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

by Chrissy Q Martin

  Dylan startles and turns away from the lake to look at me. In the sunlight, his turquoise eyes are even more piercing than normal. “What did you say?”

  My heart rate increases. I need him to do this quick. “Kiss me,” I say again.

  Dylan takes his hand and runs a finger down my cheek until his hand cups my chin, like he’s been waiting for this moment for months and he wants to savor each second. I want him to hurry it up. Dylan leans forward and places a soft kiss on my forehead.

  “Dylan,” I start to protest. That wasn’t quite the kiss I was hoping for. I look over his shoulder again before turning my focus to him. I clasp Dylan’s face in my hands and look straight into his eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

  “Ashley,” he starts, returning my gaze.

  “Can I kiss you?” I repeat. This needs to happen soon.

  “Okay, but-”

  There’s no chance for Dylan to finish before I place my lips on his. I think I’ve shocked him for the first second, because he doesn’t kiss me back. But then, an arm wraps around me and Dylan pulls me into him. His other hand is in my hair, as if he’s touching me and making sure I’m real. And oh my gosh…my heart rate spirals up with each second longer we kiss. I know I’ve already had a first kiss with Dylan. I’ve also had one with Paul that I thought couldn’t be topped. But this kiss, oh my, this kiss is one I don’t want to pull away from. It’s a kiss I’ll think about later on, dream about, and…

  What am I doing?

  Dylan gently pulls away from the kiss at the same time as me. “Ashley,” he whispers, his fingers softly on my face. It seems he wants to pull me in for another kiss and then his body stills. His focus is over my shoulder and he straightens up. “You’re kidding.”

  “No,” I say, suddenly panicky. “It’s not what you think.” It’s probably exactly what he thinks.

  “Whose benefit was that kiss for?”

  “Dylan,” I start. He sees Paul and Bridgette. They walk together on the path and have passed by us.

  “I’m not going to play your boyfriend in front of him,” Dylan says, sliding away from me.

  “Dylan.” I can’t say his name enough. “I’m sorry.”

  “I hope that works out the way you want it to.” Dylan stands and I look after Paul and Bridgette. Paul’s posture is rigid, but Bridgette has looped her arm through his. My heart sinks. Did this play out the way I want it to? What was I even hoping would happen? I turn back to Dylan, but he’s gone, walking away from me down the path, and the opposite direction of Paul.

  I sit on the bench, alone, and not sure which direction to run. I put my head in my hands. How is it I keep screwing everything up?

  I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t have a good feeling as I ring the doorbell.

  “I’m sorry,” I say when Dylan opens the door.

  He grasps the door with one hand and looks at me, his face lacking any emotion. “Why’d you do it?”

  “I don’t know. This morning he told me Bridgette kissed him while we were dating, and I reacted when I saw them. I thought him seeing me kiss you would help him figure out where we stand.”

  “And what does it do for where we stand?” Dylan asks and I cringe.

  That’s the thing. I thought the kiss was for Paul to see me kissing Dylan, but maybe it was more for me to see where I stand with one of them. I wait on Dylan’s doorstep, desperate for something, but I’m not sure what. “It was stupid and I’m sorry. Can we still be friends?”

  Dylan runs a hand through his hair and groans. It’s a pained sound and now his face displays an emotion. He looks hurt and overwhelmed. “I was fine being friends, fine keeping you at a distance. But then you go and do this.” Dylan waves his hands between us. “And I can’t recover.”

  “Recover from what?” I draw in a breath.

  “From you.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Choose me.” Dylan remains holding the door open, staring at me. I swallow hard, staring right back at him, not sure I’m hearing him correctly. “Choose me,” he says again in a soft voice. He steps over the threshold and closes the gap between us. I put my hands on his chest, to keep him at a distance and I take a tiny step back.

  “We’re friends,” I say.

  “But you have to know, have to have known I want more. It’s not a secret.”

