In Tandem

by Christina C Jones

  I knew exactly how to make him wish he was here.

  Those words flipped a switch for me – hit a nerve, somewhere, somehow.

  I gave my cell phone camera a seductive grin as I propped it on my desk, so I wouldn’t have to hold it, making sure it had a full view of me as I backed toward the bed.

  I untied the robe, letting it drop to the floor as I met Raf’s gaze in the video chat. Pushing my hair back to reveal my bare shoulders and put my breasts on better display, I watched the change in him as he realized the change in me.

  “What do you think?” I asked, turning in a way that put my ass in better view. “Do you like this one?”

  On the other end of the line, Raf cleared his throat. “Um… yes. Yes,” he said. “It looks… yeah, it’s a good choice.”

  “I think so too,” I agreed. “But… it probably wouldn’t be on very long, would it? I mean, if I really did wear something like this for you… wouldn’t you just…be in a hurry to take it off me?” As I spoke, I subtly undid the hooks of the corset, so that when I was done – when I reached the end of my question – I was able to easily drop that piece too. “This would be more up your alley, right?”

  Raf swallowed hard. “Um… I…”

  “Less?” I asked, reaching for the front clasp of the shelf bra.

  “Cosa stai cercando di farmi?” Rafael muttered.

  What are you trying to do to me?

  “Fai che tu voglia essere qui, amore mio.”

  I unclipped the bra, but stopped short of actually revealing myself as Fallon and Ayden started clapping.

  “Holy shit,” Jules gushed. “Why didn’t we bring all that out at first?!”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out too!” Fallon chimed as I reclipped the bra, then accepted the robe Ayden offered. “That was hot as hell – did you forget we were here?”

  “No,” I insisted, blushing as I glanced at my cell phone screen – Raf had ended the call. “Ayden told me to act, so…”

  “Guess we should’ve gotten her “friend” in here earlier,” Ayden teased. “Is that Rafael De Luca, and you just have him casually in your home?”

  I nodded. “Yes, on both counts.” I couldn’t give her intonation around friends any attention, or I knew it would turn into me defending my friendship with Raf, unnecessarily. We’d fought the rumors and assumptions back in high school, and had no intention of doing it now – at least, I had no intention of it.

  We both knew what this was.

  “Does he have a much older brother or an uncle or something that looks like him? Cause damn,” Ayden gushed. “I just wanna run my fingers through those curls.”

  I laughed about that as they started packing up, but… I kinda felt her.

  Raf’s soft curls were one of my favorite things – a thing he’d gotten teased about quite a bit growing up. Thinking back, he did kinda have a bit of a Lionel Ritchie thing going on back then, especially once he finally got those nine mustache hairs. Now though, he mostly kept them tamed into a modern cut, with the sides faded and the top long enough to pull a sort of semi-man-bun thing I had a love/hate relationship with.

  At present, they were a little longer than usual, and the sides were unkempt – a shallow sign that something was up with him. I was trying my best not to push or nag, but he’d been here several days now, with no real explanation for his sudden departure.

  Not to mention, he’d been avoiding his parents.

  That relationship was one I’d always been a little envious of, wishing I had two parents who doted on me. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adored my mother, and couldn’t see a way she could’ve done any better by me. She gave her all – gave more than she had.

  But it still would’ve been nice to feel like both my parents gave a shit about me.

  Raf’s parents weren’t always around, just due to the nature of their careers. But when they were around, it was clear that Rafael was the center of their world, and when they were away, they made sure they were in contact. Made sure Raf never lacked for anything.

  He loved his parents.

  I knew there was another side to that, though. Knew that coming from a family of award-winning athletes wasn’t always easy, especially when you went on to become an award-winning athlete yourself. His parents poured a lot into him, so of course they expected a return on that investment. And as far as I could tell, Raf was doing his part – he’d left the only home he really knew to travel the world much like they had, only without a kid to come home to. Which meant he’d been going harder, pushing himself further…

  Until that accident.

  The accident he still wouldn’t really talk about, other than to insist he was fully recovered. And physically, sure, he looked that way. He’d done a charity ride since then. But the chatter around him was that he wasn’t the same anymore. Which really didn’t mean too much for a rider like Raf, who was so dominant that he could take a hit to his stats and still be a champion.

  Not that I, personally, cared about any of that.

  I just wanted him to be okay.

  By the time everyone had packed up and gone, leaving me with the apartment to myself, I’d resolved to push the issue with Raf. I had to find him first though, and searched the whole loft before I finally ventured downstairs.

  He was in my workroom.

  Bafflingly, I wasn’t bothered by the sight of him with a bundle of steel wool in his – gloveless – hands, cleaning the rust and grime from another spoke of the bike I’d been working on when he first arrived. I didn’t really let people touch my stuff back here – not even Vaughn, or my mother when she was alive.

  Raf though… I didn’t mind.

  Maybe because he got it.

  Maybe because this was a passion I may not have discovered if it weren’t for him. Whatever it was, I knew Raf understood the delicacy of the antique bike, and instinctively felt its’ importance to me.

