No Secrets in Spandex

by Toni Jones

  “We’re all here,” Beth said. “It’ll mean so much to Jacob … whether he wins or loses.”

  Ariel, looking at them dreamily — father, mother, and daughter — felt jolted. She realized for the first time that she’d never really thought about what would happen if Jacob lost. As soon as the idea occurred to her, however, she dismissed it. It wasn’t that she didn’t think it was possible. Jacob had given her a crash course in bike racing in the last few days — “crash” being the operative word. Ariel shuddered when she thought of Jacob being involved in the kinds of collisions he’d shown her in videos of famous races. With all her heart, she wanted him to get through the race in one piece.

  Assuming that he did, though, she couldn’t care less whether he won or lost. When she’d first met him, she’d thought he was an egomaniac, an immature, self-absorbed star who cared only about winning, and who would probably have a tantrum if he didn’t.

  Now that she knew him better, Ariel understood that Jacob was made of stronger stuff. His apprenticeship in the rough-and-tumble world of European cycling had schooled him in the dangers of over-confidence. He’d suffered his share of defeats, and he always bounced back, ready for more. He was both humble and relentless. He understood that sometimes a win was impossible, but that this was never a reason to give less than his all.

  Standing at the finish line, Ariel craned her neck to see if the cyclists were coming into view. She knew it was too soon. Knew that the crowd stretching down both sides of the road would alert her to their approach. But she couldn’t help it. Her heart was pounding with vicarious excitement, the amped-up feeling of the waiting crowd.

  As she waited, she realized that she was obsessively fingering the charms on her bracelet. She looked down and smiled. She was holding the tiny gold bicycle Jacob had given her as though it were a good luck charm. She had no idea where he’d found it. When he’d given her the small jeweler’s box over dinner the night before, she hadn’t known what to expect. She already knew she wanted to marry him. But she hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. She stared down at the box. As if reading her mind, Jacob lifted her chin, and shot her one of his trademark heart-stopping grins.

  “We both know I’m fast,” he laughed. “But it’s not magic. I worked for it. And I’m going to work to win you for my wife. And I know that will take a little more time.”

  Half disappointed and half relieved, Ariel opened the box … and crowed with delight.

  “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Perfect!” How could she explain to him that the charm meant more to her than a ring would have? It meant he knew her more deeply than she could ever have hoped for. Understood, at a gut level, what mattered to her the most.

  She wished Jacob could have known her father. She wished her father could have known her Jacob.

  They would have talked about Shakespeare, she thought. They would have gone fishing in the Hudson. My father would have come out here and seen Colorado. He would have loved it. The mountains. The rivers. We would have walked through fields of columbines and I wouldn’t have been able to keep myself from dancing.

  The ache would never go away. But somehow loving Jacob made it easier. She had learned about love from her father and mother, and every minute with Jacob reminded her. Sweetly.

  Not knowing what words could possibly suffice to express her gratitude, Ariel had risen from her chair, rounded the table, and plopped herself down in his lap, her arms around his neck. She’d kissed him deeply, right in the middle of the restaurant. Within thirty seconds, he was asking for the check.

  Behind her, Karen and her father were having a tentative but heartfelt reunion. Beth was standing back, giving them space to talk with one another. Ariel was also trying to give them their privacy, but it was hard, on a cramped sidewalk with people pressing in from all sides, and occasional snatches of their conversation drifted up to her.

  “ … describe everything,” Karen was saying, “so you won’t miss a single detail. You’d never believe my t-shirt. It’s Jakey on his bike with a maroon background and … ”

  Then later, Richard’s huskier voice: “Karen, I want to apologize … inexcusable not to visit … love you so much.”

  When Ariel looked back, they were embracing one another, and there were tears in Karen’s eyes and in Richard Hunter’s blind ones as well.