  My head shakes slightly, but not because I haven’t known, but because I never wanted to admit it to myself. This is what Paul does with Bridgette.

  “Haven’t you wondered why I haven’t gone back to the way I was before you? Why I haven’t dated anyone since you?” Dylan clasps my wrists while I have my hands on his chest. Again, my head shakes, but not because I don’t know, but because I can’t hear this. It’s easier when it’s not said, when it’s pushed under the rug. “It’s because I’m not over you,” Dylan says. “I don’t want to be over you. I want to be with you.” His touch on my hands sends waves of tremors through me.

  “You can’t tell me these things,” I finally say and shake my hands loose from his. “Not right now.”

  “Then when, Ashley?” Dylan’s hand runs through his curls. “Because you’re the one who kissed me this time. And I’m willing and ready to be all yours. If you’re going to give someone a second chance, let it be me.” Dylan reaches out and takes my hand again, his thumb running over the back of it. “Please.”

  I’ve never felt so confused, so shaken, and so caged by my indecisiveness. “I…” I don’t know what to do. I’m the one who needs the second chance. “Just give me some time.”

  “Ashley.” Dylan rubs his thumb over my hand again and looks into me, deep into me. “That’s all I’ve been doing.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  It’s everything prom at school when I walk in on Monday. A Night to Remember is plastered everywhere and there are signs reminding juniors and seniors they have two weeks to buy tickets. I’m sure most girls have their dresses, and nearly everyone already has a date or an idea of who their date will be.

  And me…I’m in the quagmire of being stuck with feelings for two boys, unsure of what to do. No, I know what I should do, but I’m scared. I’m also scared of the vicious face storming through the hordes of people and headed my way.

  “You and Dylan?” Bridgette slams her hand against the locker next to mine, and my body jerks in surprise. “What’s going on with you two?”

  “What do you mean?” I fake being clueless, but Bridgette can see through me.

  “I saw you kissing. We both did.” She says it in an accusing tone, like I should be guilty for kissing him. Like I’ve cheated on my boyfriend.

  “It was…” I pause, not sure how to put it. “Just a kiss. It didn’t mean anything.”

  “It didn’t look like that.”

  It did mean something, but I can’t say it. I can still feel the kiss on my lips and how Dylan pulled me in close to him. I remember how the kiss made me feel more than anything I’ve felt before. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was something meaningful. I’m afraid of that something and afraid of what it means with Paul. I’m still so confused. “I’m not dating anyone right now. We’re all friends,” I say.

  Friends. I overuse that word.

  “Do you know what seeing that did to Paul?” Bridgette’s coming after me. She may not have a hatchet, but it sure feels like it. “I thought he was finally getting over you, and then you go and break his heart again.”

  I’m struck by the getting over me comment, but the last part gets me even more. “Break his heart again?” I scoff. “He’s the one who broke up with me. If anyone’s breaking hearts, it was him.”

  “He broke up with you?” Bridgette’s face crinkles in confusion. “He told me you broke up with him and…oh no, he didn’t…” Her eyes widen. She won’t finish what she’s saying, but I’m sure it’s some excuse Paul gave
her about me breaking up with him and how he doesn’t want to date anyone because he’s so heartbroken.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “He broke up with me,” I emphasize again. “And that’s the truth. He’s full of it if he told you otherwise. And I know about you two kissing while we were dating.”

  “Would you get back together with him?” Bridgette’s voice is soft. I want to hate her, I really do. She’s everything I thought I should be for Paul, and I’ve been jealous. She’s just as heartbroken as I am.

  “I know you like him,” I say. “He’s going to have to decide for himself what he wants. I told him to go out with you, to give you a date, and see what happens.”

  “Well,” Bridgette huffs. She doesn’t know what to say now. “We’ll see who he takes to prom.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I guess we will.” Prom is in two weekends, and I have no plans to go. I don’t know what any of my plans are. Things are sticky right now, really sticky, because I’m stuck between two guys who are supposed to be my friends.

