“If you made better boyfriend choices, wouldn't be nothing for me to critique.”
“Oh,” I exclaimed. “So we're acting like Kelly Oakley wasn't a thing? That's what we’re going to do?”
Rafael sucked his teeth. “Kelly was cute as hell, don't be frontin’ on her.”
“Kelly smelled like a wild goat in an onion patch, and all she ever wore was knock-off Baby Phat. She still smells like a wild goat and wears fake Baby Phat, by the way.”
“You sound like a hater to me,” Raf laughed. “But… in seriousness though, you good? I mean… that was a breakup I just witnessed, right?”
I shook my head. “It was barely a relationship, so calling it a breakup is a bit of a stretch.”
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I assured him. “I am perfectly fine, and I am over this line of conversation. Just like I am over him. Let’s move on to something that really matters… how long do I get to keep you? When are you going back?”
Rafael shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far ahead to be honest with you. I told you, I'm over cycling right now, so I'm chilling.” He glanced away from me to look around the shop, nothing missing his curious gaze. “Maybe I'll stick around here and help you get this bike shop in order. Help you step your game up.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really now,” I laughed. “Step my game up?”
“Yeah, your flow is all messed up in here. But I got you,” he insisted, clapping his hands together with a nod. “I'm going to get it fixed.”
“Let me tell you something,” I started, full of attitude but Raf interrupted me with raised hands and a dazzling grin.
“I'm just messing with you B,” he soothed. “The shop is perfect. I'm proud of you, seriously.” He glanced around again, his hands extended out. “I mean, look at this - can you imagine if we’d had something like this back in high school?”
“Oh, I would have spent up all my daddy's little guilty ass money,” I laughed. “I would never leave this place. Hell, I barely want to leave it now.”
“Well as much as I understand your sentiments, I'm not quite that in love with it, unless you got a section around here where I can grab a burger and some fries or something.”
“Oh duh,” I exclaimed, bringing my hand to my forehead. “You've been traveling, you're probably exhausted, and hungry. I see your bag over there, so I know you haven’t been to your hotel yet. Where are you staying?”
He shook his head. “I told you B, this was completely on the fly. The only plan I made was seeing your face.”
I smiled. “You sure do know how to make a girl feel like the best friend in the world, don’t you?”
“I’m damn sure trying,” he countered, making me laugh.
“Stop playing, and listen… so you know the whole building is mine, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, you’ve told me about it. Got tenants, the whole nine.”
“Right. Well, you know my place is basically the penthouse? It's studio style, so it's open and all of that, but… if you need a place to kick it for a few days until you settle in and make some real plans, you're welcome to crash with me.”
“Does that invitation extend to hooking me up with some grub?” He asked, putting a hand to his stomach just as it started to audibly make its’ emptiness known.
I grinned. “Your hungry ass. How about… I close the store for the afternoon, we can order some delivery, find something good on TV to binge, and me and you can just… chill. Just like we used to?”
“What you think I came for?” He asked, extending his arms to fold me into a hug.
I melted into his embrace as he pulled me tighter, burying his face in my hair.
“You do,” he mumbled, making me pull back to look at him with confusion and squinted eyes.
“I do what?” I asked.
“Still smell like paint and vanilla.”
Chapter Three
When I first woke up, it took a second to remember where I was.
The peace that had permeated most of the day yesterday had faded some, replaced by the familiar anxiousness I was desperate to get away from.
I didn't want to feel like that anymore.
That was a large part of the logic in me coming to the Heights in the first place. I needed peace, and for the longest time – for as long as I could remember - that was always what B had been.
Peace.
She was just… cool.
Easy to talk to, easy to be around… easy to be me with.
Not myself, meaning Rafael De Luca professional cyclist, but just… Raf.
That was all she’d ever cared about.
I pulled myself up from my stretched-out position on B’s sofa, reaching for my phone from the coffee table nearby. I wasn't surprised to see the screen inundated with notifications. Between my mother and father there were at least a half-dozen texts, and just as many missed calls, all in search of the same answer.
“Where the hell are you?”
It wasn't mature, and maybe not fair either.
But it was necessary.
I needed to get away, needed space, needed the room to breathe without my parents at my neck, wanting answers I couldn't give if I wanted to.
I didn't know when I'd race again.
Didn't know if I'd ever race again.
What I did know was that neither of my medal-winning parents was trying to hear about my hesitation or the reasons behind it. They wanted to know what my next legacy building move was - what I was doing to keep the De Luca name at the forefront of every cycling enthusiast’s mind.
I just wanted the shit to fade to black.
Instead of ignoring them any further, I shot a group text to my parents, letting them know I was okay. I didn’t say where I was, because if I did, they’d be on a plane in no time, ready to drag me back to my trainer’s front door.
I had zero interest in seeing that motherfucker.
It would be easy to blame what happened on him, but I wasn't big on shirking responsibility. I had to come to grips with the fact that my mistakes were my own, and I’d made plenty of them.
