Late-Night Suite

That alone was enough to send a warm rush through me.

I opened my mouth to respond but then the tightening in my quad snapped into a full cramp. It came hard and sudden. My breath turned to a groan, and I grabbed the side of my bike.

"Hold on," he said, immediately dismounting his bike and stepping closer. "Sit for a second. See if you can stretch it out."

I tried to wave him off in that stubborn, everything-is-fine way I'd used on the other riders. It didn't work. And the pain didn't give me any room to pretend.

Cars passed. A couple cyclists slowed to ask if I needed help. I kept lifting my hand, urging them on.

He stayed exactly where he was.

"You're cramping hard," he said, seeing my embarrassment every time someone happened by. "Let's get you off the shoulder and get you some privacy. Come on."

And all at once, the ride I thought would be a personal challenge centered on riding and trying to beat the hill right out of the gate, turned into a personal challenge to resist the thoughts that coursed through me every time I saw him.

He didn't give me much chance to argue. He reached for my bike in one fluid motion, lifting it by the top crossbar. Then he nudged his own along beside him as if handling two at once was the most natural thing in the world.

"Go on," he said. "There's some shade up ahead."

I started hobbling toward the line of trees that ran alongside the road, every step sending a sharp tug through my quad. I tried to focus on my breathing and staying loose, while trying not to make the little pained noises when a new jolt hit. It was bad enough that he had seen me lock up. I didn't need to soundtrack it.

But trying to focus on ignoring the pain only made me more aware of everything else. More specifically, my stupid cycling shorts.

I've always hated the thick padding in them when I'm off the bike. Whoever designed these things clearly never intended anyone to walk more than three steps in them, because once you're upright, it feels like you're waddling around with half a foam mattress strapped between your thighs. Every exaggerated step forward made me painfully aware of how ridiculous I probably looked to him. And he was walking right behind me.

I could feel it. Not in a creepy way, just the presence of someone close enough to hear the uneven drag of my shoes in the thin strip of grass leading to the trees. He was close enough that I kept imagining what he was seeing: me limping ahead of him with my shorts puffed out in all the wrong places, looking like I had half a diaper wedged into my shorts.

I wished the ground would swallow me. Instead, I saw the trees opened up into a small clearing ahead, with a stretch of shade and a fallen log. I reached it and rested my hand on the bark, grateful to finally stop walking.

"Here," he said, setting both bikes carefully off to the side. "Sit. Let me see if I can help."

I lowered myself onto the log, making that inevitable moan that just comes out on its own when you're in pain. I tried not to look as flustered as I felt. He crouched down beside me, bracing his weight on his hands as he studied my leg, his face looked intent on trying to assess my leg. He was at a profile when he knelt, and even in the middle of everything, I watched his calves tighten when he dropped down. The muscle drew into defined, solid lines beneath his skin.

My pulse jumped. Thankfully, he was too focused to notice. Or if he did, he didn't let on.

"Where is it?" he asked, when he took off his cycling gloves. "Right here?" He pressed gently above my knee.

A sharp pinch shot up my thigh. "A little higher."

He moved his hand up the outside of my quad.

"Here?"

I nodded, bending my leg to try and stretch the muscle again.

He eased his thumb deeper into the knot, working in small circles. Each push made me grip the edge of the log harder. It wasn't so much from the pain, though there was plenty of that, but from the sheer sensation of him touching me. For all intents and purposes, he was a complete stranger, whose name I didn't know, massaging out my leg. There was something careful in the way he moved that made me warm in places that had nothing to do with the climb.

"Yeah, that feels pretty locked up," he said through his concentration.

"Yeah," I managed. "It, uh... hit fast."

He glanced up at me, his eyes catching mine for a moment. There was no teasing in his expression. Only focus. Maybe a little concern. Maybe something else, flickering there before he looked back at my leg.

"You weren't keeping up on your electrolytes, were you?" he asked.

I felt my cheeks turn red. "It's not really that long of a ride. I just... didn't really think I'd need it."

He huffed a quiet breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but close. "That'll do it."