  Paul avoids me in calculus, but it’s hard to avoid me when we sit next to each other in physics.

  “I’m sorry about what you saw on Saturday,” I say quietly, my eyes flashing to the door and waiting for Tara to barge in. Bridgette must have told her about me kissing Dylan.

  “Are you with him?”

  “It was an impulse thing when I saw you with Bridgette.” It’s hard to speak her name and I have to push it out. I can see why Paul doesn’t say Dylan’s name. “And I kissed Dylan to show you, so you could know what I feel.”

  But I’m confused about what I feel.

  “It really hurt,” Paul says, “seeing you kiss him. I know I’m the one who broke it off, but it still tore me apart.”

  I nod. I get that feeling, the inexplicable emotion of being ripped apart. Except that’s not what I feel now, because the memory of kissing Dylan is like sweet honey on my lips. I wonder if kissing Paul again would feel as sweet. I let my eyes linger on Paul’s lips as he looks at me. Would kissing Paul help me to figure out these feelings?

  FORTY-SIX

  The week of school passes and I spend every afternoon with Nora, not willing to wade further into the muck I’ve created. It’s Saturday morning, and I wait in the lobby of the gym for Dylan. He’s supposed to meet me early and we’ll warm up together for the triathlon. My phone pings with a text while I watch out the window.

  Dylan: I’m sorry. I can’t do the triathlon, but I found someone to do it with you

  I stare at the phone in disbelief. Only a week ago, I kissed Dylan. Kissing him set off a cascade of emotions in me, and I’m still figuring them out. Perhaps, Dylan’s figured out his feelings. Regardless, he’s still one of my friends and I can be honest with him.

  Me: Are you avoiding me?

  We’ve only talked and texted a little bit this week, each time dodging mention of our kiss.

  Dylan: No. I want to be with you, but I have something to do

  Me: I really wanted to do this with you

  Dylan: I think you’ll like who I found to fill in

  Me: It feels like a blind date. I hope my Guy shows up

  I look out the window and see someone familiar walking to the front doors. There’s no way to describe the emotions I feel. It’s the same surge of feelings which have been coursing through me all week. Confused is the best term.

  Me: You asked Paul?

  Dylan: You two will make a good team. I have to go. Talk to you later

  “Hey, you.” Paul smiles at me when he walks in.

  Hey, you.

  He hasn’t said that to me since we were dating, and I can feel the burn of tears behind my eyes. I blink them away. “Hey,” I say back. “I hear you’re my partner.”

  “I was surprised when he called me, but I couldn’t say no.” Paul holds his hand out to me. “Do you want to do this with me?”

  Do I? I was looking forward to doing this with Dylan. Paul’s hand is extended out to me in confidence, as if he knows I won’t refuse. I place my hand in his. “Yes.”

  We walk hand in hand to sign in as a team. Unlike a real triathlon which has you swim, cycle, and then run, the gym triathlon switches the order of biking and running. The organizers worry, as you tire, you’ll fall off a treadmill at the end, and instead put you on a stationary bike for the last segment.

  “You feeling okay?” Paul asks as we stand waiting our turns to get in the pool to swim. He knows I deal with performance anxiety, and swimming competitions are a big trigger.

  “Yeah,” I say, looking out to the water churning with the first swimmers. I’m not nervous. Dylan and I trained for this, and it’s only for fun. I’m not even concerned about who’s competing against us.

  “How’s your hip?” Paul gestures to my right hip, still shaded with the last vestiges of the bruise from crashing.

  “It’s fine,” I say, glancing down at it. My body has taken on a few injuries this school year. I pulled my adductor muscle swimming first trimester, suffered road rash running second trimester, and crashed on a bike third trimester. It’s been a triathlon of injuries and heartache, and I’ve come out on the other side.

  A timing official calls us up to our lanes as other competitors exit.

  “I’ll see you at the finish,” Paul says.

  I put my goggles on. “Not if I see you first.”

