Cycling Downhill: A Sweet Young Adult Romance (Love is a Triathlon Book 3)

by Chrissy Q Martin

  “Great,” Paul says, a little more lift in his voice. “Could we get together both weekends?”

  I give a slight nod of my head. “Okay,” I say, but inside I’m screaming in excitement. Yes! Moving forward is moving me places.

  After calculus we walk to physics together, take our seats next to each other, and this time I decide to engage Paul in conversation. I’ve held back on talking to him because he broke up with me, but that’s when I was focused on myself and stuck in my misery. I’m moving forward, trying to wade out of the muck and despair. This is an attempt to get back on the saddle.

  “Did you have a good weekend?” I ask Paul. Even though I’m talking to him, I still don’t want to hear about Bridgette or Tara. I haven’t moved that far forward, and I’d rather just hurdle over them.

  “It was nice,” Paul says. “Tim had a bowling tournament.”

  I smile. Tim is Paul’s older brother, and I really like him. I’m not at ease with many people, but Tim always made me feel comfortable. “How’d he do?” I ask.

  “Amazing, as usual,” Paul says. “He has a knack for getting lots of spares and strikes.”

  “Good for him,” I say, thinking of my horrible bowling skills. It’s one game I’ve never been able to pick up.

  “What time can you come over on Saturday to work on the project?” Paul asks.

  My brows crease together, while I think of my schedule. I’m meeting Dylan at the gym in the morning for training. “How about after lunch? Maybe one?” I ask.

  Paul nods. “Sure.”

  I’m secretly thrilled to be going to Paul’s again, but I need to ask something. The question wants to push out like a zit bursting open. “Am I allowed in your room?”

  Paul’s head jerks with a tiny movement. His eyes meet mine and I don’t understand why he’s looking at me like I asked him if he wants to…

  Oh. No.

  Okay. I hear it in my head now. Not good. I hope Paul’s not mistaken, because that question sounds way more seductive than I meant it. Especially since I asked it in a low voice and my hand is brushing up against his. How did my hand end up next to his?

  “I mean…” My hands fly in all directions while I talk fast. “Since we’re not together anymore, are your parents going to allow me to be in your room?”

  “Um, well…” Paul is speechless now.

  I shake my head and force a smile. My armpits are starting to sweat like I’ve run in Florida in the middle of July. “I’m just kidding. We can work at the kitchen table or wherever.”

  “How was your birthday?” Paul asks, jumping subjects. His body twists my way, and his knee bumps mine. I don’t move it away this time.

  “It turned out better than I thought it would be.” I tug my huge science binder out of my bag and catch the short frown on Paul’s face.

  “Ash!” Taylor exclaims when she bounds into the room. “Are we going to Dylan’s cabin next week?”

  “You’re going where?” Tara asks as she walks in behind Taylor.

  Tara’s eyes narrow and she slams her bag on the table. Paul’s knee jerks away from mine. Taylor claps her hand over her mouth, her face awash in horror. My body sags and I close my eyes, while Paul’s wide ones are on me. I really should have texted everyone last night, instead of forgetting to tell them Mom said I could go, and Dylan’s mom agreed we could use the cabin.

  “I mean…” Taylor looks at me with a sorrowful face.

  There’s no way to get around this and I choose to answer. “For spring break there was talk of going to Dylan’s cabin,” I say.

  “He’s having a party?” Tara asks. She and Taylor settle into their stools while Paul’s eyes are still wide. “I haven’t heard anything.”

  “Um…” Taylor’s stumped, and she looks to me for help again. I don’t know how to get out of this. I guess the truth will have to do.

  “It’s just a few friends. No party.” I rummage in my bag for a pen and avoid eye contact with anyone, especially Paul.

  “What friends?” Tara asks, her voice a sneer, but I know she’s envious. A spiteful Tara says and does horrid things, which means Taylor and I need to continue to watch each other’s back.

  “Sabrina for sure,” I say and pull out my binder. I only view my tablemates out of the corner of my eye.

