Page 33 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
The gloves came next. They were fingerless, with padding in all the right places to prevent numbness during long rides. I flexed my fingers, testing the fit, then grabbed my helmet from the shelf. It was matte black with purple accents, my favorite colors. It matched my bike perfectly.
My water bottles were already filled and chilled in the refrigerator. I grabbed both, along with the energy bars I’d packed the night before. The marathon would approach quickly, and every training ride mattered now.
In the garage, my bike waited like a faithful friend. A Trek Domane SL 7, carbon fiber frame painted in glossy black withpurple detailing. I’d spent months researching before buying it two years ago, after my divorce was finalized, and I’d decided I wanted something that was entirely mine. Something Gerald had never touched, never criticized, and never tried to claim as his own.
I ran my hands along the frame, checking for any issues, then lifted it from its stand. The bike was light in my hands, responsive, built for endurance and speed.
I sat my water bottles into their cages, secured my energy bars in the small frame bag, and wheeled the bike outside. I shivered as the air hit my exposed skin, and sucked in a breath, letting the chill wake me up completely.
The streets were nearly empty at this hour, just the occasional delivery truck or early commuter breaking the morning silence. I mounted the bike, slipped my feet into the pedals, and pushed off into the darkness.
The first few miles were always the hardest with my muscles protesting the early hour and the cold. But gradually, my body warmed up, finding its rhythm. I settled into my aerodynamic position, hands on the drop bars, shoulders low, legs churning in a steady rhythm that ate up the miles.
I’d mapped out a thirty-mile route that would take me through Forest Park, past the zoo and the art museum, then out into the suburbs where the roads opened up and I could really push my pace. The marathon course was forty miles, but I was building up gradually, adding distance each week.
The silence was a calming requisite of the early morning that I loved, but this morning, even cycling couldn’t completely silence the thoughts that had been circling since last night. The hurt in Christian’s eyes when I’d reminded him of the rules tore me up and I felt like shit after he left.
“Making love is for people in love. Not people with arrangements.”
It was true. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I wanted to be cautious. It was easy to get things between us misconstrued. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, we’d built something together. It wasn’t the usual type of situationship, but it was what it was. Clean, simple, and uncomplicated.
I pushed harder on the pedals, picking up my pace as I entered Forest Park. I didn’t have the mental space to appreciate the browning of the trees here. Autumn was coming, and its birth was shown in the sporadic colors of the season around the city.
My phone buzzed in my jersey pocket, and I slowed to check it. It was a text from Journey:“Okay, if you don’t meet me for coffee, I’m coming to your house. I really do have news!”
I typed back quickly:“Let’s meet for lunch.”
“Two pm, sharp! Don’t be late, tootles!”
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and smiled. Whatever Journey’s news was would be a welcomed reprieve, and honestly, I should’ve agreed sooner.
By the time I completed my route and headed back toward the city, the sun was fully up, and the day officially bustled around me. My legs burned with the good kind of fatigue from pushing myself, and my mind felt clearer than it had in days.
That was, until I remembered that I had to meet Gerald in two hours.
I stopped at a traffic light and checked my watch. Eight-fifteen. I’d agreed to meet him at ten at a coffee shop on the Central West End—neutral territory where I could hear what he had to say and be on my way without inconvenience.
Two hours later, I sat in the corner booth at Kaldi’s Coffee, nursing a latte and watching the door. I was still in my cycle gear, not caring to go home and change first before meeting Gerald. Whatever he needed to say I wanted him to make it quick, and I was still internally kicking myself for agreeing to hear him out.
Gerald walked in five minutes late, just like always. Some things never changed.
He looked older than I remembered, his dark skin bearing new lines around his eyes and mouth. His hair was graying at the temples, and he’d put on weight around his middle. He wore jeans and a Cardinals sweatshirt that had seen better days, and when he smiled at me across the coffee shop, I saw the gap between his front teeth that had once charmed me and now just reminded me of all the bullshit he’d put me through.
“Naomi.” He slid into the booth across from me, reaching across the table like he was going to take my hand.
I pulled my hands into my lap. “Gerald.”
“You look good, baby. Really good.”
“Don’t call me that.”
His smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. Gerald had always been good at rolling with the punches, adapting his approach when one tactic didn’t work.
“Sorry. Old habits.” He flagged down the waitress and ordered black coffee, no sugar. Another thing that hadn’t changed. “Thank you for meeting me. I know things between us are... complicated.”
“Things between us are finished. The only reason I’m here is because you said this was about your health.”
Gerald’s expression shifted, and for a moment, I saw fear in his eyes. But with Gerald, it was always hard to tell what was real and what was performance.
