SPURNED: Elkridge Series, Book 2, A novella

by Lyz Kelley

  I frowned. Piran had nothing to do with my abysmal race performance today. I made the choice not to warm up enough today just as I made the choice to carry all those heavy boxes for Kelsi last Sunday when I should have rested my legs after the Midwest nationals.

  No one was responsible for my failures except me.

  And one date wouldn’t kill my race mojo. What gave Coach the right to tell me how to live my life? It wasn’t as if he’d find out anyway.

  I shoved my phone back in my pocket and patrolled the bike shop until Tyler, one of the bike mechanics, called me into the back room. He tried to take my mind off the time by teaching me how to lace a wheel, but I kept dropping the spokes.

  “Hey, Bails,” Nick called out, entering the back room. “How’d your race go today?”

  I scrunched up my face.

  He laughed. “That good, huh?”

  “Jumped too late in the finishing sprint,” I said, scuffing my toe on the floor. “My timing was off. I’d been barely able to hang onto the lead group as it was.”

  Nick shrugged. “It happens. You still earned points in the overall tour, right?”

  I nodded. “There were pros in my race, so the pace was wicked fast.”

  “Daaayum. And you still managed to stay in the lead group?” He high-fived me.

  “Customer out front,” Tyler noted, setting a bike on the repair stand.

  Nick peeked through the door slats to the front of the store. “It’s that Fae guy we saw at the Grant Park race.” He turned around. “Didn’t you say he was a friend of your sister’s?”

  I glanced at the clock. Right on time.

  “Bails?” Nick’s voice took on a decidedly distrustful tone.

  With a sigh, I picked up a spoke and twirled it between my fingers, not wanting to look at my friend. “I have a date tonight with Piran.”

  Nick heaved an exasperated groan. “Seriously? You know what those Fae guys are like, Bails. You remember my buddy, Aiden? His sister hooked up with a Fae guy, thinking he was the shit. After a few months, he dumped her to marry some Fae high priestess or something. He was only using her for sex. That’s all they care about.”

  “Piran doesn’t seem like that. He’s real down-to-earth.” Biting my lip, I met Nick’s concerned gaze. “And it’s just a date. Not a big deal, you know?”

  Except it was a totally big deal, and here I was standing arguing with Nick about whether I could go out, like he was my mother or something.

  Nick brushed aside a bunch of tools from a workbench and hoisted himself up. “I’m only looking out for you, Bails.” He shrugged. “You’re not exactly … I mean, I’ve never seen you with a boyfriend or anything.”

  Yeah. Don’t remind me. I shoved my hands in my pockets.

  He must have caught my expression because he backed off, flashing me a grin. “Go on. Have a drink for me, okay?”

  “Just one?” Tyler teased.

  I gave them both a sardonic look. “Totally not getting drunk on a first date.”

  Nick laughed. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  I shook my head, raising my palms to him. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Look, Tyler, now she’s comparing me to cardboard.”

  Tyler grunted. “That’s corrugated, dude.”

  Nick tossed a wrench at Tyler, who snapped it out of the air at the last second.

  I opened the door to the sales floor. Piran sat on a mountain bike, his back to me. Had he heard everything Nick said to me? I swallowed hard, my stomach knotting. Nick was a good friend and I trusted him, but Piran did something for me. Something out of this world.

  Piran gripped the brake handles. “Do you think this bicycle is the correct size for me?”

  “Um, sure. Saddle could go up a bit though. You have long legs.”

  Long legs, narrow hips, wide shoulders … Faedelicious.

  Piran dismounted the bike, a knowing smile on his face.

  Shit. Caught again. I closed my eyes, willing my mind to think of something else. Summer. Fresh air, warm sun, the smell of lilacs. Little kids riding their Big Wheels up and down our street while I tried to sleep. June bugs bashing into the screen door. The old guy across the street parading around in nothing more than shorts and a beer belly.

  A snort of laughter penetrated my defenses, and I opened my eyes.

  Piran cleared his throat, then gestured to the front door of the store. “Shall we go?”

