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He snags a Kane County Cougars cap from a rack, sets it on my head. Leans back, pulls off his Aviators and checks me out. “Cute.” He drapes one arm over my shoulders and throws down another bill on the checkout counter.
The checkout girl hands him change and gives me a thumbs up. “Wear the hat if you go to the game tonight. They’ll give you a discount.”
“Awesome.” I smile at Dylan. “Remind me to thank you, later.”
“Bet on it,” he says.
We rent bikes with locks and helmets from a little sports shop in a mini-mall a hundred or so yards off the Fox River trail. We ride down a dirt path on a glorious summer Saturday. The weather’s warm and humid with a scattering of cumulous clouds threatening rain at some point.
The sun pokes between the clouds as we bike along the Fox River taking in miles of curves and bends. We pedal pass people fishing, folks on the trail with their kids, others jogging with their dogs. A few aggressive bicyclists tear past us at breakneck speed needing to blow off excess energy. Not us – we already spent time in the fast lane – we’re taking it slow, chilled, relaxed. We’re here for some fun.
“Woot!” Dylan wheels off the path, skids down a leaf scattered muddy embankment dozens of yards to the river’s edge. His shoulders have dropped off his ears. His complexion’s warmer. The care and worry evaporated off his face, off his entire body. He seems bigger, freer, wilder. He’s transformed into different person. This man needed to get outside, get back in nature. This man is where he belongs.
“Having fun?” I ask a few dozen yards away from him, still on the path.
“What do you think?” He regards me with a delicious grin and it’s all I can do not to tear down the hill, tackle him, and kiss him.
But today isn’t about me. “Race you,” I say.
“Where to?” he asks, looking up, shading his eyes from the sun.
“From here,” I point a ways off, “to the far end of the river. Where it turns around the bend.”
“Sure, Lucky Charm,” he says. “What’s the bet?”
“Bet?”
“You throw out a challenge to a player, you need to sweeten the pot. What’s the bet?”
“Hmm.” I drink him in – ruffled hair, sun-kissed face, a sheen of sweat from physical exertion, not stress. He’s delicious. I wish we could stay here on this path, stay here on this green leafed, sunshine filled day. That the Universe would draw a protective bubble around us and we could live in it forever.
“Cat got your tongue, youngster?” he asks. “No worries. I’ll go first.”
“Spit it out, old man,” I say, “Before you forget.”
“Hah! If I win?” He takes a swig from his water bottle, then squirts a generous helping of water over his face, slicks back his wet hair.
“Yes?” Bumpity-bump-bump goes my heart.
“If I win, we ride back to the motel, I peel off your bike shorts, and make you come a few times. Maybe watch you do that on your own. That would make me a happy man. Then we tackle more good stuff.”
“Shh.” I press fingers to my lips, the V between my legs already throbbing.
“No one’s within hearing distance. After a few rounds of hot sex, we order pizza, cold beers, sit out on the porch on that rickety old swing set. You rest your head on my shoulder, I hold your hand, and we kick back and watch the sun set like an old couple,” he says. “I’d really like that.”
“That sounds nice.” His words tug at my heart. “If I win?”
“Yes?”
“I play on a softball team and I’ve always wanted to see a minor league game. If I win you take me to the ballgame, buy me a hot dog, some chips, and a beer. Afterwards we go back to the motel room and play my favorite song. You strip for me – slowly might I add – while I cheer you on. You give me a lap dance. Then we have hot sex.”
“I’ve never given anyone a lap dance before,” he says, a quirk of a smile pulling up the corners of his lips.
“And I’ve never gotten one,” I say. “It’ll be a first for the both of us. A total win-win.”
“Maybe old dogs can learn new tricks,” he says and waggles his eyebrows.
“Good,” I say. “Bet?”
