by Melinda Minx
Of course he’ll go for her, his lanky mass isn’t enough to knock me off my bike, but he probably could get if he gains enough speed.
I jump off my bike, and I start to run. I see Ruth frozen with indecision and fear, so I run faster.
I leap into the air toward where Fat Mike will be by the time I reach him, and my running start combined with the speed of his bike brings me crashing head first into his chest. I send him flying off his bike, and his bony body somewhat cushions my fall as I land on top of him.
“Hey man,” he says, “I—”
I ball up my fist and punch him hard in his gut. He wheezes for air, and I run toward my fallen bike.
“Come on!” I shout to Ruth.
She’s still straddling her bike, but looking down at Fat Mike.
“He’ll survive!” I say, “Come on!”
We start pedaling again, with the finish line in sight. Cunningham is ahead of us, but he looks back over his shoulder and sees Fat Mike on the ground.
He turns around, and we pass him on his way back to Fat Mike. We reach the finish line before Cunningham can get Fat Mike up off the ground.
Ruth jumps off her bike and wraps her arms around me. “You saved me!”
“And we won,” I say, leaning in to kiss her.
Ruth holds her bike up with one hand, and her free hand grips my bicep. She kisses me long and deep, and we only stop when “Eye of the Tiger” becomes too loud.
We look up and see Fat Mike and Cunningham panting as they pedal up to us.
“You didn’t win fair and square, but you won,” Fat Mike says sulkily.
“You made it pretty clear you didn’t want fair and square,” I say.
Fat Mike shrugs. “More fun that way.”
“Man,” Cunningham says. “I’m gonna miss Critical Mass.”
“You shouldn’t have been such dicks then,” Ruth says.
“Don’t call me a dick!” Cunningham says.
“I call everyone a dick,” Ruth says sarcastically.
Eye of the Tiger finally ends, and I look up and see some cops on bikes approaching us.
“Nice little race,” one of the cops says. “With some assault thrown in.”
They dismount and both eye me.
“I was defending my girlfriend,” I say.
“Looks like you gut punched him,” the second cop says. “While on top of him.”
“Yo,” Fat Mike says, “Bitch—”
The cops reach for their batons, and Fat Mike holds up his hands.
“He calls everyone bitch,” Ruth says, “He’s very punchable. Or batonable.”
“Sorry officer, I didn’t mean to call you a bitch,” Fat Mike says, “Anyway, I ain’t pressing no charges or anything. I ain’t a bitch, that’s for sure. Fat Mike might not be much of a fighter, but he can take a punch, that’s for sure.”
“Are you Fat Mike?” One of the cops asks Cunningham.
“No, I am, b—b—officer,” Fat Mike stutters.
The cops sigh and look at us. “Assault charge or no, I’m giving you all a fine for recklessly biking through the park. We got a lot of complaints.”
Fat Mike and Cunningham look up at me with pleading puppy eyes. They must realize that the three hundred dollar fine is all but irrelevant to me, but it’s probably going to break the bank for them. Suddenly all their jabs at me being a rich asshole melt away, and they expect me to pay the fines for them. Typical.
When the cops are gone, Fat Mike looks at his fine and whistles. “Three hundred big ones, I ain’t a billionaire…”
“You’re the one that wanted to race in the park,” I say. “Maybe you’ll learn a lesson from this.”
“Shit man,” Cunningham says. “Let’s go. No one can make us pay this thing anyway.”
Fat Mike puts on some up-tempo electronica song, and the two of them ride off into the city.
Ruth laughs. “That was really fun.”
I sigh. “I guess it was, but I can’t believe that asshole was going to ram you off your bike.”
“He’s done it before to his friends,” Ruth says. “I don’t think he means anything malicious by it. He’s just so dumb that he thinks it will be funny for everyone involved, even me.”
My heart is pounding, and I realize I’ve been filled with adrenaline since the race started.
“I could use some ice cream,” Ruth says.
I laugh, but then I realize I want some too. The sun is out and it’s unseasonably warm for late winter.
“I know a good place,” I say.
We’re Uptown now, so I lead the way.
20
Ruth
When I get to the shop the next morning, everyone is laughing and gathered around a laptop.
Pictures and videos of our race went online within a few hours. The most popular clip was Eric head-butting Fat Mike off his bike, and then us kissing after we won.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Shit, Ruth, you’ve gotta see this,” Wilson says.
“I was there,” I say, “I—”
He turns the screen toward me and starts the video over.
I see Fat Mike and Cunningham standing next to each other in Central Park. Someone is interviewing them.
“So this is where Eric Prince head-butted you?”
“And punched me, yeah,” Fat Mike says. “I was just like, playing some joke, you know?”
“What kind of joke?” The person behind the camera asks.
“Ah,” Fat Mike says. “Just this joke I always do.” He bends down and picks his bike up, and he lifts the front tire up so it’s in frame. “I got these big-ass tires on it so I can ram people down without hurting ‘em too much. It’s funny stuff.”
“So,” the interviewer asks, “you were going to ram into Eric Prince?”
“Nah,” Fat Mike says. “I figured I’d go for his girlfriend, like that’d be funnier, you know?”