  I nodded, and he led me to his car parked on the street, his gleaming red futuristic car. I stopped and gawked. “Whoa. What exactly is this thing?”

  “LaFerrari Hybrid.” His lip curved. “I care about the environment.”

  He opened the car door, and I slid into the stiff leather passenger seat. How the hell could he afford such a car?

  “A gift from my father when I left for America,” Piran replied dryly as I buckled in. “Or rather, his thinly veiled attempt to dissuade me from coming here, as always, reminding me there are plenty of art universities in Europe.”

  “Needed to get away, huh?”

  “Exactly.” Piran flicked me a quick glance, his eyebrows drawn together. Then he touched his lips, as if distracted or wanting to say more, but he turned his attention to driving.

  I ran my hand along the curve of the car’s center console. “It’s beautiful.”

  Piran hit the gas, and the car roared down the road.

  My body hugging the sculpted seat, I resisted the urge to cling to the dash for dear life. “Your dad must be quite wealthy. What does he do for a living?”

  “He’s a businessman and a landowner in my homeland.”

  From the way Piran’s mouth tightened, I’d hit a nerve. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He shook his head. “My father and I do not see the world the same way.”

  “What about your mom?”

  Piran grimaced. “As a proper Fae woman, she stands by my father.”

  A prickle stole across the back of my neck. Something about ‘proper Fae woman’ gave me serious pause. Chewing on my thumbnail, I turned and looked out the side window, the neon signs blurring as we zipped down the expressway.

  “Bailey.” The plea in his soft voice drew me back to him. “If I was interested in a proper Fae woman, I would not be here with you.”

  Shifting in my seat, I drew my legs together, rubbing my knees. Something about his warm smile quickened my heart rate. “So, where are we going tonight?”

  “Big Phil’s Pancakes near Lincoln Park.”

  Huh? So much for my quickening heart rate. “A breakfast place?”

  Piran grinned. “They have an apple pancake to kill for.”

  “You mean to die for.”

  He exited the highway, and his grin turned sinister. “No, to kill for. A pancake the size of a pizza, piled high with cinnamon apples and dripping with cream cheese icing.”

  “Oh man. Sounds like a gazillion calories, not to mention super unhealthy.”

  “But it has fruit,” Piran protested, eyes widening. He waggled his eyebrows at me. “And with you, I will share. A bite for me, a bite for you. Three bites for me, a bite for you. Two more bites for me while you look across the room, distracted.”

  I laughed, and Piran’s eyes swirled with green and deep blue. Beautiful. Like a burst of cornflowers in a field of tall grass.

  A shy grin crossed his face, and I think my insides melted.

  During dinner, I barely had the chance to share Piran’s humongous, beyond delicious pancake because he asked me so many questions. Why did I start bike racing? How did my parents feel about me doing something so dangerous? What was my major in college? He wrinkled his nose when I said math, and I laughed. Finally, he asked me whether I preferred expressionism or realism. I stumbled with the art question, giving him a chance to share a bit of his world with me. Mostly I listened with rapt attention, although at times I simply stared at his beautiful face, his words dissolving into thin air.

  “
How do your parents feel about you being an artist?” I asked, watching him wolf down a double side of bacon. Where’d he put it all?

  “High metabolism. A Fae trait.” He topped off his food with a cup of hot chai tea. “My mother is an artist, as is her brother.”

  I nodded. “And your dad? How does he feel about you being an artist?”

  Piran set his cup down slowly, and gray washed through his eyes. “My father would prefer I joined the family business.”

  Uh-oh, fail. Under the table, my knees bounced as I tried to think of something else to ask. “So, what’s it like to be related to a duchess? Wow. That whole royalty thing would make me really nervous. Snobby types with all their money and rules.”

  Piran flashed me an aggrieved look.

  Oh great. Two for two. Just shut up.

  His fingers drummed on the table. “No. I feel the same way you do. My cousin and her family are far removed from the crown in my homeland, yet behave as though they are next in line for the throne.”

  He paused and pressed his lips together. It seemed as if he had more to say, but instead he toyed with the check on the table, staring at it as if it held the answer to some great mystery.