  “Mama found this one,” I said, as I approached the worktable. There was only one seat, and he was in it, so I leaned over it, pressing my elbows to an empty space. “Her last gift to me, before she passed. I’m going to make it into something she’d ride.”

  Raf looked up at me, his expression solemn as he nodded. “That’s a beautiful way to honor her, B. I… should’ve come to the funeral.”

  “Absolutely not,” I shook my head. “You would’ve missed Strade Bianche that year, and I would’ve murdered you for it. That was one of your best races. You broke a record.”

  “But I wasn’t here for you.”

  “You were here in spirit,” I said, smiling. “Besides… the trophy you won looks great here in the shop.”

  The shelves behind my front counter were decorated with pictures, plaques, and all kinds of other local accolades I’d won from cycling. There were ribbon-cutting snapshots from the bike lanes we’d lobbied for, pictures from community spin classes. Medals and trophies from races, all that. But I’d had a very, very ugly cry when I opened the internationally shipped package from Rafael. It held his hard-won, multi-record breaking Strade Bianche trophy from the race he’d been doing in Tuscany while I buried my mother.

  It was like he was saying… because I couldn’t be there, the least I can do is make this count, and dedicate it to you. And I accepted that, wholeheartedly, and gave that trophy a place of honor.

  “I could’ve come after,” he said as he dropped the steel wool in favor of a soft towel to wipe away the grime, leaving the spoke he’d been working on gleaming in the light.

  I rolled my eyes. “You needed to recover – you had Cape Epic like two weeks after Strade Bianche, all the way in South Africa. You had to rest, and train. You’ve spent these years riding like a maniac.”

  “Yeah, and what do I have to show for it?” he asked, tossing away the towel. He straightened on the stool, eyes on me with a challenge to answer, as if it wasn’t evident.

  “Um… titles and medals and notoriety and prize money and endorsements…” I said, confused w
hen he let out a huff and shook his head.

  “Bunch of shit that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme,” he muttered, pushing his overgrown hair back from his face. “All that, and I’m not comfortable here like I should be, you know? All my relationships are fucked, I haven’t been there like I should for my friends—”

  “Raf,” I interrupted. “All your relationships are not fucked. I’m not holding this against you.”

  “I’m holding it against me,” he countered, nostrils flared as his volume went up. “Because all this, all the training and the winning and the traveling, yeah… I did that. People know my name, cool. But… I don’t want to do that anymore. But I don’t know what else to do,” he said, emotion straining his voice in a way that broke my heart.

  I pushed away from the table to come around to where he was, taking his face in my hands. “Hey,” I soothingly urged, coaxing his gaze up to mine. “What in the world is going on with you? You know you can talk to me, right?”

  “I do,” he assured, not looking away. “I just… I don’t even know the words to use, I can’t… I don’t know what to say. Or if I want to say it. Or if I’m ready to say it.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Okay. But when all that comes together, you know…”

  “Of course.”

  He wrapped his arms around my waist from his seated position, turning to pull me into a hug. I stepped between his legs, not just to accept it – to return it, pulling his head against my chest like my mama used to when I was little. And… hell, when I was big, too. It just felt like the kind of hug he needed.

  We broke away after a few moments, with Raf looking up at me with a grin that shadowed how he’d been feeling just minutes ago.

  “I see you’re back to being featherless,” he teased, clearing his throat.

  I raised an eyebrow. “And I don’t see any oiled abs. Which… by the way, what was that about?”

  “Just playing my role,” he shrugged. “And I see it worked, cause they got the shots they needed.”

  “Thanks to your idea. You saved the day, honestly.”

  Raf took a little bow from his seat. “Anything for you, milady.”

  “Yeah, and then you ran off and disappeared.”

  He shook his head. “I just needed a lil breather. You know, all great actors have their methodology and all that. Honing our skills.”

  “Which, speaking of skills… you are certainly a master subject-changer,” I told him. “You might be trying to front like all is well, but your lack of a haircut tells the real story.”

  “Daaaamn,” he laughed. “I’ve got an appointment with Carter tomorrow, for your information – I was holding out for my old barber.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Yeah, so you say.”

  “I do say so,” he countered, grabbing my hands. “I love you, B.” he pulled my hand to his mouth, planting a quick kiss on my knuckles.

  Inaudibly, I sighed, knowing this was all a distraction, but also knowing… I had to give him the same space I would want him to give me. So instead of pressing him – like I’d fully intended when I came looking for him – I smiled.

  “I love you too.”

  Chapter Five

  My heart sped up as soon as I hit the front door of Fresh Cuts.

  The cacophony of sound, made up of various shouts.

  Look who it is!

  You sure don't look like you can't be on the bike right now oh, what's the matter? You scared to get back up there?

  Instead of responding directly to any of it, I shot a vague smile around the room as I headed straight to where my barber, Carter, was waiting. Like I told Brit, I’d set this appointment up directly with him, to avoid as much time hanging around the shop as I could. It used to be that the shop was a haven for me - back when I was just Raf from the block. Now though, it was all eyes on me as I ambled down what felt like a mile of faded tile to drop myself into Carter’s chair.

