by Julie Cannon
“Speaking of getting fucked,” Caroline said under her breath loud enough for Fran to hear. When Shannon looked at her with fire in her eyes, Caroline realized her comment carried much farther than she intended.
“When in Rome,” Shannon said sarcastically as she passed by Caroline and Fran and punched the elevator button.
Caroline knew Shannon was staying at the same hotel and wasn’t surprised to see her in the lobby. The sponsor of the championship had reserved a block of rooms for the riders and Caroline had taken advantage of the cheaper rates this time.
“What was that all about?” Fran asked watching Shannon walk away.
“How the hell would I know? I’m not her keeper,” Caroline barked. A pang of red-hot jealousy burned in her gut and she was furious at herself for letting Shannon ignite it again.
“Don’t snap at me,” Fran said. “I just asked a simple question. And speaking of simple questions, was that a hickey I saw on her neck? I haven’t seen one of those in years.”
“Shut up, Fran.” Caroline practically marched across the lobby and out the door Shannon had recently come through.
“For someone who says there’s nothing going on, you sure aren’t acting like it.”
“I said shut up, Fran.”
“I saw the look in your eye. You wanted to throttle her.”
Caroline stopped so quickly it took Fran several steps before she realized she was walking alone. Caroline was hot all over and she knew her face must be beet red. “I told you. Shannon Roberts is old news. Very old news. The only thing we have in common anymore is trying to win this championship. She can fuck whomever she wants. It’s none of my business and I don’t care if her entire body is covered with hickeys.” At one time it had been, and Caroline was the one who had put them there.
It was a long weekend in early November when Caroline’s roommate had gone home for a family wedding. The minute class was over on Friday afternoon Shannon was at her door. They didn’t leave her room the entire three days except for an occasional trip to the cafeteria to be seen and to replenish their tired bodies.
Caroline had dared Shannon to let her give her a hickey and when she finally agreed, one thing led to another and after another marathon round of kissing, sucking, touching, and licking, Shannon had dozens of hickeys that stretched from the top of her thighs to just below her collarbone.
They laughed about it at the time like seventeen-year-olds would, but when Shannon had to change her clothes in the locker room for tennis class it wasn’t so funny after all. Before the end of the day, Shannon’s body was the topic of conversation. Several of the girls knew she and Shannon were friends and asked her about it. At first Caroline was mortified, but after a while she considered it her mark and she was damn proud of it. Shannon’s reputation as a bad girl was reinforced after that weekend.
No longer in the mood for a walk, but knowing she couldn’t go back into the hotel, at least not yet, Caroline walked.
“Hey, CD, slow down.” Fran caught up with her. “I sit behind a desk all day. Give me a break, will ya? I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
“You didn’t,” Caroline replied truthfully. Shannon did by saying hello to her in Canada, and the very fresh bite mark on her neck said even more.
Chapter Eleven
Shannon was third out of the chute the afternoon of the first day of qualifying. Hundreds of riders and fans had come to Ben Nevis on the slopes of Aonach Mor the last week in June. Mount Anne was the closest town and the second race in the championship series was named after it.
Forty riders had descended the trail ahead of her, one starting every five minutes. In the last two days she had ridden the course several times and had memorized every twist and turn on the difficult trail. This morning as she eyed the leader board, several riders had crossed the finish line bleeding, one severely from her knee. It was obvious to everyone nasty spills were still an everyday event at the championships. Every rider was giving it her all and pulled out all the stops to win.
The bell rang and Shannon shot off the starting line. The course immediately dropped fifteen feet and Shannon was pedaling before her rear tire hit the rock-strewn ground. Her left arm came perilously close to a tree branch, but she barely noticed, her concentration on two places, the ground directly in front of her and what lay ahead.
She had on all her safety gear. Her arms were covered by the long sleeves of her shirt, courtesy of TKS and her other sponsors, her chest protector underneath. Her bright green gloves were cinched tight and didn’t move as she squeezed her brakes at just the right time to slide into the next turn. She had worn her helmet and goggles so many times they felt like they weren’t even there. It had been difficult to adjust to the full-face helmet after riding for so many years with just a simple brain bucket, as they were known, but for her own safety she had switched. When she first got it she wore it everywhere around her house, even when she mowed the lawn and repaired her bike. It was now as much a part of her as her own hands and she felt naked every time she was on her bike without it. It had probably saved her life more than once too.
Leaning over the handlebars, she pushed her right leg down and pulled her left leg up, shifting gears to climb the steep grade. This part of the course had the steepest incline and she was breathing hard. Focusing on each pedal stroke, she arrived at the peak. There was no time to stop and admire the scenery, some of Scotland’s best, because she was determined to come down the mountain the fastest.
No wider than the width of handlebars, the final section was where the race separated the big girls from the little girls. She nicked a bush with her elbow and an even bigger one with her right leg. She felt and heard nothing but her raspy breathing inside the helmet. One more turn and she would be on the straightaway to cross the finish line.
She hit the turn with every skill she had, alternately braking and accelerating so as not to slide in the loose dirt. On her last practice run, this was where she had dumped it, and as she got up she noticed that several others had as well. Dried blood covered several rocks.