He moved his hand again, using his thumb to find a deeper point in the knot. The pressure was hard enough to make me gasp, then melt into it a second later. A good kind of pain. His hand was confident, not hesitant, which only made the whole thing feel even stranger. I didn't know his name. I didn't know anything about him beyond what jersey he wore and how fast he climbed. Yet here he was, kneeling in the shade, hands on my thigh like this was the most normal interaction two cyclists could have.

"Try straightening your leg again," he said gently.

I pushed my heel forward, letting my leg extend. The cramp tugged hard at first, and my breath hitched through my teeth. He kept one hand on the muscle, the other braced near my hip to support me.

"There you go," he murmured. "Easy. Don't force it."

The sound of a car passed faintly through the trees was muted by the leaves. Another cyclist zipped by not far from where the shoulder met the road in a blur of color and motion. None of them looked our way. They probably wouldn't have seen us even if they tried. The trees gave just enough cover to make this little patch of shade feel private.

Almost too private.

"Good," he said when the muscle eased under his palm. "It's loosening."

"Thank God," I breathed. "I was afraid I'd be stuck here all morning."

He looked up again, with just a little smile. "Then it's a good thing you stopped when you did. If you tried to push through that climb with a cramp like this, you'd have been in real trouble."

I swallowed, the warmth of his hand creeping higher than my focus could comfortably handle. "I didn't think I'd... well, seize up like that."

"Yeah, but if you haven't ridden in a while, and you're not keeping your electrolytes up... Your body's reminding you of that." His thumb swept a slow path across the tight muscle. "But you're doing the right thing. Let it relax."

I nodded, though it was hard to think with him that close. I'd imagined talking to him countless times on rides, but none of those daydreams had included him kneeling between my legs with his hands on my thigh... Well maybe they did, but not like this and not for this reason.

"Did you already register for the tour and pick what length you're riding?" he asked softly, still working on the knot.

My breath skipped. He was making conversation. Real conversation. Like we weren't strangers in a patch of shade with my cycling shorts making me feel ridiculous.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm doing the sixty-whatever-it-is this year."

"That makes sense why you're doing the climb here," he murmured. "You climb steadily from what I remember. Good control."

"You noticed?" The words came out before I could stop them.

He looked up at me slowly, like he heard something in my voice he hadn't expected. His eyes held mine in a way that brought a flutter to my chest.

"Yeah," he said, with a look like he was resisting a smirk. "I notice a lot."

My stomach tightened in a different way than the cramp. "About the ride?" I asked and I think I was fishing more than thinking that's what he was referring to.

His smile was tight, but it changed his whole expression. "About you."

Before I could process that, his hand slipped to a new spot on my thigh, a little higher, his touch firmer as he searched for the last bit of tension. The shift of pressure made me suck in a breath, and my fingers curled harder around the bark beneath me.

"You alright?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, even though the sound that came out of me was embarrassingly close to a soft whimper. "It's... intense."

"All things considered..." he trailed off, continuing to work the muscle. "Tell me if it's too much."

"It's fine," I whispered. "You're fine."

His hand stayed exactly where it was. He didn't push further, but he didn't pull away either. The air between us filled with tension and I could only wonder if he felt the same way.

Then the cramp seized again. It hit fast and hard, like the muscle folded in on itself. I groaned, leaning forward, digging my fingers into the log.

"Shit, okay, hold on," he said quickly. "Do me a favor. Close your eyes and take a deep breath."

I did what he said without thinking, hoping he had some sort of miracle pill he was about to give me. I pulled in a slow inhale, trying to ride out the sharp sensation in my quad.

All of a sudden, a blow landed before the air was even out of my lungs.

There was a sharp, loud smack against the tightest part of my thigh. There was nothing playful or soft about it. Just a clean sting that cracked through the shade and made my entire body jolt.

"Jesus!" I yelped, and my eyes flew open as I jumped on the log. "What the hell, man?!"

He was already working his hands over the muscle again, to like he was trying to soothe the rapidly heating skin. His mouth twitched like he was fighting a laugh.

"Sorry," he said, and he actually sounded like he meant it, even though it had a quiver of laughter behind it. "I know that wasn't exactly nice, getting smacked by some random guy. But I needed to get a quick jolt to the nerves while you weren't expecting it."