Blind Date

by Anders, Robyn

  "What?"

  "Why would a bunch of Airmen come out to Plano, Texas, to look at me?"

  "I think Andrew made a bigger deal of this than either of us wanted. I haven't dated a lot recently. Obviously Andrew told the guys there's more going on here than is really the case."

  He'd spent enough time touching her face to know how strikingly attractive she was. Seeing the two of them together would certainly cure his buddies' naive belief that lightning had struck. With his blindness, the two of them were as incongruous as beauty and the beast.

  "We're here," she informed him a few minutes later.

  She must have squeezed the brakes because all of a sudden he was pedaling with no resistance. At least the clutch he and Andrew had put together worked. Of course it left him looking like a fool pedaling on air. Amy maneuvered the bike to a curb, and he unclipped and got his foot down to help them balance. Together, they awaited the starting gun.

  There was nothing logical about the next ten minutes. Mark tried to keep loose and listen to dozens of volunteers who made feeble attempts to bring some sort of order to hundreds of bicyclists. What they needed was some old fashioned Air Force discipline. Only he wasn't about to provide it.

  Occasional strands of Amy's hair must have escaped from whatever she'd done to it. Whenever he even started to get his mind off of her nearness, one would flitter across his face like the touch of an angel. Staying loose had never been harder, and he hoped that she was keeping her eyes forward. His bicycle shorts wouldn't leave a great deal to the imagination.

  As far as Mark could tell, the volunteers never did make a dent in the disorder. Finally they managed to satisfy themselves or, just as likely, they recognized it wasn't going to get any better.

  The gunshot that started the race brought back ugly memories for Mark and he flinched when he heard it. Bosnia was supposed to have been a peacekeeping job and pilots are supposed to fly safely above the battlefield. For him, it hadn't worked that way.

  "Are you all right?" Amy sounded concerned.

  He figured she had every right to be worried about him. If he tumbled the bike, she would fall too.

  He let his imagination play with the picture of the bike falling out of control and Amy ending up on top of him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her lips only inches from his.

  "I'm fine," he told her. "Are we free from the congestion?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then let's hit it."

  He pedaled hard, feeling the bike pick up speed. The few miles they'd ridden before the start of the race made a difference. Amy handled the oversized bicycle beautifully now. It was like anything else new--adjustments to be made, compromises, and finally, harmony.

  "Hey, save your energy," Amy called over her shoulder. "The race lasts a hundred kilometers."

  He hadn't realized he'd speeded up and wasn't about to explain that his mind had wandered off into dreams of accidentally forced closeness and parts working in harmony.

  He slowed fractionally and listened to the sound of derailleurs shifting, wheels hissing on the road and people talking . "Is there any way we can get out of all this traffic?"

  "I thought we could draft through the first half the race. That way I have something left for the sprint at the end."

  "I don't think that strategy is going to work for us," he told her. "Since I can't see, I'll always be going too slow or too fast to take best advantage of any sprint opportunities. I think we'd do better if we could just set a steady pace and keep going, treat it like a hundred k time trial."

  The bicycle wobbled a little as Amy either nodded in agreement or shook her head.

  "I'm not very good at picking up non-verbal cues," he reminded her.

  "I can't believe I did that," she said. "I nodded. Let's see if we can get away from the pack. There might be a bit of a breakaway forming anyway."

  As many cyclists as there were in the event, joining the break would take some doing. For the next ten minutes, Amy veered her way through what sounded like heavy traffic. The occasional curse from behind indicated that at least a few of their competitors weren't too happy about getting cut off.

  Once they broke away from the main pack, she steadied her steering.

  Mark picked a pace he could sustain for hours. He let himself smile when Amy matched it after only a few seconds of awkwardness.

  "Now we're moving," he said.

  "You're easy to get into a rhythm with."

  His mental gears shifted abruptly bringing thoughts of a different, more natural rhythm between a man and woman.

  "This is beginning to feel like a great partnership," he told her.

  "It feels like I'm letting you do all of the work," she said.

  "That's why they call be man on the back the 'stoker.' Besides, tandems are a lot more aerodynamically efficient than single bikes" he reminded her.

  A fat mass smacked into his face and he wobbled for a moment until he realized that he'd been hit by Amy's hair.

  "Oh! Sorry. I'll put it back," she said.

  His fantasies of Amy and him falling together had no place here. At the speed they were going, they'd be lucky to escape without broken bones. He didn't want their closeness to come in an ambulance.

  "You may be used to riding with no hands," he told her. "But I'm not sure you're adjusted to the weight of both of us. I'll take care of your braid."

  "I'm just trying to stick it under my top," she told him.

  "Let me do it." He let go of the handles and sat up.

  The air resistance caught at him, forcing him to pedal harder to maintain speed.

  After a moment of thrashing about, he found her long fat braid.

  It smelled like flowers and felt like liquid gold, on fire from the heat of the sun. As long as the braid was, her hair must fall below her waist when she let it down.

  He stroked it without thinking, feeling its weight. What would it be like to run his fingers through it, to slowly unbraid it, to run it over his arms, stroke it against his chest?