  Tara snorts in disgust. “Of course.”

  “Are you going?” Paul asks me. I barely hear him and I’m sure Tara didn’t. I only nod, my eyes on my binder. I hear Paul sigh. He looks up to the front of the room where the teacher writes on the white board. “You should have a fun time there. It could be cold, so make sure to pack some warm stuff.”

  There’s a chill coming off Paul that’s colder than what we’ll find in northern Wisconsin in early spring. Paul used to go to Dylan’s cabin with his family when they were friends in middle school. He knows exactly where we’re going and what can happen there.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The week passes faster than the previous ones and Friday arrives. Tomorrow marks four weeks since Paul broke up with me, and Nora was right, it’s slowly getting easier. I still wonder why Paul won’t tell me his reason for breaking up with me. We’ve managed to be friendly all week, and things almost feel normal. Whatever normal is.

  After dropping Jacob off at home, I head out to get his birthday ice cream cake. It’s his fifteenth birthday today and we’re celebrating at home tonight. Tomorrow he’s headed out with friends. The large ice cream cake is in a box, cradled in my arms, when I turn and nearly bump into someone.

  I sigh, a frustrated noise.

  “Ash.” Bridgette says my name with a sneer, her dislike for me obvious. “How are you?”

  I don’t understand why we have to go through these fake pleasantries, but I play along. “I’m fine. How are you doing?”

  “I hear you’re headed to Dylan’s cabin for spring break.”

  She doesn’t ask a question, and there’s no need for me to answer. “What are you doing for spring break?” I ask. Engaging Bridgette in a conversation is a bad idea, and I should walk out the door because I’m only asking for trouble.

  “Spending time with Paul,” Bridgette replies.

  I flinch at the answer, which is the reaction Bridgette hopes for and she puts on a malicious smile. “I hope you two have fun,” I say with effort.

  I try to walk by Bridgette, but she moves in front of me and blocks my exit. The ice cream cake box is cold against my forearms and the cake will start melting the longer I stand here. If Bridgette would blow a little of her coldness at the cake, instead of me, it might not melt in my arms.

  “I don’t get it. How does a guy like Dylan date you and why is Paul still hung up on you? What do they see in you? You’re not even that pretty.”

  I think if Bridgette had a hammer, she couldn’t beat me any further into the ground.

  “I’m not standing in your way to go after him,” I say in a soft voice. She’s standing in my way of exiting this conversation and the store. I endured Bridgette being friends with Paul while we dated. If she happens to snag him now, good for her. For all Paul’s obliviousness to her liking him, maybe he senses it and chooses to ignore it. Or maybe he has no interest in dating her. Or maybe they’re better as friends, like Dylan and me.

  “I know you made him stay away from me when you were dating,” she says.

  “That was his choice,” I say, my voice not at all assertive, when it should be. “He did it to respect me.”

  “He can spend time with friends,” Bridgette sneers. “And I’m his friend.”

  “A friend who wants more,” I say. “Would you like me spending time alone with Paul if you’re dating him?” I speak up more than normal, but it doesn’t feel like it’s accomplishing much, only aggravating Bridgette more.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Just stay away from him.”


  “Excuse me,” I say and try to step to the side again.

  “He’ll be going to prom with me,” Bridgette says. “You’ll stay away from him if you know what’s good for you.”

  What’s good for me is getting away from Bridgette. “I need to go.” I bump Bridgette’s arm with mine and push past her.

  It’s Paul’s choice if he wants to stay away from me, but I won’t be staying away from him if he wants me near. Tomorrow, I’m going over to his house because he invited me.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Do I have a target on my back?” I ask, pulling out the backside of my shirt and showing Dylan.

  He steps onto the treadmill next to me. “Why do you ask?”

  “I ran into Bridgette yesterday and she was vicious.”

  “She’s just jealous of you, forget her.” Dylan sets his phone on the treadmill.