It was still fuck him though.
Coming to the Heights to separate myself from the environment that had developed around me… that shit was like the sweetest relief. Whatever reply my parents had for my text, I told myself I could look at it later. I wanted to cherish this – the peace – as long as I could before everything went to hell again.
I pulled myself up from the couch, my eyes going wide as I took it all in. B's place was so very… her. Obviously, I’d seen it already, since I'd been here since she closed the shop yesterday.
My focus had been more on the woman than the apartment.
Now, I was able to look at the space she’d carved out for herself, the walls covered in paintings she'd done, pictures she’d taken, sculptures and other art pieces she found. Everything was in breezy whites and turquoise, with accents of gray and silver. The loft-style space had big windows, that let in tons of light - light that was streaming across her face by the time I made my way back to the area she'd designated as her bedroom.
A navy sleep mask printed with a pattern of gold moons covered her eyes, blocking out the growing sunlight. The rise and fall of her chest let me know she was still asleep, and I grinned at the way she was spread out across the bed, her limbs all spread wide enough that she was very nearly touching all four corners.
It looked like it was so good to her that I didn't bother waking her up yet. I found my way to the bathroom with my toiletry bag to shower and dress. Britt was still sleeping by the time I finished all that. So, I shot her a text letting her know where I was so she wouldn't wake up surprised by my absence, and turned the lock as I slipped out to venture into the Heights.
I hadn't been here in what felt like forever.
As much as I needled her about it, I understood B's aversion to leaving this place, for any length of time. She was more comfortable with the people she knew, where she was a p
erson, and not just something fascinating to look at and try to figure out. She was just… Britt.
Unfortunately, I had the opposite problem.
Well, not exactly opposite, just different.
It started as soon as I stepped onto the street outside the bike shop, the recognition from the people I knew. People I'd grown up with, or who'd watched me grow up. People who contributed, mostly unwittingly, to the insane pressure I never managed to overcome or get used to.
The hometown hero.
“When you gone get back on that bike man?”
“How many more of those medals you going to bring back?”
“You the pride of the city man. Mr. International.”
It was all well-meaning, and of course I knew that, but that didn't make it any less anxiety-inducing. Even worldwide, cycling was an overwhelmingly white sport, and as much I loved my people – Black people – we had a tendency to put the hopes and dreams of the whole race on just a few shoulders.
For the Heights… it felt like just my shoulders.
I couldn’t mess up, had to make them proud.
But nobody knew the toll it took.
The fucking sacrifices.
It wasn't their cross to bear though either - it was mine. So I took the compliments, the support, the blessings, all of it, with a smile. I dapped, shook hands, took the pictures, whatever else, cause these were the people who'd been proud of me, who spoke my name, who supported Britt and me as youngins trying to get bike lanes on the streets in the neighborhood, etc.
This was home.
It hit me hardest as I walked through the doors of Urban Grind. Me and Britt had spent plenty of time in those big comfortable chairs up front, sipping hot chocolate or cider and mainlining those pastries to feed our bodies with carbs after a long workout on the bike. We’d been in high school when Roman renovated and opened the coffee house, and it had quickly turned into our spot.
I didn’t recognize the baristas, but that wasn’t surprising – I hadn’t been here. That didn’t make it any less soothing to be in a place so utterly familiar… so very Black, after years spent abroad with my parents, jumping from one majority-white European country to another.
Not that I couldn’t get along wherever I went – especially in Italy with my father’s people, who were spread all over. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel much more at home among the melanin, probably because that was who I’d grown up around.
I was born overseas, while my mother followed my father around on bike tours. As I got older – and my mother started training to race again herself – I came to live in the Heights among her family and friends, spending extended periods with them while she was traveling the world to cycle too. Back then, I didn’t understand why they always left me behind, when I’d rather be with them. It felt like they were continually putting the pursuit of prizes and medals in front of me.
Now, as an adult, I was grateful for the stability it had given me.
I understood now that that had been the goal with not bringing me along on every little trip, dragging me around the world while they were focused on racing and training. It wasn’t the healthiest lifestyle for an adult, let alone a small child, and would’ve been a significant hindrance to both my parents.
I was glad they’d followed their dreams, because it had inspired me later to follow mine.
And when it came down to it, there had been no lack of love or attention, which easily made up for them not always being present. Texts and phone calls went a long way, and the family I had, the friends I’d made, made The Heights a more than happy place to grow up.
If only I’d just remained “Raf from up the block”.
I couldn’t exactly say I regretted it, but… shit would be a whole lot different.
“What you doing on two legs instead of two wheels, bruh?” I heard as I approached the counter, and turned to see a familiar face headed in my direction, hand extended.
I greeted Sean Keahi gladly, accepting his handshake and shoulder bump.
“The same thing you’re doing without a hammer in your hand,” I teased him back.