Out of the last turn, she finally heard the noise of the crowd. They were five and six deep, screaming, shouting, and blowing air horns as she rode under the black and white sign. Shannon skidded to a showy stop and looked to the board for her time.
“Damn,” she said. She was two seconds slower than her own course record time. What had happened? She thought she had a pretty clean ride, except for the fourth turn, that was a bit sloppy. She took off her helmet and pedaled out of the finish area; another rider would arrive in a few minutes.
“Shannon, you’re bleeding.”
Shannon looked and for the first time noticed blood dripping down her leg. It was flowing pretty freely and her sock had turned from white to red. A drop hit the dirt as she looked at it.
“You’d better get that looked at, honey.”
Shannon found the voice of the endearment and Gail was looking at her with concern written on her face.
“Thanks, I will,” she replied, quickly pedaling away from the woman she had taken behind the trailer two nights ago. If she tagged along, it would mean there was something more between them than two people sharing a quickie. She had no intention of letting Gail get that impression.
*
Her destination wasn’t the med tent but the JumboTron where she could watch Caroline’s ride down the mountain. By the time she got there Caroline was crossing the finish line ahead of Shannon, three tenths of a second faster than her. Shannon would be going into the finals tomorrow in second place.
Forty-five minutes and twelve stitches later, Shannon limped to the TKS trailer. Greg Mitchell, Frank’s number one goon and gopher, was standing by the door as if guarding against an invasion. This was a bike race, not the World Cup where sailboat owners kept their keels hidden behind screens so their competitors couldn’t see how their boats were designed. How ridiculous.
Bike racing was as transparent as it got. Everyone knew who rode wha
t bike, the frame composition, the stem length, the crank shaft, gear ratio, front fork rise, and tires. It was open knowledge, but nobody copied each other in an attempt to win. At this level, no two bikes were the same because it was the rider that made them different.
Her bike was a TKS Road Rage with a custom made carbon head tube for precise steering, Shimano disc brakes tuned to her specs, Shimano XTR components, and a one-of-a-kind crankset. Her tires were Kenda Nevegal inflated to 28 psi, and her forks had four-inch travel.
“Watch my bike,” she said to the goon. She never left her bike unattended, but Mitchell knew her and his place in her life and would make sure it didn’t ride away.
“What the hell happened?” Frank barked before she stepped her second foot inside. “You’re off by two seconds and Davis is ahead of you.”
She forced herself not to hobble to the nearest chair. She practically collapsed into it and put her leg up on an adjacent chair. “Nothing, Frank. For Christ sake, it’s only the qualifying ride, not the end of the world. I could ride that mountain with my eyes closed if I had enough time. Tomorrow is when it matters, so get off my back.”
Shannon was uncharacteristically short with her sponsor and by the look on his face, he was not too pleased. She backpedaled. “Look, Frank, I’ll win the race tomorrow. If not, there’s France and Madrid.” She began pulling off her shirt. She wore an undershirt beneath her chest protector. The pressure suit was injection molded to fit her body and offered the ultimate in upper body protection. With injection molded plastic cups on the shoulder, arms, and forearms, and the high impact breast plate and thumb loops to keep it in place, Shannon always thought she looked like a storm trooper in Star Wars.
“Relax, Frank. TKS is getting plenty of face time and you’ll make buckets of money. Stop worrying and enjoy it.” What she wanted to say was stop acting like a spoiled little boy who had to win every race. He wasn’t even riding, the fat bastard. Shannon had never even seen him on a bike. Other owners and designers took their creations for a spin once in a while, if not to evaluate the design, then for the sheer enjoyment of biking.
“Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get changed,” Shannon said, effectively dismissing her paycheck.
Finally alone, Shannon sat and surveyed the damage to her leg. The stitches had closed the cut, and by the throbbing in her calf, the lidocaine was starting to wear off. She looked around the trailer. The contents were comfortably familiar. She knew more about bikes and components than most of the mechanics. She could probably disassemble and reassemble her bike blindfolded. There were many days she felt more comfortable with her bike than with people.
She was good with small talk. She knew what she had to say to whom, and who to shake hands with. She easily chatted up the sponsors and did all the things society expected her to do, but she rarely related to people on a purely personal level. She went through the motions, said the right things, and did what was required of her, but if anyone in her immediate circle were to disappear or even die, she doubted she would even miss them. The people in her life were superficial and lasted as long as her last win. Pulling on her shorts, she heard the door latch click behind her.
“What a magnificent sight.”
Shannon froze when she heard the voice. Half dressed was not the position she wanted to be in with Nikki Striker. She pulled her shirt on over her bare chest, giving herself a few moments to get herself together.
The wife of her major sponsor had been coming on to her for months. Nikki believed you could never be too rich, too thin, or too forward. Her husband made her the first, starving took care of the second, and she took care of the last all by herself.
It was during the U.S. National Championship series when she had made her first move. Actually, she had probably been coming on to her since her husband signed Shannon, but Shannon was too caught up in her own life to notice. When she finally did, she didn’t know whether to run or take Nikki up on her offer. Nikki became increasingly aggressive until one night she caught Shannon alone in a trailer very similar to the one they were in now.