  “Kind of hard to when she threatens me,” I say under my breath. My hands fidget on the grab bars of the still treadmill I stand on. Why does a machine with one moving belt to help you run have so many buttons?

  “Haven’t you ever used a treadmill?” Dylan looks over at me from the adjacent machine.

  I swallow hard, my eyes on the blank screen. “No. Why would I when there’s a perfectly good track in front of me?” I gesture to the running track, which is ironically right next to the line of treadmills. “Or even better, we can run outside.”

  Dylan pushes a button on his treadmill, and he starts at a slow walking pace. “You need to know how to use it for the triathlon.”

  “Fine.” I exhale heavily. “Show me what to do.”

  Dylan places his feet on the still side platforms of his treadmill and leans over to mine. “You have to put the safety strap on first.” He places a clip on the bottom of my t-shirt while my eyes grow wide, but not because he’s touching me.

  “Safety strap? Is this dangerous?”

  Dylan chuckles. “Only if you fly off the end. If you happen to fall, the strap will pull out of the machine and cause it to stop.”

  I clench the bars on the sides of the treadmill hard enough to turn my knuckles white. “You’re not making me feel very good about this.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Dylan pushes a button and the mat under me starts to move.

  “Okay,” I say, moving my feet at a walking pace. This feels strange. “But it’s your fault if anything happens to me.”

  “If I break it, I pay for it,” Dylan says with a grin. He’s teasing me, his Dylanie personality on display the way I like it.

  I sneer at him, in a friendly way, and return to concentrating on my feet moving at the same speed as the moving pad under them. After some time getting used to the machine, I’m able to increase the speed. Dylan is a professional, running with his hands at his sides and making it look easy. I’m not removing my hands from the handles. I’m afraid I’ll shoot off the back of the treadmill if I do. I have a death grip on the handles, and with my hunched running, it looks like I’m on a torture machine.

  “How long has it been?” I ask after what seems like forever. Why is it more difficult to run on a treadmill than a track? I’m going slower than normal and my breathing is already labored.

  Dylan points at my treadmill. He doesn’t have to hold on like I do. “Your screen will tell you everything. Just push the button next to it to toggle through the options.”

  “I’m not letting go,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Dylan only laughs at me, while I scowl. “It’s been five minutes.”

  “Seriously?” My chin drops to my chest. “It feels like eternity on this thing. How am I going to make it three miles?”

  “Run faster.”

  “I’d hit you if I could.”

  “You have to catch me first.” Dylan has a permanent grin coated on his face and his dimple is a well in his cheek.

  “You’re on a roll,” I say. I concentrate on my feet and visualize what will happen if I trip. It won’t be pretty.

  “You’re on a roll too.” Dylan points to the rolling mat under my feet.

  Why is it I’m able to joke and have immediate comebacks with Dylan, when I choke up with anyone else?

  “I’d much rather swim,” I comment.

  “How’s that any different than a treadmill?” Dylan asks. “You just go back and forth.”

  “Shut up,” I say with a grimace. “And make the time go by faster.”

  “Then let’s just talk,” Dylan says. “That’ll help it go by fast.”

  “You have to do your smoldering look at some of these people on the track.” I nod my head at two high school girls passing by, their heads leaning together as they whisper. “They’re giving me nasty looks and you said you’d entertain me.”

  “Alright,” Dylan says. “But you’re responsible for anything that occurs because of it.”

  “Don’t worry.” I tighten my grip on the handles of the treadmill. “I’ll be sure to alert a medic if any girl faints on the track.”

  Dylan looks at my pained expression and my hostile grip on the treadmill. “I’ll do the same for you if the treadmill gets the best of you.”

  “I think the best of me has already drowned,” I say.

  A new version of me must arise from the mess of my past and move forward, even if it’s at a snail’s pace.

