Page 22 of Dear Pink

Me? Funny? I stumble closer to him and shiver. This man makes my body tingle all over. “Thank you,” I say again.

He shifts his enormous bike toward him, and the red frame triggers something, but I can’t quite place the memory. He rips off his helmet, and I almost fall over the bike a second time. It’s Mr. Fancy from the elevator.

“It’s you?”

“Me?” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Do we know one another?”

I remember what a fool I made of myself with the polo bears. Thankfully, he doesn’t recognize me in this pink helmet. I lower my face and play it cool. “No, my mistake. I thought you were someone else.”

His huge hands clench my bike, holding most of the weight. His own bike rests alongside his leg. I grab hold of my handlebars. “I’ll take my bike from here.”

“Here, let me help. This hill’s steep.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” I snort-laugh, and my face burst into flames. Why do I embarrass myself around this man?

His grin widens. “I’m impressed you tried the climb on this bike.”

“You are?” I can’t help but scan his body once more. I love his tall frame . . . how wide his shoulders span . . . how deep and confident his voice sounds.

“Sure. When I first started biking, this hill took me a year to tackle without trouble. I had the correct gears too. If you want to bike Flag Pole Hill, you might consider a new bike. I don’t think your pink one, while super cute”—he smiles at me—“will survive the challenge.”

Is he flirting? I hang on every word. Plus, his voice and his scent make my heart dance. No good can come from talking to him more. I have to get away from this man.

“Yeah, well, I gotta go.”

He lifts his eyebrows in question but says nothing.

“I’m gonna be late for . . .” I search for something rational, but my mind jumbles. Why do I owe him an excuse? I don’t even know this man’s name. I doubt he goes by Mr. Fancy. I don’t wait for him to respond. I turn and run with the bike up the hill. I think I’ve made progress until I peek to my left and see him keeping pace with me at a slow walk. Damn it to hell.

“I don’t need help,” I call out. I sound like a jerk.

“Okay. Fair enough, but my SUV is parked up there. May I walk next to you or do you want me to stop and let you go ahead?”

Of course, his SUV is at the top of the parking lot. What did I think? He wasn’t walking with me. He was walking to the parking lot. Geez. The whole polo bear conversation might have been my best moment.

“Thank you for helping me,” I turn to say. “I’ll stop and you keep going. I’m being ridiculous.”

“No, you're not. You should be cautious. I have six sisters. Stranger danger is a real concern.”

“Six sisters? That’s an interesting childhood.”

He grins. “You have no idea.”

Damn it. I want to hear his story. I don’t want him to leave. His handsomeness is like a drug, and I’m already addicted. Yikes. Now, I really need to get out of here.

I quicken my pace to a jog. I refuse to go down heartbreak lane with another charmer. Jack-Slime scarred me for life. My next date will be a sensible man, maybe even boring. One who wears loafers and does taxes. Not a hot guy on a cool bike with muscles covering every inch of his body.

I practically run to my car, huffing and puffing from the overexertion. “This is me.” I give him a strange little salute. “See ya.”

I throw the bike in the back and jump in before he responds. Unfortunately, there’s gravel covering the parking lot, so I peel out of there like a crazy woman. In my rear-view mirror, he places his bike on a fancy bike rack, his butt in the perfect position for me to check out. It’s fancy too.

Chapter 6 - Gabe

Someone calls, “Gabe,” and I wave before jumping on my bike. If I want to fit this bike ride in today, I gotta get a move on. I pedal around the lake, nodding to my fellow bikers and zipping past the moms pushing strollers. The heat is unbearable, and it’s only May.

As I climb the last small stretch to my car, I hear a female voice screaming a few yards in front of me. She’s a pink flash, whipping backward down the steep hill. Her high-pitched cry catches everyone’s attention. This flamingo on wheels has lost control and will surely crash. It won’t be pretty.

I jump off my bike and wait for her to reach me. Grounding my feet into the asphalt, I plant myself firmly and hope like hell I can catch her. From this distance, she’s a tiny streak racing down the hill. Maybe it’s a kid? Where are her parents? When she gets to me, I stretch around her small body and grab the handlebars. Her screaming doesn’t stop, and even a few inches apart, I feel her heart beating ten million miles a minute. Oh, geez, please don’t add a heart attack to my day.

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