“Not really,” The interviewer says. “So you decided to knock Ruth Biederman off her bike, and that’s why Eric Prince jumped on you?”
“Yeah,” Fat Mike says. “I think that guy is mad in love, like so much that he can’t appreciate a good joke no more.”
“What did you say to make him punch you?”
“Probably called him a bitch!” Cunningham says.
“Yeah,” Fat Mike says. “I call everyone a bitch, but it’s not a gendered insult or nothing. I know you ain’t allowed to call women bitches anymore, but I call everyone a bitch, so it’s cool, you know? Equal opportunity insults and slurs.”
“So you called him the b-word,” the interviewer asks, “and then he punched you?”
“B-word,” Fat Mike says, snickering. “Nah, he just punched me. I think he wanted to like, incapacity me—”
“Incapacitate,” Cunningham chimes in.
“Right,” Fat Mike says. “Knocked the wind out of me so he could win the race.”
“And you’re not pressing charges?”
“Nah,” Fat Mike says, “But I got a three hundred dollar fine here, so Cunningham and me, we got a GoFundMe setup to cover the fine, and then we’re asking for some more money to support our YouTube channel—”
“Yeah,” Cunningham interrupts. “It’s a prank channel. We do a lot of hilarious pranks.”
“We got this one,” Fat Mike says, “Where we take our bikes and run into—”
The clip cuts off and goes to an anchorwoman. She starts talking about Eric and me, and they roll the clips that I’ve already seen.
“Sorry if I scared them out of the shop,” I say.
Maya shrugs. “They were here this morning. I think they are grateful to you and the shop for giving them their fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Hopefully, they’ll get a lot of Patreon money and spend it here. I could use the commission,” Wilson says.
I feel a little bit taken aback. Fat Mike said that Eric loved me. I never thought I’d hear that in regards to Eric and from Fat Mike of all people. It d
id feel good for Eric to protect me like that though.
The bell rings, and I turn to see a customer coming in.
We shut the laptop, and I go up to help him since I’m working the floor this afternoon.
“Hi. How can I help you?”
He’s a guy in good shape, and quite attractive. He’s not nearly as good looking as Eric. He looks damn familiar, but I can’t place him.
He grins at me. “You don’t recognize me?”
“I’m kind of bad with faces,” I shrug, “you look familiar though…”
“Dmitri,” he says. “I came in here with Eric when you guys first met.”
“Oh!” I say. It clicks, and I suddenly remember him. “Yeah, I do remember you. Did you decide you want a bike too?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I might. Show me what you’ve got.”
I show him around, and he makes a it a point that I know money is no object, so I show him all of our highest-end models.
He seems somewhat engaged, but I get the feeling that he’s not really interested. He has the aloof air of a billionaire who doesn’t really know what he wants. He just wants to spend a lot of money on something.
“So,” he says, “things are going well with Eric?”
I bite my lip, not wanting to get too sneaky and ask what Eric has said about me. “Eric told you that?”
“I haven’t seen much of Eric lately, I was just basing it on what I’ve been hearing about you two in the news.”
I laugh nervously. “I’m still not used to being in the news. I’m not the kind of person who is supposed to be famous.”
Dmitri smiles. “Eric is natural in the limelight, isn’t he?”
I nod. “Yeah, he is. I couldn’t handle it alone.”
“No matter how well someone handles the light, everyone still has secrets,” Dimitri says cryptically.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Secrets? Are you talking about Eric specifically?”
“What about this one?” Dmitri says, pointing to a bike hanging up on the top rack.
I’m tempted to repeat my question, but I can tell he’s intentionally dodging it. I get the bike down, and Dmitri says he wants to test ride it.
“You have to sign some waivers,” I say.
“Sure thing,” he shrugs.
When he’s working on the waiver, I ask him, “What did you mean about secrets? Are you telling me Eric has some dark secret?”
Without looking up, he says casually, “Everyone has secrets, but every billionaire has at least one dark secret. Hell, I’ve got dozens.”
I laugh, trying to sound more casual than I feel right now. “So what is Eric’s then?”
Dmitri finishes the waiver and hands it to me. “Well, that’s not for me to tell, is it?”
21
Eric
“You see those dumbasses got like ten thousand dollars on their GoFundMe?”
I look up and see Dmitri.
“You’re like King Midas,” Dmitri says, “making everyone you gut punch rich.”
“That’s not what King Midas did,” I say.
He grins. “At least it looks like you’re having fun with this whole thing.”
I grit my teeth, but try not to show how annoyed I am. I want to just tell him that I am having fun, because I like her for who she is, and the only thing spoiling it is our fucking bet.
If he were a friend, I could tell him that, offer to do some other embarrassing bullshit, and he’d let me off the hook.
But billionaires don’t have friends, they have enemies they keep close. Dmitri is a shark, and if I so much as hint to him that I genuinely care for Ruth, he’d do everything in his power to destroy her.
I wave a hand. “When I’m done with this, I never want to ride a bike again.”
Dmitri laughs. “I actually just bought one myself. All carbon fiber, the thing is lighter than air.”
