervy.

True to her word, Faith opened the door a few minutes later, dressed now and using the towel on her hair. Her skin was flushed from the hot water. Buck, sitting on his bed and trying to look nonchalant, concentrated on not staring at her lips while she talked. Or, at least, not all the time she was talking.

“Okay, the bathroom’s all yours,” she said. “After you get done, I want to have a chat though. Something I gotta tell you.”

“No problem,” he said. He wondered what she wanted to talk about, but the idea of getting under the hot water and washing off the grime and sweat was pretty attractive, too. He waited until she was on her side of the door to stand up, though, so she wouldn’t see his . . . condition.

When he was showered, he toweled himself off, dressed, and then—as an afterthought—wrapped his towel around his head in a turban. He guessed Faith would have her towel wrapped similarly, her hair taking a while to dry. He tapped on her door.

“Are you decent?” she called.

“Hah! Are you?”

She laughed again and opened the door. He burst in, arms wide. Tadaaa! He’d been right. She was wearing a turban as well. When she saw his, she laughed and swatted playfully at his arm.

“Knew you’d like it,” he said.

She motioned him in and sat on her bed. Buck took a seat on a chair next to a desk.

“So what’s up?” he asked.

Faith bit her lip. Clearly she was wrestling with whether she should talk about this or not. “Have you ever wondered . . .” she began. She thought some more then appeared to make up her mind. “Have you ever wondered what’s in the basement? Under the dining hall?”

“Whoa!” Buck said. “Yes! Sorry to sound nosey, but yeah, I have. I even asked some of the guys about it. They just said ‘pipes and stuff.’”

Faith nodded. “Did you notice there’s an extra van outside?”

“I was too tired to think about it before, really, but I remember it. Kind of beat up and a bit dirty.”

“Yeah, a bunch of guys are here. Athletic guys. But not cyclists.”

“Because cyclists aren’t athletic?”

“No, dummy. I know what cyclists look like. I’ve looked at you enough. And these guys weren’t cyclists. But Miguel was with them, so maybe they’re all right.”

Buck smiled. “Spend a lot of time looking at me, do you?”

Faith smiled back, but said, “Don’t get cocky. It’s my job to look at you.”

“All right, all right. So anyway, these guys have you worried?”

“Well, not the guys so much as what I saw in the basement.”

“You looked in there? And to think I felt nosey just wondering about it. You actually looked!”

Faith protested. “I didn’t mean to! I was just walking around and I saw Miriam coming out. I happened to be where I could see what was behind her too.”

Buck leaned forward. “Well, what was it?” Faith leaned in too. He could smell her, a mix of fresh smelling soaps and shampoo. Was it vanilla? No, lavender. Maybe vanilla. He wanted to jump on her and put his face in her neck and sniff for an hour. God. No he didn’t. They were working together, and he was a professional. Ugh.

“If I tell you, you have to promise it’s just between us. I want to mention it to LeMond, though.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t tell a soul.”

She bit her lip again. “Guns,” she said. “I saw guns.”

Buck sounded incredulous. “Why would they have guns? Are you sure?”

“Racks and racks of them.”

Buck thought about it. Hunting? No. He certainly hadn’t seen anyone headed out for a hunt. “You mean like shotguns? Bird hunting guns?”

Faith shook her head. “No. Like people hunting guns.” She raised her arms to mime hip-firing machine-gun style. Her face bore such concern that it made him worried too. He nodded. She knew what she saw.

A knock at the door shocked the hell out of both of them. Faith gave a yelp. Buck stood and opened the door to reveal LeMond, who looked taken aback.

“You guys having a séance or something? Some kinda weird, anti-carbohydrate ritual?” he asked.

Buck cocked his head, felt the extra weight of his towel turban, and then spoke seriously. “We’re praying for a better coach.”

LeMond looked hurt.

Buck punched him playfully on the arm. “You know, LeMond, we actually want to ask you something,” Buck said, whipping the towel off his head.

LeMond waved him off with a hand. “Later. Let’s eat some dinner. Miguel is here, and there are a bunch of people to meet as well.”

“Come in for a second. This is important,” Buck insisted, but LeMond had already turned and was headed down the hall.

“Not as important as me eating some of Miriam’s food,” LeMond said, heading down the stairs. Well, he had a point there. Buck could smell the aroma of dinner wafting up from the kitchen. After a long day of training, his stomach was ready to be filled. The smell made it give a little wiggle and growl.

Buck turned to Faith and shrugged. She shrugged back. They’d corner him later. And he did have a point about Miriam’s food.

Buck went back through the bathroom to hang up his towel then headed downstairs to the dining area, where the cooking smells grew stronger, making his stomach leap around like a squirrel in a knapsack.

LeMond wasn’t kidding. There were a lot of people here. Between riders, Miguel, and the new additions, there were more than a dozen faces at the long table. A smaller table had even been drawn up to give more room. The riders and the new group were chatting amicably as though they’d all known each other quite some time. They spoke to one another in musical, consonantless Spanish.