  “Sorry,” I offered.

  Ugh, lame. Man, family issues sucked. I was super glad my parents were cool. Well, reasonably cool. Okay, mostly my dad was cool. Mom was flighty. Some days she accepted my choice to race. Other days, not so much. I know she worried that cycling was risky and not exactly a ticket to riches, or even a stable job, but lately, she’d been less than coy with her hints that ‘no man would ever want to be with a tomboy’ and I should learn to be more ladylike.

  The waistband of my jeans cut into my stomach, and I leaned back from the table and willed myself not to dwell on being bloated. No need for Piran to have to hear about that. Someday I’d ask him how he handled being bombarded with everyone’s thoughts.

  I opened my purse and withdrew my wallet, but a hand on my arm stopped me. I glanced up. Piran shook his head as if scolding me.

  “At least let me pay for the tip?”

  “Next time,” he replied with a smile and tossed thirty bucks on the check. “It is late. I should get you home.”

  “You need to drop me off at the bike shop,” I reminded while we walked from the restaurant to the parking garage. “So I can get my car.”

  I slid into his car and buckled the seatbelt. “Okay, my turn to ask the ‘this or that’ questions. Vanilla or chocolate?”

  “Vanilla. Pure, smooth, and sweet.”

  “Agreed! Okay, classic country or punk rock?”

  “Classic rock,” Piran countered.

  “Aww, I love classic rock too. I have an eclectic playlist on my phone. Some jazz, some show tunes, a bit of country, and trance music for training rides. Next question. Forest or beach?”

  “Forest. The beauty of the trees and the abundance of wildlife.”

  The wistfulness in his voice tugged at me. “Living in Chicago, you must miss it.”

  He simply nodded.

  Time to switch gears to something more fun. “Tattoo or body piercing?”

  “Do you have either?”

  “I got a tattoo three years ago on my eighteenth birthday. A star swirl.”

  “Interesting. I have not seen it.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s on my right hip.”

  His gaze slid down. Knowing he was thinking of my bare hip sent a tingle of electricity under my skin. Picturing his full lips caressing that spot sent my pulse quickening.

  Oh God. Was he reading me?

  I quickly turned on the car radio and hummed along to the music, trying not to think of anything inappropriate.

  Before long, Piran deftly guided his fancy car into a metered parking space in front of the bike shop. “Do you know Nick has a crush on you?”

  Gear grind. My head jerked back. “What?”

  He turned down the radio. “I said Nick has a crush on you.”

  “I heard you, but I don’t believe it. Look, when I said Nick was like a big brother to me, I meant it.” I lifted my hands. “He’s just worried about me dating a Fae. The whole … um …”

  “Yes, our reputation.” Frowning, Piran gripped the steering wheel, then twisted the key from the ignition. He turned in his seat and looked at me. “Do you have feelings for him?”

  I pulled in and slowly released a breath. I’d never thought of Nick as anything more than a friend. If I’d known how he felt about me before, could something have developed between us? I shrugged. Didn’t matter. Not as long as I had Piran.

  “Not in the way you’re thinking,” I assured, tracing my fingers down Piran’s arm.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “I see we Fae are not the only mind-readers.”

  He reached across the console and pulled me into his arms, his warm mouth finding mine. Yes… His tongue licked my bottom lip, and a shudder ran through me, spurring me to seek more. I opened my mouth fully, welcoming the deeper French kiss. Heat flushed over my body as I tasted him, cinnamon and spiced tea.

  He wrapped his hands around the back of my neck and drew me closer. Feeling his heart beating against mine, I clung to his broad shoulders, my head swimming. His tongue seemed to dance inside my mouth, touching nerve endings I never knew I had. I couldn’t help the moan in my throat. I’d never felt like this before. So desired and hot. And unashamed to show I felt the same way about him.

  Twisting in my seat, I fought to sneak in a breath, but the seatbelt snapped me back, sapping the air from my lungs.

  “Ah!” Pinned, I rocked against the locked seatbelt to no avail.