“And will crumple like a beer can in a light wind,” I say.
Dmitri laughs. “Mister bike expert here. I’m not planning to crash.”
“I wasn’t either,” I say. “But I had to ram Fat Mike twice the other day.”
“That played well,” Dmitri says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re already on the New York’s Best Couple radar. One month to go, and your timing is impeccable. You wouldn’t want to get on their map too early, lest you fizzle out before it comes time to decide. You also wouldn’t want to wait any longer, because then you might get dismissed as some kind of fad couple—”
“Aren’t these things always fads anyway?” I ask. “Glorified popularity contests.”
Dmitri sneers. “For someone who hates popularity contests, you sure are good at them, Eric.”
“Where’d you buy your bike?” I ask.
“Ordered it online,” he says.
“Yeah?” I ask. “Which site?”
He shrugs. “Don’t even remember, just an impulse buy.”
I nod, but I don’t quite believe him. I wouldn’t put it past him to go into the Fixed Gear and try to gather intel on Ruth and me.
“I heard Andrea Copeland was here the other day,” Dmitri says.
“Yeah,” I say. “She was asking if I could come to their party.”
It’s a lie, but she did mail me an invite.
Dmitri yawns.
“I will be going,” I say.
“Of course,” he says. “It’s rumored she’s on the panel. You’ll need to bring Ruth and make yourselves look like a best couple.”
I lean in toward him. “Don’t show and run interference on me.”
“Of course not,” he says.
“An unspoken rule of bets like this, is that you don’t interfere,” I say caustically.
I glare at him, trying to read if he went to the bike shop or not.
“You want to go for a ride with me? I want to try this bike out some more.”
“I’m busy,” I say. “Maybe another time.”
22
Ruth
As we’re closing up, I see Dmitri come back inside.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“No,” he says with a smirk, “just picking up Maya.”
“Oh,” I say, going back to cleaning up the shelves.
Maya helped set Dmitri up for his test ride, and then the two of them were gone for much longer than needed for a regular test ride.
And now he’s... taking her out?
Is he trying to copy Eric or something? He’s the kind of guy I don’t trust, but after he mentioned Eric’s dark fucking secret, I don’t necessarily trust Eric either.
Maya looks over at me with a big smile, like she’s gloating or something. If I date a billionaire, she has to do it too?
I want to shout at her, that I’m not ‘dating a billionaire,’ I’m dating Eric. And Eric is a way better guy than Dmitri. I don’t really like Maya—at all—but I don’t want Dmitri to hurt her.
I text Eric, You done yet? Can I come by?
He responds soon. Not done, but come by.
I bike uptown to his building. I’ve visited him at work once before, but the awkward stares from everyone in his building put me a bit on edge. I’m hoping that it’s late enough now that very few people will still be there.
I lock my bike in the garage and take the elevator up. All the way up. Eric’s office is on the top floor—corner office with a view—of course.
Lana buzzes me right in, but not without giving me a nasty look. I walk in to see Eric sitting in front a pile of papers, three computer screens, and his laptop.
“This fucking account,” he says.
“Maybe if you stare at it angrily enough it will fix itself,” I say.
He laughs and leans back in his chair.
I shut the door behind us, and then I stride over and sit on top of him, straddling his lap.
“Mm,” he says, “We’re going to do this right here?”
“Tell me about that Dmitri guy,” I say.
Eric jolts back and looks at me, grasping
both of my arms near the shoulder. “Why? Did you see him?”
“He bought a bike today.”
“That fucking liar,” Eric whispers.
I get off his lap and pull up a chair beside him. “What did he lie about?”
“Nothing,” he says, waving a hand. “Just, um, realize that he’s not really my friend. We’re in competition with each other—we both do the same type of work. He actually works in this building. It’s called ‘the cooperative,’ but it’s almost like some 1984 doublespeak more than anything.”
“I see,” I say. “It seems complicated.”
Eric sighs, and I get the feeling that he’s somehow being evasive with me. He’s telling me not to trust Dmitri—and I don’t—but I can’t help thinking of this dark secret that Dmitri eluded to.
“You know you can be honest with me,” I say.
“I am honest with you,” Eric says, too quickly.
“Then why do I feel like you’re being pretty evasive right now. Your whole body reacted when I mentioned this guy’s name.”
“I’ll be honest with you,” Eric says. “Sometimes I have to withhold information with you to protect you.”
I glare at him. “Really, Eric? You’re going to use that simplified logic on me?”
“I don’t think you’re an Idiot, Ruth,” he says.
“Great,” I say, standing up. “I’m glad you think so highly of me that you don’t think I’m a total idiot. Or was that doublespeak? War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, and I don’t think you’re an idiot, Ruth.”
“Why are we fighting right now?” Eric asks.
“Because you’re not being honest with me,” I say, “I can just fucking tell.”
“Ruth,” he says, standing up and taking my hand.
“Forget it,” I hiss, breaking away from him and heading toward the door. “Just forget it. Get back to me if you want to actually talk.”
“Ruth,” he says. “There’s a party tomorrow night. Will you go? We can talk then. I’m just really stressed out right now, and I’m not in the right frame of mind to—”
