We start our ride slow, heading down the bumpy track at a slow and even speed. It's quiet to begin with, but not the awkward kind of quiet you'd expect with someone you hardly know; it's a comfortable one.

I focus on the way my bike hums beneath me. I've forgotten how good it feels on top of a bike. It's like every part of it molds and conforms to my body, making me feel weightless. Despite the unevenness of the track, the ride is smooth, steady–signs of a quality bike.

My dad is the one got it for me. It was the first thing he bought when he started winning races, because he wanted us to ride together. To have our quality time. Back then, I didn't have much interest in bikes, but the thought of spending time with my dad meant everything to me–now I can't remember the last time we rode.

Tyler lifts his goggles at one point and glances over. In the glare of the sun, his eyes have changed color from their usual dark brown to warm melted chocolate. "So, how'd you get into racing?"

I'm silent for a moment as we steer around a corner. I'd been planning on ignoring him after our last confrontation, but if I want any chance at beating him, I need to learn his weaknesses. The problem is, it means he'll start to learn mine.

"My dad," I say finally. I tilt my head back a little as I say it, the sun blissfully warm on my face. "He went pro for a while, but an accident forced him to stop."

His eyebrows draw together at the same time he frowns. "Was it bad?"

My throat tightens the way it always does when I think about the accident. He'd been thrown from his bike. By the time he hit the ground, he was already unmoving. Lifeless.

Broken.

I keep my eyes on the track as I say, "He's paraplegic."

Tyler stiffens. Every rider knows the likelihood of crashing is high, and it's not a matter of if, but when. Even so, we all hope–pray–that it never happens to us. "And that doesn't scare you?" he asks. "Doesn't make you want to give up riding?"

If he were someone I trusted, I might say I'm terrified. I might tell him that every time I get on a bike, I think of the way my dad was thrown off his. But I don't trust Tyler, so I shrug and say, "You can't just give up something you love. If you can, you never really loved it to begin with."

Tyler is quiet for a moment like he's deep in contemplation. I think of my dad again, who'd been desperate to ride again after his injury, to find a way to continue despite his accident. But even if there had been a way, my mother wouldn't allow it. She'd told him if he loved us, he'd stop putting a bike over his health and family, and that was that. My dad might love riding, but he loves his family more.

"I'm sorry," Tyler says, and when I glance at him, his dark eyes are focused on the horizon. "I can't imagine."

I let a few seconds pass. "Look, why won't you race with me?" I ask. It's getting under my skin knowing I have no one experienced to race with. If I want to be ready in time for the tournament, I need to compete against other riders and not just the clock.

"Because," he says, bringing his bike to a stop. I do the same next to him and study him. He's more handsome up close, and for a moment I can't help but focus on the boyish curves of his cheeks.

"Because you don't like losing?" I ask.

When he flicks up his goggles, he's wearing the broadest grin. "No," he says, leaning in closer. "There's an unwritten hierarchy around here. It's an honor to use the evening track. Each of us has earned our spot. You haven't earned yours."

I frown. "I beat half the guys in my race. Clearly, I'm good enough to ride in the evening."

He smirks and says, "That's not the point."

"If I wasn't allowed to race, why did Alex tell me to?"

Now it's his turn to frown. "I could have guessed she was behind it. Look, it's not a law, it's just the code. We all follow the code, and so should you."

I am silent for a moment as I study his face. I've come across countless guys who were scared to compete with me in fear of losing to a girl, and I can't decide if this is the real reason they don't want to race. "I think that's bullshit."

He raises an eyebrow, then leans back on his bike. "What's bullshit?"

"Everything that just came out of your mouth. I think the reason you don't let newcomers ride with you is that you're scared they'll be better than you." I lean toward him, my expression unwavering as his eyes travel to my lips and back up again. "I think you're just scared I might win."

His eyes flash with something that sits between amusement and defiance. "You know what?" he says, "I'll make you a deal. We'll race next week and if you win, I'll tell the others you can race in the evenings."

I watch him for a moment, feeling somewhat like I am about to make a deal with the devil himself. "And if you win?"

His smile broadens, and his eyes flash with what I am certain is mischief. "You have to buy me dinner."

I blink in response, surprised by his terms. "What, you can't afford your own meal?"

"Those are my terms," he says. "Take it or leave it."

I hesitate.

"Clock's ticking, sirenita. Offer ends in five, four, three, two-"

"Wait," I say, and he grins. "If I win, you're saying I can race in the evenings without being harassed?"

He nods. "I'm a man of my word, Rox."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry, sirenita."

"Don't call me that, either."

He grins again, and I resist the urge to tell him just where he can shove his deal. Despite the terms, I don't have time to waste when I have a tournament to win. The sooner I can race on the main track, the sooner I'll be prepared. If that means making a deal with Tyler, then that's what I'll do.

"If I win, I get to ride in the evenings and you have to teach me some pointers," I say.

He regards me for a moment, his eyes laced with amusement. "Fine."

"Fine," I say back. "We have a deal." Then, without another word, I kick up my bike stand and ride off without him.

A/N

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