  After the swim, we’re allowed a few minutes to change before the treadmill run. No one wants water dripping on a machine plugged into an electrical outlet. Paul and I run on treadmills at opposite sides of the room, but during the cycling segment, we climb on bikes next to each other.

  “I have to leave right after this,” Paul says after a few miles. “I said I’d be at Tim’s tournament. I won’t be able to be around for the awards. Is that okay?”

  I nod. “That’s fine. If we win anything, I can give it to you later.”

  Paul smiles, giving me an award worth more than a medal on a ribbon. “Thanks. It’ll just give us a reason to get together again,” he says.

  “Are you doing anything later?” I ask.

  The silence between my question and his answer is punctuated by the sound of our labored breathing and the mechanical noise of the stationary bikes.

  “I’m taking Bridgette out this afternoon, after the tournament,” Paul finally answers.

  I look at the screen on my bike. We’re halfway done with this segment. “Out on a date?” I tilt my head sideways to watch Paul.

  A line of sweat runs down the side of his nose. “You told me to,” Paul replies, his voice unsure.

  I give a tiny smile. “I did. I’m glad you’re going.” As his friend, I’m happy he’s doing this. It’ll be good for both him and Bridgette. As his former girlfriend, it tugs on my heartstrings.

  “I’m sure what I feel for her is nothing more than a friend.” Paul tilts his head my way, his eyes meeting mine.

  “I know the feeling,” I say.

  I pick up my cadence on the bike, determined to see this through to the end.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  I stand on top of the winner’s podium, all by myself. The second and third place teams sandwich me on either side. They hug and kiss each other, and it seems fitting for me to be alone. I’m not with my original partner or the one who filled in. I’m by myself. Looking out at the sea of spectators, I can clearly see who the winner should be.

  I shake hands with the other teams in my category and step off the podium. My feet rush off to find what I lost, because now I see it. He’s been here lurking in the shadows, watching me when he didn’t think I noticed. He’s always keeping an eye on me, like he said he would. I rush down the hall with everything in me fluttering like a million butterflies tickling my insides.

  “Dylan!” I yell when the body and head of curly hair I know so well turns around a corner
to the stairwell. “Dylan!” I rush into the entrance of the stairwell and don’t see him. I peer down the winding stairs. “Dylan!” From the landing I’m on, I see Dylan look up as he continues down the stairs. “Stop!” I yell. Dylan stops on the landing below me and turns as I rush down the set of stairs to him. I slow a step above him. “What’re you doing here?” I ask.

  “I wanted to see who won,” he says in a soft, low voice.

  “It should have been you,” I say. Standing on the step, I’m equal to his height and I can look directly into his eyes.

  “It’s always been Paul,” Dylan says, and I keep my eyes on his. “Do you remember when we went out on the date you owed me?” I nod and every recess of my brain fills with memories of that night. “I said I wished I could do something for you.” Dylan looks down, breaking the eye contact we have. “You asked me to get Paul back for you.”

  My hand reaches out and grips Dylan’s bicep. I forgot about that, but the memory jolts me like a bolt of lightning.

  “I did,” I whisper.

  “When I saw you two swimming together a week ago, I left,” Dylan says.

  When Dylan didn’t show at the gym, I went to run with him and ended up kissing him. If he hadn’t left me alone with Paul, things might be different. “Why?” I ask.

  “You’re one of my best friends, Ashley.” Dylan’s voice sounds pained, and I want to wrap him in a hug, but he remains stiff. “I want you to be happy, even if it hurts me.”

  “Dylan.” I whisper his name. What has he done? What have I done to him? I don’t want to be the cause of his suffering.

  “That’s why I asked Turner to do the triathlon with you.”

  Breathe. It’s all I can do right now, because while I should have a million questions raging through me, I only see one answer. I keep my eyes fixed on Dylan. “I still owe you a date.”

  Dylan shakes his head, a slow and sad movement. “You don’t owe me anything.” He turns, my hand falls off him, and he starts down the last flight of stairs.