  A gasp traveled through the crowd. From farther down the road, Ariel heard cheering, progressing toward her in a roaring crescendo. The leading group was not yet in sight. But she could hear the spectators further down shouting the names of their favorite riders … Ariel thought she could pick out the sound of fans chanting “Hunter! Hunter! Hunter!” She was so excited, she wanted to jump up and down.

  When the leaders came into sight, she couldn’t hold herself back. She jumped, pumped her fists in the air and screamed Jacob’s name — even before she realized that he was leading the breakaway, Randall and Steven close behind him. They were riding in a tight pack, several lengths ahead of any of the other riders. Gearing up for the sprint, they stood up on their pedals and leaned forward, beginning to pump their legs faster and faster, muscles bulging from their thighs and their forearms. Their clenched jaws and furrowed brows communicated the superhuman effort they were putting forth.

  The line separated as the riders put everything they had into the last hundred yards of road leading up to the finish line. Jacob drew ahead of his teammates, pedaling furiously, a look of pure, intense focus on his chiseled features. Ariel was screaming his name at the top of her lungs, jumping again and again into the air, urging him on with her voice, her body, all of her will.

  Jacob swept over the finish line, several seconds ahead of the next rider. As he crossed the line, he sat up in his seat and raised his arms — V for victory — with a look of the purest, simplest happiness on his gorgeous face. Ariel couldn’t help it. She burst into tears.

  Behind her, she heard Beth, Karen, and Richard yelling Jacob’s name. As the rest of the riders, followed by the support vehicles, came over the line, the crowd broke apart, milling into the street toward the stage and the podium.

  Ariel couldn’t see Jacob anymore. Leaving his family, she pushed through the crowd to find him. He was standing beside his bike, near the stage, sluicing himself down with water from a squirt bottle. He was still breathing hard, covered in sweat. He’d unzipped his skinsuit and pulled the top down to his waist, revealing the contours of his gleaming, golden torso, his broad shoulders and taut abdomen. Ariel gasped as a wave of desire, incredibly strong, swept through her.

  She was running to him. He raised his eyes and saw her, and his smile grew even wider. Disregarding his disheveled state, Ariel threw herself into his arms. Jacob lifted her from the ground, supporting her whole body against him. She kissed his forehead, his cheek, his chin. His skin was hot. He tasted salty. She wanted more of it, more of him. She found his lips, kissed him hungrily. Jacob’s chest was heaving with the incredible exertion of the race and she knew she should let go of him, let him catch his breath, but when she tried to pull back, he held her. He deepened the kiss, sweeping Ariel’s mouth with his tongue. She moaned into his mouth, nipping playfully at his lower lip. The sound of clapping arose around them. Bemused, Jacob lowered Ariel to the ground and they looked around to see Jacob’s teammates, grinning and applauding.

  That might have been the happiest moment of Ariel’s life. Or it might have been when she stood with his family below the stage, watching Jacob on the top step of the podium, receiving his medal. He dedicated his win to Karen. Ariel didn’t mind at all. She wanted, more than anything, for Karen to know how much her brother loved her.

  Ariel already knew. She was completely, unshakably, irrevocably certain that Jacob Hunter loved her.

  Just the way she loved him.

  “What about this Fratello?” Theo had asked during their last conversation. “Is he o
n drugs? Or Henderson? Anyone on the team? Someone has to be on drugs.”

  “Nope.” Ariel had laughed. “How about I write you an article about the power of avocadoes?”

  “Genetically modified avocadoes?” Theo sounded perkier. “I’ve been wanting to run some kind of Frankenfood piece … maybe we can get in on the soy controversy? I’ll have to think about this one. We’ll talk when you’re back in New York.”

  “We’ll probably talk before I’m back in New York,” Ariel had laughed.