  "Is there anything wrong?" Amy asked.

  Only his heart wishing for the impossible, he thought. "I hadn't realized your hair was so long. If I just slide it under your shirt it'll get all sticky and wet."

  "Have any better ideas?"

  He did, of course. But none that he'd share with her. "No."

  He pulled down on the back of her skin tight top and slid in the mountain of hair.

  "Can you straighten it out?"

  He grimaced as he ran his hand down her back. He'd bunched it all at the top.

  "I'll try," he told her.

  Carefully, he reached under the bottom of her tiny little crop top with one hand while pushing down with the other. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up exposing her to the rest of the racers. He didn't want to think about anyone else looking at Amy.

  Amy's back was warm and smooth. Her sleek muscles felt more feminine than anything he could ever remember touching.

  "Get stuck?" she asked.

  For an irrational moment, he thought he heard a catch in her voice, as if she was feeling the same sensation that pounded through his veins.

  Wishful thinking.

  His hands connected and he tugged the braid down. Then he brought them back to his handles. "Got it."

  "Thanks," she told him.

  "My pleasure." She'd probably think he was some kind of pervert if she realized how much pleasure he'd gotten from that experience. He figured he could easily have spent the rest of the race running his fingers through her long hair.

  "We're doing pretty well," she told him.

  He didn't think her words had anything to do with his hands and her hair, but he had no idea what else she might be talking about.

  "Doing well at what?"

  "We're passing some of the really serious riders."

  "You're one heck of a partner."

  "We're passing a lot of tandems too." A note of elation had slipped into her voice. "Maybe we'll win."


  "Maybe." And maybe Amy would be so excited about the win that she would kiss him. And maybe then, one thing would lead to another and the two of them would end up in bed making passionate love. And maybe he was dreaming and would wake up any minute now.

  Mark's theory was that, once he was actually in bed with a woman, his blindness wouldn't matter. Surely his trained sensitivity to touch would more than make up for missing any visual cues his partner might send him.

  Admittedly, he hadn't taken any of the opportunities to test the theory in the couple of years since he'd lost his vision. While several women had offered, he hadn't needed any special mind-reading ability to see they were offering themselves because of his blindness and out of pity as they were from any real affection for Mark the man. He needed pity sex like he needed another land mine.

  They rode in silence for a while, then talked about trivial things like the weather and how they were doing.

  "How far along are we?" he asked after what felt like a long time.

  "I, um, haven't seen a mileage marker lately."

  He felt the strength of her legs through the pedals. From the way the bike felt, he knew she didn't weigh much, so she had to be muscling the pedals. He wished he could run his hands along her legs and enjoy the sensation of her strong thighs directly. Hell, in his fantasies, she did more than let him stroke her thighs. She wrapped them around him and squeezed him while he held her body.

  "I think it's a little early for the sprint," he said.

  "I’m trying to someone who’s been drafting off of us and not taking his pull," she replied.

  She eased up a little, but continued to push it. Her breathing sounded loud to him.

  He pumped harder on the pedals himself. If they lost, he didn't want to be the one who had held back.

  He didn't figure they had a chance to win. From what he'd read of the race, several of the contestants were professional riders from around the world. Fortunately, none of the country’s top tandem riders were supposed to be in town for the race. Still, what chance did they have against people who lived for riding?

  "Yes!" Amy said with just a trace of exultation.

  "What?"

  "There were about four guys in matching uniforms trying to draft on us. I managed to pull away. Now they'll have to do their own work."

  A bunch of guys in matching uniforms sounded uncomfortably like one of the professional teams. Maybe Andrew and he had done better on the bike than he'd known. Of course Amy had been a professional athlete. And he'd managed to keep in shape after getting out of the hospital. If they were outpacing people like that, though, they might actually stand a chance of winning the whole thing.

  He hadn't noticed the way the sounds of other riders had diminished, largely because he had been so distracted by his partner. Now he heard only the hiss of their own bike's tires on concrete, little rattles as Amy shifted gears, and an occasional cheer from onlookers.

  "Water station," Amy told him a few minutes later.

  Her breath came hard and her voice sounded hoarse.

  "Keep riding," he told her. "Andrew should have some of the guys spaced out with water and electrolyte mixes. We won't have to get mixed up with the crowd.

  "Way to go, guys," a voice called.

  He reached out his hand and waited for one of the water volunteers to fill it with a cup of water.

  Instead, a high five slapped into him almost costing the two riders their balance.

  "How are we doing?" Amy called out.

  "You're in tenth. Maybe the third tandem."

  "Great."

  Again he felt the power of her strokes as she accelerated back onto the course.

  A couple of miles later, they picked up water from Andrew himself. It was odd how quickly his strength came back after he drank.

  He helped himself to a power bar and passed one up to Amy.

  "Unless you brought your chocolates," he said.

  "I figured we'd save those for later," she told him.

  His pulse was a little elevated from the long ride, but it accelerated at Amy's ‘later.’ He wanted there to be a later for the two of them.

