Miracle of miracles, he also looked like a lot of fun.
They stood there like that, smiling at each other for just a few seconds longer than was called for, before Tom frowned slightly and turned away to put his water bottle back in the cage.
Lexie let out a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad.
3
Seaside, Oregon, to Corvallis, Oregon. 171 miles traveled.
Tom wasn’t bad. He was horrible.
Ten miles out of Seaside on the Pacific Coast Scenic Highway, they rounded a curve at the end of a long climb to find an incredible view: inky blue sea, jagged rocks, tiny village nestled against the coastline, clear sky the color of a robin’s egg. Exactly what she’d come on this trip to see. And it wasn’t just the view—it was everything. The clean, brisk coastal air. The smooth asphalt of the shoulder, wide and spectacularly free of potholes. The familiar rightness of her gloved palms on the handlebars. She wanted to wrap it up, the whole glorious moment, so she could take it out again and appreciate it later.
She settled for gushing to Tom. “Wow. That’s spectacular.”
“I thought you said we didn’t have to talk,” he replied.
Talk about a buzzkill. For one second, she’d allowed herself to forget who she was riding with, and Angry Tom had made her pay.
She snapped her mouth shut and decided on the spur of the moment it was staying that way. He didn’t want to talk to her? He thought she was annoying? Fine. He could ride with her all the way to Kansas and beyond, and she wasn’t going to say a single word to him unless he started the conversation.
Not. One. Word.
And why was he riding with her anyway? She’d figured he’d leave her in the dust as soon as they rolled out of Seaside, but either they were perfectly in sync—ha!—or he was deliberately matching her pace, because she’d spent the whole morning two feet off his back tire, staring at his broad shoulders and his chiseled calves.
It would have been a nice view if he weren’t such a jerk.
Okay, technically it was a nice view anyway. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
It should have been the perfect morning to ride. Traffic was light, and the temperature was in the low sixties, ideal for the rolling terrain. But she was too aware of Tom to enjoy herself. Everything he did got on her nerves. He was obviously in shape, barely even breathing hard as he powered up the hills. But did he really have to power up them like that? You were supposed to downshift and conserve your energy. Her Salsa had twenty-seven gears, and she’d used most of them already this morning. Tom was riding a twelve-speed. Who had a twelve-speed?
And he barely even used those twelve speeds. Lexie shifted every time her bike computer showed that her cadence had dropped below seventy revolutions per minute or risen above ninety. It kept her legs fresh for longer. At least, that’s what it said in all the articles she’d read. Tom didn’t even have a bike computer, and she’d only heard him shift a few times. When they went uphill, he rode harder, sometimes standing up on the pedals. When they descended, he stopped pedaling. He had no technique whatsoever.
He didn’t drink enough water, either. You were supposed to have a sip every fifteen minutes or so, even if you weren’t thirsty. Lexie had a backpack with a special sleeve in it for her two-liter water bag, and she made sure to stay hydrated. Tom had a couple bottles in cages on his bike, and she didn’t think he’d touched either of them since changing the flat. It wasn’t hot, and she wasn’t really thirsty either, but there were rules, and he was breaking them.
Lexie couldn’t stand people who broke the rules. They ruined everything for everybody else.
Every now and then, he’d sit up straight, take his hands off the handlebars, and stretch his shoulders lazily, giving Lexie a prime view of his broad back and muscular arms. Once, his T-shirt rode up and exposed a few inches of flawless olive skin, plus a black elastic waistband peeking out of his shorts that instantly had her wondering. Boxers? Briefs? Boxer-briefs?
And the whole time he stretched, he kept pedaling without the slightest wobble, as if holding on to the handlebars was optional.
It drove her up the wall.
If he wasn’t going to talk to her, how was she supposed to know when he wanted to stop for a break? Was she supposed to tell him when she wanted to pee, or just find a spot and do it? And how could they make plans for dinner or choose a campsite in silence?
The more she thought about Tom, the more irritated she got, and then she started to cross the line from irritated to angry. Because Tom was spoiling her first day on the TransAm, which was supposed to be the glorious beginning of the adventure of a lifetime.
She took a few deep breaths and tried to refocus. She wouldn’t let him get to her. This was her trip, not his. She’d stop whenever she wanted to, and he could go jump in the Pacific.
When they hit the next cute little coastal town along the route, she pulled over to grab a snack at a touristy grocery store. Tom could do whatever. He wasn’t her problem.
He stopped, too, following her inside. Crammed into a tiny building that must once have been a residence, the store was redolent of rich cheese and fresh fish—an unwelcome sensory overload after a morning spent in the fresh air. Not wanting to offend the owner, she resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose as she selected an energy bar and a banana. Tom bought himself a bag of gourmet chips and a soda, which was really terrible fuel for a sixty-mile day. She almost felt sorry for him. The guy obviously had no idea what he was doing.
When she saw him put a four-pack of bottled beer and some chipped ice into a small cooler on his rear rack, she nearly forgot about her vow of silence and said something—something about all the extra weight on the climbs, and how he was going to wear himself out on their first day—but she caught herself. He could make his own stupid mistakes.
As she climbed back onto her bike and headed out of town, he dropped into place behind her, eventually settling into a spot so far back he was nearly out of sight. Lexie sighed in relief, happy she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the day watching him. It was distracting, cataloging his errors and wondering when they were going to catch up with him. He was distracting.
But even when he wasn’t in view, she found she still couldn’t relax.