  “Exactly,” said Theo, and once she heard him begin to order his coffee, she hung up. She still had a job. That was good. Theo had actually screamed “Hallelujah!” when she’d told him about her and Jacob. “I couldn’t think of any other reason you wouldn’t write the story,” he’d crowed. “I knew it had to be love. Or Rocky Mountain spotted fever. To be honest, I thought there was a fifty-fifty chance.” Then the background noises had faded out. Theo had stopped multitasking. His voice had come through the phone crystal clear as he said, with unmistakable sincerity, “You made the right choice. Ariel, you deserve this.”

  Maybe someday she’d even be able to write the real story behind her abandoned article on Jacob Hunter. It turned out to be a little light on the drugs. But there was sex. A lot of sex. She grinned. Sometimes sex isn’t just sex … it’s trust. It’s true love. What would all the cynical New Yorkers think about that scoop?

  They’d think it was incredible. Sensational. They wouldn’t know whether or not to believe it. Even her friend Jenna, champion of romantic serendipity, had barely believed it when she’d called to give her the good news.

  Believe it. That was the moral, thought Ariel. Every now and then, something seems too good to be true. And it is.

  It’s better.

  About the Author

  Toni Jones grew up in Wyoming, Utah, and Colorado, and she continues to appreciate the special beauty and unique lifestyle of the Western U.S. Her passion for the outdoors and her love of romance go hand-in-hand. She hopes her work will inspire all her readers to get outside and fall in love under the open sky!

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  (From Sweet Gone South by Alicia Hunter Pace)

  The smell of cooking fudge is only sweet if the candy maker isn’t dead tired and sick of the smell of chocolate. Lanie Heaven wearily crossed the floor of the Heavenly Confections kitchen to check the temperature of the vat of dark brown bubbling syrup. Almost there. She looked at her watch. 6:20 P.M. No time to make truffles, but she could do it when she returned home. There was just enough time to pour up the fudge and pack some candy to take to book club.

  There was a knock at the front door. Damn. Why hadn’t she turned off the lights at five o’clock when she’d locked the shop door? Not that it would have mattered. The people of Merritt, Alabama knew she was in here and had no compunction about pounding on the door — or trotting around back and ringing her apartment bell, for that matter. With her luck, it would be Sophie Ann McGowan, who would want a single chocolate star and then complain that it wasn’t as creamy as the ones Lanie’s grandmother used to make. Sophie Ann wouldn’t go away but she could wait; the fudge could not.

  Lanie grabbed the copper pot and headed toward the marble candy table. The throbbing fatigue between her shoulder blades turned to a sharp pain and Lanie shifted the pot. The knocking resumed and escalated to banging. Lanie jumped and the pot began to tip. She jerked it back but not soon enough. Pools, rivers, oceans, of thick chocolate spread at her feet and beyond. Self-preservation made her jump back to avoid being burned.

  She would have cursed if she had known a word bad enough to equal the situation. And that was saying a lot because she knew some pretty bad words. Money, time, and energy gone because she’d let herself be distracted. Another person might have gone into a cleaning frenzy, grabbing towels and mopping up chocolate but Lanie knew better. It was best to let it harden, and then scrape it up and steam clean the floor. It would be hours before the molten liquid would be cool enough to come up easily in chunks so there was no need to even miss book club — not that they got around to discussing books very often. She sometimes wondered why they didn’t just go ahead and call it Drinking, Eating, and Gossiping Club. But either way, she was ready for an evening of good wine, good food, and good gossip with her three best friends.

  The banging at the front door increased to pounding. Sophie Ann must be having a real chocolate emergency. Maybe she’d like to eat off the floor like a starving dog. Lanie wiped her hands on her splattered apron and hurried from the calamity of the kitchen to the cheerful little storefront. She looked out the door and, again, would have cursed if there had been an adequate word in her bad girl vocabulary.

  Not Sophie Ann. Luke Avery. And that was worse, a million times worse. She’d met Luke at a party right after he’d moved to Merritt from Mobile last fall. He’d bitten into one of the peanut butter filled chocolates she’d brought and ended up on the floor with an EpiPen stuck in his thigh. Intellectually, she knew it wasn’t her fault. Yet every time she saw him, she couldn’t stop herself from sheepishly apologizing again — and it clearly annoyed him. Well, she wouldn’t do it tonight. She unlocked the door and jerked it open with more vehemence than she knew she had.