  Piran’s deep laugh echoed in the confines of his sports car. He leaned over and adjusted the strap. “Seems like my car does not want to let you go either.”

  “I have to race tomorrow,” I said, feeling a touch pensive. I didn’t want to leave him.

  He traced his finger along the side of my face and down to my chin, then gave me another spine-tingling kiss. “Until tomorrow, sweet Bailey.”

  “Until tomorrow,” I whispered and reluctantly opened the door.

  My brain in a fog, I walked to my car behind the bike shop. Drawing in a giddy breath, I watched as Piran’s car pulled away from the curb and roared down the street.

  Touching my lips, I smiled. Damn, that boy could kiss.

  Chapter 5

  Since Saturday’s race wasn’t until the afternoon, I planned on sleeping late, but Mom had other ideas. She knocked on my bedroom door until I couldn’t take it anymore. After dragging myself out of bed, I opened the door, fully prepared with the ‘I am an adult and can do what I want’ speech, but her stern expression stopped me short. Instead, I stood there silently as she droned on about shared responsibilities and how she and Dad had helped pay for my college and were allowing me to live back at home rent-free.

  Total guilt trip.

  And it worked. So even though I’d already paid the registration fee for the day’s race and desperately needed to prove to Coach my dedication, I stayed home and did chores—weeded Mom’s garden, cleaned the garage, and washed Dad’s car. Almost got trapped into helping Dad stain the deck, but thankfully, Mom said I could relax…by making dinner. Real funny.

  An entire race day in the tour lost, but that meant nothing to her. Yes, I understood my obligation to help around the house, but throwing this in my face during the biggest cycling series of the season was just cruel.

  Couldn’t she for once understand how much racing meant to me? This wasn’t just a ‘passing fancy’. Racing was my passion, my life.

  And I never should have shown her the DVD of greatest bike-racing crashes.

  Thankfully, on Sunday morning, not a word from Mom, and I convinced Kelsi to accompany me to Wisconsin for the third day of the Grand Prix racing tour.

  Driving down the highway, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d botched my last two races. Sure, shit happens. Even the best riders can have a bad day, but was I l
osing my game? My palms grew sweaty around the steering wheel. The pressure of doing well in this tour was getting to me. I glanced over at my sister sitting in the passenger seat. “Kelsi. Talk to me. I need to stop thinking about today’s race.”

  “Not now,” she replied without looking up from her e-reader. “I’m at a good part.”

  I scowled and switched on the car radio, muttering, “Damn you, Kelsi. All you do is read, read, read. How can you read at a time like this?”

  “Fine,” she said with a sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know. Forget it.”

  “Stop being so nervous. It’s not like this is your first race.”

  “But this is the Grand Prix Tour. I have to do well today. I blew it in Friday’s race and thanks to Mom, I didn’t even get to ride yesterday. If I don’t get picked for the national development team this time …” I relaxed my death grip on the steering wheel until blood once again flowed through my fingers.

  Kelsi scoffed. “Come on, Bay. You won that race in Chicago. You know what to expect. Last year you came close to qualifying for nationals. I think you’ll make it this time. You’re strong and fast. But if you don’t, so what? It’s not the end of the world.”

  “So what?” I yelped. “I need a win here if I’m ever going to have a prayer of being picked up by a pro team.”

  She thumbed her e-reader, then set it down. “You take this cycling thing too seriously. You’ve practically given yourself an ulcer.”

  “You don’t understand. I don’t have artistic talent like you and Mom, and I wasn’t spectacular at traditional sports like Dad. Plus, my GPA isn’t exactly law school material. Bicycle racing happens to be something I’m good at.”

  “Come on,” she said in disbelief. “You have a degree in math!”

  “Yeah, I guess. What does someone do with a bachelor’s in math? Teach high school? No way. High school kids are evil.”

  “Then why did you major in math?”

  I shrugged. “Easier than English. Anyway, I’d rather race. But what if I’m not good enough to turn pro? I want to be on a team in Europe and make some real money. Not bring home worthless merch—”