  After our time at the gym, Dylan invites me over for lunch at his house. I’m meeting Paul later, and it’s not far from Dylan’s, so I go. We eat and play video games in the basement rec room. I never played video games until I met Dylan, and it seems I’m quite good at the car racing games. I used to spend a lot of time studying, but with it being the last trimester of school and college plans are in place, I’ve lightened up. There’s extra free time in my schedule and this new version of me relaxes more.

  “I should have been a race car driver,” I say when I beat Dylan again.

  “There’s still time,” he says, pushing through the menu to find another track.

  “Except, I’d probably freak out with real cars next to me. I like having my own lane. That’s why I swim.” I watch Dylan choose a track he knows I always beat him at.

  “You did fine being with other people in the pool for water polo,” Dylan says.

  “Must have been a fluke,” I say. “Because being squeezed in a group of people normally makes me anxious.”

  “It’s probably because you were with me.” Dylan smirks at me. “I have a way of rubbing off on you.”

  “I’m so glad you have enough ego to share.” I lean and nudge Dylan with my shoulder. He does have a way of rubbing off on me.

  “Now it’s time for me to use that ego and beat you.” Dylan pushes on his controller and I jerk up.

  “What time is it?” I scrounge for where I put my phone on the massive coffee table in front of us.

  “Ten to one,” Dylan replies.

  I frown. I don’t want to leave, but I also want to. “I need to go,” I tell Dylan. “I have to be somewhere at one.”

  Dylan looks at the time on his phone again. “That’s in ten minutes. Are you going to be late?”

  I pinch my lips together. “Nope. It’s not far.”

  Dylan narrows his turquoise eyes. They dig right into me. “Where are you going?”

  “Paul’s,” I answer.

  “Oh.” A puff of air escapes Dylan and his chest visibly deflates.

  “It’s just that project I told you about.” I feel like I’m making excuses about going to Paul’s, and I shouldn’t have to. “We need to work on it.”

  Dylan clenches his teeth. “Are you guys friends now?”

  I shrug. “We’re math partners.” I’m not sure what it’s going to take for us to be friends.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  This is the first time I’ve been to Paul’s in over four weeks. Standing on his wide
front porch, I feel as nervous as I did the first time I came over and had breakfast with his family.

  “Hey,” Paul says after I ring the doorbell and he opens the wide wood door.

  I manage to smile and return the greeting. I miss him saying, “Hey, you.” It wrenches my heart to not hear it.

  “What’re we doing today?” I ask as I step into the front entry. As usual, his house is immaculate. Nothing is out of place. It feels wrong to leave my coat and shoes by the bench in the entry, like they’re making a mess and don’t belong.

  “We could start setting up the tables to record the data,” Paul says. “Next time we can start testing.”

  “Sure.” I adjust the bag on my shoulder and follow Paul. I glance quickly at the stairs in the front of the house leading up to Paul’s room. I guess we won’t be working there. We sit at the round kitchen table and I listen for noise while I pull stuff out of my bag. I’m surprised his mom hasn’t popped her head in yet. Mrs. Turner would always check up on Paul and me when we were dating.

  “Where’s your family?” I ask.

  “My dad took Tim to a tournament, and my mom has some showings today. She shouldn’t be back until later.”

  “Oh.” I watch Paul open and turn on his laptop. Paul’s mom is a realtor, and while she seemed to like me in the beginning, a couple of things diminished her view of me. She walked in on Paul and me kissing in this kitchen, with his hands under my shirt. It was only my back, but it was enough for her to give us a talk about their open-door policy while I was in their house. Then Bridgette attended a swim meet and mentioned to Paul’s mom she heard Dylan and I had a close relationship. To make it worse, Bridgette mentioned she heard there was a rumor I was pregnant with Dylan’s baby. My view in Mrs. Turner’s mind plummeted, even though I did nothing wrong. Yet, I’m still worried. I hate people thinking badly of me, especially when it’s not deserved.

  “Is it okay if I’m here with you?” I ask in a quiet voice.

  Paul’s hand stills over the keyboard. He’s aware of my worry and pauses before answering. “It’s fine. She knows we’re not dating anymore.”