  “So who you think is gonna take home that Tour De France? You throwing your hat back in the ring for it?” one of the shops old heads asked, after giving me time to greet Carter and get settled in the chair.

  It would have come across rude to avoid such a direct question, so I took the second of respite provided by Carter wrapping me in the haircutting cape to swallow, think and decide on as neutral of an answer as I could give.

  “I won’t be over there myself, but… man, I can't even tell you who's out there this time around,” I told him, truthfully.

  In years past, I would be training hard right now, for that exact race, so that when the time came, I could be out there right along with everybody else, getting my face splashed across ESPN.

  I loved it.

  That attention and notoriety were what got you noticed by sponsors and brands, which brought along endorsements, which brought along money.

  Cycling was as physically demanding as any other sport, and arguably more dangerous than many. Definitely something I'd argue from personal experience. But the truth of it was that there wasn't a ton of money in these races. You got name recognition and medals sure, and it wasn't that the prize purses were chump change. It was just nothing compared to multimillion-dollar contracts in the more prominent sports – basketball, football, baseball, even soccer.

  Those sponsorships though?

  That was where it was at.

  All that was over for me though.

  “What's going on with you, boy?” the old head kept up, obviously only made more curious by my somewhat evasive answer. “You really telling me you ain’t been keeping up with the competition? We don’t believe that.”

  Nobody had to believe it.

  But the thing was… it was the truth.

  Once I had it in my head that I needed to take a step back, I committed to that shit. As far as I was concerned, there was no real going back from it.

  I didn't look at training gear. I ignored and blocked emails about the new technology that had come out in the last year to year-and-a-half. I changed my channel when cycling came on the TV, didn't listen to any of the podcasts I used to listen to anymore.

  Competitively, I needed to be done.

  And this conversation wasn't helping.

  Obviously, I couldn't really hold it against him though.

  “Just taking a little break man, that's all,” I answered, trying to keep it light.

  “How long are you going to be on this break,” another of the grey-haired barbershop loiterers asked. “Yeah, yeah, everybody knows you took that little spill off your bike and all that, but come on man - we need to see how many more of them medals you gone bring the Heights? Since you know we gotta split the total with them I-talians cause of your daddy.”

  My eyebrows went up.

  Little spill.

  Little… spill.

  Was that why people tended to treat me like I was being some type of baby about this shit or something?

  Little spill.

  The “little spill” down the side of a mountain in Tangier had left me with a broken collarbone, several fractured ribs, a sprained wrist, countless road burn scars on my exposed skin, and a traumatic brain injury that forced me to spend months learning how to use my damn mouth again.

  A little spill.

  “You know what,” I chuckled. “Why don’t you get out there and win something for the Heights and bring it back… since its so simple, you know?”

  A chorus of “ooooohs” rang out around the barbershop - proof that men were just as likely to instigate some bullshit as women. I hadn’t said anything that harsh, but there they went hyping it up like I was clowning that dude, when really I just wanted to be left alone so I could get my damn hair cut.

  “Hold on now young buck,” he said, ready to save face now that the crowd had turned this into something it wasn't. “You don't have to get all sensitive, I'm just asking questions!”

  “Jimmy, shut up!” Carter called from behind the chair. “Everybody in here knows you trying to get some gossip and start shit. The man
just got home.”

  Carter had mostly moved on from being in the shop day to day, though it was his. There was a new manager, Troy, who was the head barber now, but because of Carter’s history with the place - because he was still the overall big man in charge – his words held weight in the shop. If he said a line of conversation was over, then the conversation was over, unless somebody was bold enough to push it.

  Apparently, Jimmy wasn’t.

  And the attention moved on, away from me.

  I didn't look up, or verbally acknowledge Carter's save, but I was certainly grateful for it. I was able to spend the rest of my cut in peace, nobody saying shit else to me until Harlan and Jamar came through the door.

  I was cool with both of those dudes even though they’d come out of high school a year or two before me. I couldn't count how many mornings I’d spent at Stacks stuffing my face with pancakes before spending the whole day on the bike burning them back off. Back then Harlan and Jamar both just worked there – now Harlan was one of the managers, and Jamar was only part-time from his job with Keahi Construction.

  “Ohhhhh,” Harlan said in that southern twang he’d brought to the Heights with him years ago, and still hadn't completely lost. “So J,” he nudged Jamar with his elbow. “This is why this dude been here for days and ain’t come and told nobody. He had to get clean on us first.”

  Laughing, I extended a hand to greet both of them as they approached the chair. “Just trying to keep up with y'all,” I told them. “Me and Britt actually have plans to come by the diner. Real soon, so we can prep for a ride.”

  Jamar smirked. “Pay up,” he said to Harlan. “What I tell you?” he asked. “He’s been out here with Brit, that’s why he’s been MIA. And I knew that shit.”

  “Y’all been betting on me?” I asked, as Carter finished cleaning up my lining and fading my sides down. “That’s kinda foul.”

  “Nah, it's easy money is what it is,” Jamar chuckled. “I knew if you were here, Britt would be the first person you’d find. You like to play favorites with the homies.”