“Hey, baby,” Nikki had said in a sexy voice. Even though she was on the thin side of Shannon’s tastes, Nikki was five foot five, had a perfect pair of manufactured breasts, long legs, and volumes of billowy black hair.
“Frank left about five minutes ago. You can probably catch him at the media tent.” She bent and tied her shoes and when she straightened, Nikki was directly in front of her.
“I’m not looking for Frank.” The way she came on to Shannon, Nikki was definitely not interested in her husband or his dick. She was the trophy wife with Frank at least twenty-five years her senior.
Shannon knew she was playing with fire but asked anyway. “What are you looking for, Nikki?” Nikki stepped even closer, her eyes bright with what Shannon recognized as lust. Her stomach skirted into her throat. She had to be very careful. If she played this wrong, she could be in big trouble, the least of which was losing her sponsor. No matter her popularity in the series, without a main sponsor it would be difficult but not impossible to continue racing.
Nikki ran a perfectly manicured finger down the center of her chest, pausing between her breasts before tracing the TKS letters on her T-shirt. “I’m looking for fun. And I think you’re just the one who can give it to me.”
Shannon wanted to knock the spindly hand away but clenched her fist to her side instead. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Nikki answered. Her breath smelled like a wintergreen Tic Tac, her perfume Chanel.
“What makes you think that?” Shannon asked, feeling cocky. Maybe she could just tease her along for the next few races and then she’d be out of her hair.
“Your reputation precedes you.” Shannon could practically feel the lust pouring out of Nikki’s body. “Rumor has it you’re discreet and very, very good. Leaving the girls begging for more.”
Shannon inched back just enough to give her some breathing room but not so much that Nikki would notice. She had to maintain the upper hand in this conversation. “You don’t believe everything you hear, do you?”
That made Nikki laugh. A throaty laugh that could have been mistaken for a heavy smoker’s cough. “I do when it comes to you. As a matter of fact,” Nikki’s eyes roamed Shannon’s body as if imagining what she looked like under her husband’s clothing line, “I’d like to come for you.”
“What would your husband say?” Shannon asked, planning her escape around Nikki if she needed one. “Or does he want to watch?” The thought sickened her.
Nikki laughed again and this time Shannon’s stomach reeled.
“Oh, I’d bet he’d like to, but this is my private party. It’s by invitation only and his must have gotten lost in the mail.” She licked her lips.
Shannon was suddenly tired of the game and smoothly stepped around Nikki, leaving her standing facing the wall. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
It wasn’t long before Nikki spun around, the lust in her eyes replaced with anger. Her voice was not as calm as it had been a moment earlier. “And why not? No one needs to know, especially Frank. It’ll be our little secret.”
“I’m not good at keeping secrets, and I don’t fuck where I bank, so to speak,” she added cautiously. “I don’t mean to offend you, and I’m flattered, but I don’t do married women and I certainly don’t do the boss’s wife.” Okay, one white lie was acceptable given the circumstances.
Nikki had surprised her by accepting the rejection graciously and she had stayed away from Shannon until now. “Nikki, I didn’t think you came to races on the other side of the pond.”
“I thought a change of scenery would be good for me. You know, new city, new terrain, old friends.”
“And what do you think of Scotland?” Shannon asked moving so that her back was not against a wall. The last thing she needed was for Nikki to pin her against it and lay a big fat sloppy wet one on her.
“Gorgeous,” she replied. Nikki moved between Sh
annon and the door.
“I didn’t like the way we ended our last conversation,” she said dropping her purse to the floor. Her hands were free, making Shannon nervous.
“Oh?” Shannon asked not so innocently.
“Yes, oh. Actually.” She lazily surveyed Shannon’s body like she had in Moab. “I was thinking maybe we could share a few Os ourselves.”
Shannon had to stop herself from laughing. How corny—share a few Os ourselves? Good God, it was an outright proposition and she hadn’t been hit on so blatantly since, well, since last night. Get real, Nikki. She wondered if Nikki thought about clichés all day or if she just made them up as she went along.
“Nikki, we already talked about this. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“No, sugar, you talked.”
“And that’s all we’re going to do. I told you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t do married women and you don’t eat the hand that feeds you. No matter how good they would be.”
Shannon smiled one of her quirky smiles, the one that typically diffused most situations. “Now, Nikki—” she started to say before she was interrupted by the door swinging open.
“There you are, baby. I thought I saw you come in here.”
Shannon was never so glad to see Frank filling the doorway as she was right at this moment. “Frank, hey, Nikki was looking for you,” she said nervously, not glancing at Nikki, knowing what she’d see reflected in her eyes.
“Bullshit,” was his reply. “The only reason she’s here is because you are.”
Shannon’s heart beat a little faster and her palms began to sweat. She doubted Frank Striker could kick her ass, but he sure could give her a big wedgie.
“She’s a big fan of yours. Talks about you all the time. If I were the jealous type…” Frank was smiling broadly now.
Nikki stepped forward. “Thanks for the lesson, Shannon. And thank that other rider…what was her name again? Oh yeah, Caroline, for the excitement of the afternoon. She looked pretty good too.”
