ven though it's childish of me, I spend the next morning ignoring Tyler. I can't bear to face him after what happened, so I don't reply to his message about training and instead head to the gym, where I take out my frustrations on the leg press machine.

It's easy, at first, to focus on the pain, but then the burn in my muscles starts to ease off, giving me time to think. Heat stirs inside me, little shockwaves that travel to the pit of my stomach, where they grow and multiply. I have never, in all my seventeen years on this planet, been hung up on a kiss. But god, was it a good one.

The workout helps to unknot my muscles, and it's not long before I start to feel sane again. I finish off on the treadmill before heading to the changing rooms to shower and slip on my bikini.

The moment I get to the steam room, all the tension leaves my body. Steam swirls around me, brushing my face and seeping into my pores, warming me like an embrace.

Eyes closed, I let my mind wander. As always, it goes to the tournament first, because that's what I'm scared of. As much as I love competing, there is always this voice in the back of my mind that tells me I'm making a mistake.

What if something happens? What if I get hurt? What if I end up like Dad? I'm certain if he'd known that the last time he rode would be the last time he rode, he wouldn't have competed that day. The thought is enough to make me want to cancel all my sessions, but despite the uncertainty, the risk, giving up is not an option: it never has been.

The door to the steam room creaks open. I freeze, certain Tyler's about to walk in, but as the steam clears a little and the figure sits opposite, I realize it's not Tyler, it's Alex.

"You're up early," she says.

"Figured I'd get a gym session in before my shift," I say, but my voice comes out stilted. All I can think about is how much she's going to hate me when she finds out what I've done.

"How's training going?" she asks. "Tyler being hard on you?"

I swallow. "It's fine, and sometimes, I guess. He's not the most patient trainer."

She laughs a little. "Yeah, he gets that from our dad. Teaching is not their forte." She opens her eyes now, tilting her head to watch me. "That's what I always wanted to be, you know."

"A teacher?"

She nods. "When I was little, I always dreamed of becoming a riding instructor. I used to hang around the track with a clipboard and write little notes about all of the riders and what they could improve. Most of them were teenagers and didn't take too kindly to being told what to do by an eight-year-old, but I loved it."

I smile and say, "Maybe that's your calling."

She shrugs. "I don't believe in callings."

I nod, but I don't think she's right. Sometimes there are things you have to do, even if they're dangerous. Even if they don't make sense. But you do them because something inside you compels you, like magnets being drawn to another. Maybe it's arrogant to think racing is my calling, but I can't imagine doing anything else.

We spend the next ten minutes soaking up the steam before getting ready for our shift. I don't particularly feel in the mood to serve tables, but it's nice being at the track. I can forget about what happened last night at the sleepover, can forget that I'm an awful friend to Alex, and I can focus on being productive.

hen it starts to get late, Sam walks over and plonks himself on the table I'm cleaning. I don't notice at first, because I'm too busy scanning the balcony for Tyler, but then Sam clears his throat, forcing me to turn around.

"Oh," I say, "it's you. What do you want?"

He tilts his head, looking slightly bemused. "You're not very good at the whole customer service thing are you?"

"You're not considered a customer until you actually order something."

"Fine," he says, getting to his feet, "I just thought you might like to practice riding on the evening circuit tonight, but if not..."

I grab his hand faster than humanly possible, turning him back around. "Seriously?"

He nods. "Your seventh place in the qualifying rounds means you clearly need more practice, so I'm willing to bend the rules a little if it means not losing the bet."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch," he says. "Just don't embarrass me."

I wait until he's gone before I let myself smile. I've grown tired of the day track, and Sam is right, if I want to get better, I'm going to have to practice with the best. I finish off the rest of my shift, then change back into my riding gear. By the time I come out, Tyler's bike is already on the track and flying over one of the steep hills.

Excited, I head down the patio steps and over to my bike, where I wait on the outskirts for the race. The guy beside me mutters something but refuses to look at me. Clearly, Sam breaking the code was not a unanimous decision.

I turn to the track and try to focus on the race, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Despite my muscles still aching from the gym, I still feel revved up, my body itching to get out there and prove that I'm better than just seventh place.

Tyler crosses the finish line first, and my heart flips in excitement. He slows to a stop, pulling off his helmet and goggles before pushing back his hair. His eyes find mine, and for a second, it's like I can't breathe.

I should move. I should be taking my position, but I'm too busy remembering how he'd looked in the hot tub, how his muscles had arched as he pulled me toward him, his skin dripping wet–

"Hurry up!" Sam yells from the balcony.

With a deep breath, I start to make my way to my position when Tyler heads over, his face lightly covered in sweat. "Hey," he says. "Can we talk?"

"I can't, I'm about to race, sorry." I pull down my goggles before he can speak and take my position.

As soon as the whistle sounds, I'm off. My bike surges forward, my eyes focused only on the dirt track ahead. The dark evening sky is like a veil has been lowered, blocking out everything but the sliver of light that shines from my headlights. I hold on even tighter, my thighs beginning to throb as I turn a steep corner. Tyler's training is fresh in my mind, his voice like a beacon through the dark: Don't dab your leg, it's saying, Keep yourself centered. I listen to each word, letting them guide me over each hill and around every curve.

A steep hill is coming up, so I grip the handles tighter as I fly to the top. It's like magic up here, the town below littered with tiny bright lights that remind me of doll houses. If I could choose any moment to revisit forever, this would be it.

It's not long before I'm hurtling back to the finish line. There are a few bikes ahead, but the majority are bringing up the rear behind me, which fills me with a deep sense of pride. I might not be the best out here – there's always room for improvement – but at least I'm well on my way.

A second later and I'm crossing the finish line. My heart is pounding with fear and adrenaline, but the relief behind them is unmistakable. I look toward the balcony, where Sam is leaning over the railing as he watches me lift my helmet. Briefly, he nods before retreating to his table: I've finally met his approval.

Exhausted, I push my bike through the parking lot in a desperate bid to get home. As nice as it had been to ride in the evening, it feels like my body is running on empty.

"Hey."

I freeze at the sound of his voice, not sure I want to turn around. Avoiding Tyler tonight has been easy enough, but I know I can't do it forever. Slowly, I turn. He's standing in front of me, hands in his pockets as he gives me this look that sends the butterflies soaring again.

"If I didn't know better," he says, "I'd think you were avoiding me."

"I'm not, I've just been really busy."

He grabs my hand and pulls me toward him, carefully lowering his head. "Come on, sirenita. I've watched you lie often enough to know when you're doing it with me."

A shiver runs through me, and I tell myself it's down to the briskness of the air and not because of his hand. His nose brushes mine, and he's a second away from meeting my lips, so I take a step back.

"We can't," I say.

He drops his voice. "Why?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

I throw my hands up. "Because I have a tournament to train for and I don't need distractions. Because your sister will hate my guts if she ever finds out. Because according to Sam, you already have plenty of friends to choose from." I don't know why I'm suddenly so angry, but I am. "But most of all, because I don't trust you."

For the first time ever, I see hurt in his eyes. He's silent for a moment, his jaw conracted like he's trying to stay controlled. Finally, he says, "Message received," and starts to walk off.

"Tyler," I call out, but he doesn't turn back, so I climb on my bike, pull down my goggles, and ride off into the night.

❤️