  “I don’t have any espresso made,” she said, “and the machines are clean and ready for the morning.” Seven in the morning was usually Luke’s favorite time to pound on the door and make demands, though she didn’t open until nine.

  He looked her up and down and frowned disdainfully. Luke was a no nonsense kind of man and she suspected he didn’t appropriately appreciate her work clothes. Today her chef’s pants and matching apron were black, printed with multicolored jellybeans. The black chef’s clogs were ugly but they just made sense for anyone who had to stand on a concrete floor. What was she supposed to wear? Stilettos?

  “I don’t want any espresso,” he said, like he was surprised, though she couldn’t fathom why. He never bought anything else. He was probably afraid there were peanuts lurking in all the candy. “I want to talk to you for a minute.”

  “I have just a minute. I’m on my way to book club.” She stepped aside and allowed him to enter.

  Luke Avery’s eyes preceded him into the room — big heartbreak eyes the color of Windex, accented by dark circles and black lashes that Lanie couldn’t have achieved with an extension job and a triple dose of mascara. Those eyes hadn’t been built for sadness but they had learned it well. His mouth looked sad too and it was a shame — full lips like his ought to be smiling. Even his high cheekbones and the smooth pronounced plains of his face looked sad, probably because he could use ten pounds. A good cut had coaxed his dark thick hair into smooth neat layers but it looked like it would curl when it was wet. His hair might be the only thing about him that wasn’t sad.

  “What can I do for you, Luke?” Lanie crossed her arms and leaned on the wall.

  “I suppose you’ve heard the governor appointed me to Judge Gilliam’s seat.”

  Of course, she’d heard it. This was Merritt; everybody had heard. At thirty-two, he was now the youngest circuit judge in the state. After Judge Coleman Gilliam had dropped dead on the golf course, everyone had said Luke got the appointment because his father, the state senator, was tight with the governor and because people felt sorry for him at being a widower with such a young child.

  “Congratulations,” Lanie said. “Are you here to alert me to start calling you Judge Avery?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Don’t look so offended. I was joking. Sort of.”

  “I’m not offended.” He closed his eyes and opened them again, as if he was signaling that he was closing one subject and moving on to the next. “I’ve been living with my parents on their farm right outside town.”

  “I know. I drove you there that time I nearly killed you. Remember?”

 
; He frowned some more. “Now that I’m on the bench, I need to live nearer to the courthouse. Besides, my little girl just turned three and started nursery school in town. I think we need to move.”

  “You have my blessing and permission to move to town.”

  He rolled his eyes — those big blue eyes. “I hear you have an apartment for rent.”

  Lanie uncrossed her arms and straightened up. That got her attention. Indeed, the apartment upstairs, across the hall from her own, was empty and she needed to rent it. Business had been good but she’d gotten carried away and spent too much on too many upscale renovations to the shop and the apartments. The rent she needed to charge was unheard of for an apartment in a town the size of Merritt — and she needed that rent to hire some staff. Kathryn, the shop manager, and Allison, Internet sales manager, were hard workers but if they were stretched thin, Lanie was practically transparent.

  She wanted — needed — to hire someone to help with the Internet sales and open the shop earlier so the coffee bar she’d installed could live up to its potential. When she’d bought the thing, she’d fanaticized about chatting with the good people of Merritt in the early morning hours while she made them lattes and sold them muffins. She thought it would be fun but had never found out. Unfortunately — or fortunately — to keep up with the candy making, she found herself in the industrial kitchen earlier every morning and later every night. Still, her good business sense wouldn’t allow her to hire a new person until she rented that apartment. Luke might be just the person to pay what she was asking. Everybody knew Luke Avery was a trust fund baby and the widower of a real estate heiress.