  "You know, after all these power bars, the idea of candy isn't that exciting. Unless you're wedded to the idea of chocolate, what do you say I buy you dinner after this to celebrate."

  "If we win, I'll buy dinner," she told him.

  "No you don't. You got dinner last time."

  "Let's win first, then we'll argue about it."

  As long as they were arguing about who would pay, he thought the odds of her at least agreeing to spend more time with him were pretty good. If they won the race.

  "About how far do we have?" he asked.

  "Only five kilometers," she answered.

  He put more of his weight into his strokes. It was early to sprint, but certainly not too early to start to catch up with the nine bikes still in front of them.

  "I see three, maybe four riders ahead," she told him.

  He nodded and concentrated on pedaling.

  Ninety-five kilometers of hard bicycling is work, even for a guy whose social life is pretty much spent in the gym. Unlike most bicyclists who seem to weigh in at somewhere south of a hundred and fifty pounds, Mark was a full-sized man better than six feet tall. Even with a light partner like Amy, even with the aerodynamic advantages of the tandem, pain and exhaustion started to wash over him.

  A million years ago, before he'd lost his vision, he would have been able to forget his muscle pain by focusing his vision at the woman in front of him, watching the play of muscle under her soft skin. Today he didn't have that option. He found, though, that if he breathed deeply, he could almost taste the clean scent of her body.

  The distraction worked. Admittedly, his own body wanted to forget the silly race and roll Amy onto the ground and satisfy the powerful urges that filled him. Admittedly, some of the blood that should be circulating to his muscles got diverted elsewhere. Still, thinking that way distracted him from the pain. At least he hardly noticed the way his lungs fought for more oxygen or the sting in his thighs.

  "We've caught them. I think I'll draft for a minute, then we'll make our move," Amy said.

  He heard the rattle of gears as the leader pack tried to shake them off. Even at the higher speed, pedaling was easier since they didn't have to fight against the wind.

  He enjoyed a few moments letting a little feeling get back into his legs.

  "Now," Amy breathed.

  He stood on his pedals and surged. From the wobble in the bike, Amy had done the same.

  A shout came from one of the other riders in the pack, but he and Amy already had enough speed to pull away.

  "There have to be a few more," Amy told him. "But all three of the tandems were there. Even if we don't win it all, we should win our category."

  "Let's concentrate on finishing."

  "I see the leaders," she said.

  She must have stood again because the bike wobbled. In midstroke, however, he heard the sound he'd been fearing. A loud snap.

  "Damn," Amy cried.

  "Are you all right?" He should never have let her push herself to the point where she could be seriously injured.

  "My frigging pedal broke off." She sounded ready to break into tears.

  Chapter 5

  "You sure you didn't hurt yourself?" Concern softened Mark's voice.

  "Yeah, I'm fine," Amy answered. "I just hate to lose after we were doing so well."

  "We haven't lost yet."

  The group they'd just passed had whizzed by when she'd lost her pedal and she looked behind them. Others were catching up fast.

  Mark must have been holding back because the bike started moving faster even though she was only able to pedal with one foot, using her toe clip to tug the pedal up after the downstroke.

  They gradually closed the distance on the lead pack. Mark's breathing grew deeper and the bike shook with the force of his downstrokes.

  She had known he was str
ong. After all, she'd seen him at the gym, stripped down to a pair of running shorts and a muscle shirt. She hadn't realized, however, exactly how strong he was. It was a little intimidating, but also sexy.

  "How are we doing?" he asked, his voice forced through his heavy breathing.

  "We've got a ways to go," she told him. "Maybe a couple of klicks still."

  To her surprise, Mark redoubled his efforts.

  Ahead, the course rounded a corner coming up on the last mile, a straightaway sprint for the finish line. Bits of gravel flew up off the wheels and, looking ahead, she saw that the gravel was thicker at the turn.

  "We're coming up on a turn," she told him. "I think we'd better slow down."

  "Lean into it and we'll power through," he answered.

  She hadn't thought that winning the race was that big a deal to him. For that matter, he hadn't even expressed any interest in racing before she had suggested it.

  Amy eyed the turn, then nodded. "Right."

  Ahead, the lead pack was breaking up as bicyclists started their sprint or found that they had nothing left to give and slowed. She steered behind a big man, drafting for a few blissful seconds, then passed as he slowed. Rather than slowing, they accelerated through the turn, leaning hard. At least one of them prayed hard that she could avoid the gravel.

  They were traveling faster than she had ever gone and the bike was much bigger than she was used to. Fear and exhilaration battled for Amy's attention.

  As they hit the sharpest angle of the turn, Mark leaned hard and she followed, a faint scratching noise warning her when his petal scraped against the road.

  When they were at the halfway point into the turn, the front wheel hit a patch of gravel and, for a panicky moment, she knew they would crash.

  Then, somehow, they didn't.

  Mark powered through the turn, the back wheel managing not to get entangled in the loose stones, and they were on the straightaway.

  With the momentum they had built through the turn, they passed several riders quickly.

  A small pack of three riders remained about an eighth of a mile ahead of them. Too far.

  "We're not going to make it," she told him. "Don't hurt yourself."