I actually hated that shit from strangers, this idea that I shouldn’t ever be without a bike. Sean wasn’t a stranger though – he’d given me my first job I really had no business doing, helping with cleanup around construction sites. Keahi Construction and Renovation had put a little money in my pockets as a teenager, when my allowance from my parents dried up and I still had girls to try to impress.
“What are you doing back here in the Heights?” Sean asked. “Got a race or something?”
I shook my head. “Nah, just… needed to spend some time at home, you know? See some people.”
Sean’s head bobbed in understanding. “Your parents with you? A family affair?”
I should've been expecting that question.
“Not this time,” I explained. “Trying to get a little breathing room on my own.”
His eyebrows went up. “Ah, you came without telling them you were coming. Got it.”
I couldn't do anything but laugh at how quickly he made that deduction. Sean and his father always seemed to have an uncanny ability to know when I was bullshitting, going all the way back to my lie about my parents' approval of my job with them. They had never liked that construction job, and had been clear to express that to the Keahis. But they also wanted me to have a job instead of spending all my time with girls and bikes, depending on them keeping my bank account full.
And with them away traveling the world… it was kinda out of their hands.
“You know somebody has probably already said something about you being here, right? I mean, if you planned to keep it some kinda secret…” Sean warned, his expression sympathetic.
I shrugged. “Yeah, I realized that around the first picture I got asked for. I knew it wouldn't last long. But I got in last night and went straight to B, so... I guess I've had my quiet moment already.”
Sean smirked. “Yeah, I bet you have.”
“Ah, don't start that shit,” I said, shaking my head.
“I ain't starting nothing,” Sean laughed. “Just stating the obvious. You finally gone take that girl on a real date? You've been crushing since high school, young buck.”
“I wasn't crushing on her, she's my friend,” I countered, already knowing the shit sounded way too defensive.
But I wasn't crushing on Britt back in high school.
And our friendship was a forgone conclusion.
There was no real use in pretending that seeing her yesterday, for the first time in all those years, hadn't hit me in the chest in an unexpected way. Sure, we'd done a decent - just decent - job of keeping in touch over the years, but in person was different.
Way different.
Brittany had always been beautiful to me, and I didn't mean that in the way that people always thought their friends were beautiful, or the pitying way people gave those with unconventional looks.
She was flat out fucking pretty, in this ethereal way… Damn near unrealistically so. That had been a constant, but our initial vibe had only ever been friendly, so that's what we'd always rocked with. It developed into the friendship we had now.
But… Shit.
Maybe it had been too long, cause I hadn't expected the bombshell that stood in front of me in the bike shop workroom, all big hair and curves and…a bleeding hand. And I definitely hadn't expected that “Aaron” nigga, who couldn't have impeded too much more on my time with B before I got rid of his ass.
She'd handled it though.
That was something she'd never had an issue with, and was just one of many things I loved about her. She had words for everything and everybody for any situation. The energy – positive or negative - those words came with?
That was up to the receiver.
“Aiight, whatever you say I guess, lil bro,” Sean ribbed me. “That aside though, seriously… I don't know how long you going to be in town, but if you get tired of those tricycle
s and training wheels, we always got a place for you at a construction site.”
I laughed. “You know… I may have to take you up on that,” I told him.
Of course, Sean thought I was playing… but I wasn't.
I exchanged goodbyes with Sean and then finally headed up to the counter to place my order. They had all kinds of custom blends and lattes, a lot of shit I’d never heard of, coming from the purist culture of coffee most popular in Italy, where I’d spent most of my time over the last few years.
I knew B though.
I ordered her a blue matcha latte, and a café latte for myself. I took the two cups with me down to FWB – frosted. whipped. buttered. – a pastry shop that had these oversized cinnamon buns B had described to me in detail more than once. I got one for us to share, then balanced everything in my hands to get back to her place, where I had to knock to alert her to my presence.
She answered the door in what she’d slept in - a B. Spoked T-shirt and the tiniest pair of shorts I’d ever seen.
“You scared me,” were the first words out of her mouth when she opened the door, stepping wide to give me space to get in. “When I woke up and you weren't here…”
My face cracked into a grin as I slipped through the open doorway, trying my best to ignore the way the fabric of those itty-bitty shorts stretched across her hips. “So dramatic,” I teased her. “You saw my text, right?”
“Yeah, but not until I was already getting my phone to call and figure out where the hell you were. So the freak out came first,” she explained, following me to the kitchen.
I held up the contents of my hands. “But I came back bearing gifts, so...”
“Yeah, you better had come with something,” she said, crossing her arms. “Even though I know you really just went out because you needed your precious café.”
I shrugged. “Okay maybe so. But I didn’t want to wake you up, so I had to occupy myself. And, you get this weirdo bee pollen matcha out of it. And as much as this damn cinnamon bun thing cost, it better be exactly as good as you claimed.”
In Tandem Page 4