LeMond waved Buck over when he saw him standing at the end of the table, and Faith soon followed down the stairs behind him. He introduced each of the men to Buck, who did his best to remember their names as they were introduced. He didn’t manage to remember any of them, though, because the thought of guns in a storage room directly below his feet was occupying all his available brain cells. Well, the guns, and the memory of Faith’s naked body. Which he had to stop thinking about immediately or he was going to suffer a personally embarrassing condition right here at the dinner table.

Miguel greeted him warmly and asked how training was going. “I see you’ve met my associates,” he said, smiling. Buck nodded but didn’t know what else to say about the associates. He wanted to ask who they were and what they were here for, but Miguel had done so much for him and the team that he didn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful. He decided to just let it go until he could speak to LeMond about it.

Miriam provided a feast of comforting delights: adobo pork with onions and peppers,
camarones con crema
,
chile verde
with the most tender chicken Buck and Faith had ever eaten, all with enough rice, beans, and homemade tortillas to make them wonder why the French were considered to reign supreme with their rich cuisine.

There was a tense rise at the dinner table when Miriam brought out a covered pot still-steaming from beneath its lid. When she uncovered it to reveal a stewy mix of meat and . . . other things, the Spanish-speakers all went silent. Until Jose said, “
Qué bien
!” and the rest started filling tortillas with the hearty-smelling food.

“What’s that?” Faith asked.

“
Lengua
,” Jose said as he held his tortilla up like it was some religious relic. “Beef tongue.”

“
Si
,” Alfredo said, already done with his serving.

“
Muy delicioso
,” Alfonso added mid-bite.

Jose laughed when both Buck and Faith gave each other looks. “It’s not quiche, but it has its moments.”

Buck didn’t go for the fancy stuff, which often happened to be the guts and snails and whatever else the French had injected into North American cooking over the years. But the tongue wasn’t guts; it was a muscle. Just one that happened to come from inside the cow’s mouth.

“I hate quiche,” Buck said with a shrug, and then he filled a tortilla for himself, stopping short of taking a bite to see Faith watching him intently. “What?” he asked, tortilla still at the ready.

“It’s nothing. Just that there’s a ton of protein in—”

Buck interrupted her by stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, like the mere idea was enough to get him to eat whatever they put in front of him. They shared a laugh and drew attention from the rest of the table, and soon everyone was laughing and joking again, finishing up everything Miriam had put on the table.

After dinner, the riders filtered upstairs to wind down for bed. Faith left with a meaningful look at Buck, who understood it to mean “I want to know anything you get out of LeMond.” Buck gave her a nod to let her know he got the picture.

LeMond and Miguel stayed at the table, talking about news from New Lyon and Miami. Buck waited for them to be done, feeling awkward at not really being part of their conversation, hanging in the periphery for LeMond to stand up so he could shadow him and get some answers.

During a lull in the conversation, though, Miguel turned to him. “Wasn’t that an excellent dinner?” Miguel asked, with his trademark smooth style.

Buck nodded. “Miriam is very talented.”

Miguel brightened a bit. “Did you hear that, Miriam?” he said, raising his voice so she could hear him. He continued speaking in Spanish, presumably translating the complement for her benefit. From the kitchen came a cooing sound of pleasure. She appeared in the doorway and gave Buck a smile. Buck smiled back.

“Do you have a big day of training planned for tomorrow?” Miguel continued.

“Oh yes. We’ll have our usual WOD—er, that’s a ‘workout of the day’ Faith will plan for us, and then, when we’re good and wrecked from that, we’ll go out on the bike and really get to work.” Buck kept his tone light to make sure Miguel understood it would be hard, but that he also looked forward to it. 

Miguel seemed to understand and laughed. “Well, in that case, I expect you might want to get as much sleep as you can, no?”

LeMond said nothing, just looked on with a smile on his face.

Huh. Was Miguel sending him to bed? It sure felt like two parents waiting for their kid to scram before getting to the adult stuff. But Buck wanted to get some real answers. “Actually, I was hoping to have a word with LeMond after you two were finished.”

“Ah, I see,” Miguel said. He nodded, looked at his hands folded on the table, and then looked up again. “Would you mind if I kept him? We have a few things to discuss and I wouldn’t want to trouble you with them. I’m sure he’ll be available for speaking with his prize athlete tomorrow, yes?”

Now LeMond spoke up. “Prize athlete?” he asked, mocking.

Buck laughed. What could he do? His benefactor, his only hope for racing at Nationals, wanted to speak to his coach in private. He pushed back from the table. “Yeah, sure. You guys go ahead. I’ll catch you tomorrow, LeMond.” He waved goodnight. The men said their goodnights as well.

In his room, Faith appeared in the bathroom door. “Well?” 

“They’re still talking and they asked me to give them time. I didn’t feel like I could say no.”

“Huh,” Faith said tonelessly. “So you got sent to bed.”

“That’s about the size of it, yeah.”

She lowered her voice to a stage whisper, breathy but with enough force to be heard. “Something weird is going on here.” Her face was troubled, concerned, gorgeous. He felt the urge to go to her, squeeze her, kiss her, tell her everything would be okay. Instead, he just said, “Yup.” Yup? What am I now, he thought, a puppy? Yup!