“Time! Let’s slow this thing down, you two maniacs,” Skye called out, drowning all his thoughts and refocusing him in the moment. Dallas couldn’t let it go, though. His feet pumped out the last inkling of his energy. “Look at these warriors still at battle. Slow it down, guys. Ducky, announce our winner.”
There was hesitation in Ducky’s words, a wonderment in his quietly muttered results. “Wild_Rider edged out Biker101 for the win…by less than a millimeter if that’s even possible. I’m shocked.”
“Check the numbers again,” Skye said in an excited rush.
“No!” Greer croaked.
Dallas’s lungs heaved, barely drawing in enough breath. He couldn’t manage to push himself up. Instead, he tilted his head, looking into the mirror, sweat blurring his vision.
“It’s…called,” Greer panted.
The always put-together Greer, looked runover, much like Dallas felt. Greer tumbled off the bike, one cycling shoe still clipped to the pedal. His leg twisted as he hit the floor, sprawling out on the hardwood, dragging air into his lungs. Donny went racing toward Greer to keep the bike upright and off their main investor.
With a dramatic flair that was all Greer, he flung an arm over his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly with every breath. Dallas kept pedaling, barely, and dropped his head over the handlebars, letting the bike hold him in place.
The laptop sitting on the floor underneath the mirror showed him what the viewers were witnessing. A zillion heart shaped emojis splattered over the screen. The end total was seven hundred spectators signed on, watching him and Greer battle it out. The chat’s rolling feed raced up the right side of the screen, showing the excitement of the community. Too bad he couldn’t see what they were saying.
Conflicting emotions had Dallas closing his eyes, ducking his head between his arms. He had lost, but his company was having a great moment. And he’d raised money and food for charity.
“You okay?” he heard Donny ask.
They must have ended his and Greer’s live feed. From the living room, he heard Skye and Ducky keep steady conversation going, engaging with the members. Good for them. As Biker101, his profile was still darkened. He should probably say something, but decided he’d make a statement later. He needed rest before he could form coherent thought. The sleep that kept evading him for the last week, looked a whole lot more achievable in that moment.
Dallas forced himself up. He grabbed his towel and water bottle, squirting a long stream directly into his mouth before tackling the dismount. Thankfully, his legs held him upright. He had one goal in mind: his bed. He took off his sweat-soaked shirt, tossed it toward his laundry basket, and opted to keep his shorts on, only because the mirror was still connected. He ran the towel over his head then down the length of his face and chest before he dove for his small mattress.
“We should say something on 101’s account,” Dallas said to Donny as his eyes drifted closed. “And ask Skye to take my class this afternoon.”
“You were badass. If you threw it, you can’t tell,” Ducky said. Based on the position of the voice, he guessed from just inside his bedroom doorway. Dallas refused to look up to know for sure.
“He better not have thrown the fucking race,” Greer called.
“When I’m dry, toss a blanket over me.” Dallas was asleep seconds later.
Chapter 15
The step count from the back of the living room to the front door was exactly forty-seven steps. Greer paced the length of his living room, certain he’d already reached his daily step goal. He’d blazed a trail back and forth through the room while occasionally adding a lap around the deck of his swimming pool. He repeated the steps, over and over again. He was dressed for the night, choosing style over comfort. It didn’t matter that it was only four o’clock in the afternoon. His obsessive-compulsive side had full control right now, and he was primed to begin his date-night with Dallas.
A date that Dallas either didn’t know about or was purposefully dissing him on. Either way, Greer’s frustration level had reached eight out of ten and was getting the best of him.
He and Dallas only had a few days’ worth of text history, but in every exchange before this one, he could at least see that Dallas had read his messages. That was until the text messages Greer had sent as soon as he’d gotten the feeling back into his body after their match this morning.
Those texts were marked delivered, but not read. What did delivered even mean?
With a swipe of the thumb, Greer scrolled to the beginning, rereading every message sent.
“Good rematch. I want my prize to be dinner with you tonight.” Delivered.
“I didn’t take you for a sore loser. That’s usually my job in any position I find myself in second place. Dinner tonight at M Street Grill say around six. My treat even though I won.” Delivered.