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for a quick warm-up. I hated getting up early, and late mornings at the gym were the best, not so crowded. Any other time of day, it felt like the entire goddamn population of Los Angeles was a member of my gym. Quite the contrast to back home, in Thunder Ridge, where nobody worked out, except for the usual beer lifting exercises, and where the words ‘kick-back’ meant taking a shot of tequila or some other cheap shit.
    The hot redhead’s workout ended and she thanked Chase and said goodbye. She pierced me with a smoldering, green-eyed, stare as her peek-a-boo cheeks twitched past me, all the way to the women’s locker room. I swore I heard them calling my name, as she disappeared around the corner, but I must have been mistaken. I ignored it.
    “How’s the hand?” Chase asked as he approached the stationary bike. He wiped his face with a small gym towel. “Good enough to jerk off with?”
    “Dude. You’re sick. The hand’s great, thanks to you, buddy.” I took my hand from the grip and high-fived Chase. He retracted his hand with a jerk and examined his palm.
    “Gross!”
    “You’re a bloody magician. I can’t believe you managed to heal what three different physical therapists in New York couldn’t even make a dent in.”
    “You did all the work, I was just the guide.” He grinned. “It does help when someone is as persistent as you.”
    “I couldn’t have done it without you. Thanks, dude. I owe you big time. What’s up with that red-head? I can tell she wants you bad. Let me know if you need help closing.” I whistled through my teeth. “She’s hot.”
    “Smoking… And I can handle myself with Savannah, thank you very much.”
    “Ouww, baby! And a hot name to boot? She’s sizzlin.”
    “Hey, just keep your dick in your pants. You’re taken now, remember?”
    “Well, somebody’s got to be tapping that ass.” I laughed.
    Chase twirled his little white exercise towel and snapped it at my bicep with a crack. I dodged his aim and the sharp flick missed.
    “Peace, bro! I’m just yanking your chain. I’m a changed man, now.” I released both hand grips, sat up straight on the bike and stopped pumping the pedals. The whizz of the machine descended in pitch as its revolutions slowed.
    “I was up all night, last night. I was so stoked about the progress I’ve made with my hand and leg. I think I’m ready to ride again, start training.” A huge grin spread across my face and I wiped my forearm across my wet brow. “I emailed my agent in New York, told him to start looking for a new team. I can’t wait to see what he comes up with.” I reached out and squeezed both handlebars at once. “I live to ride, man.”
    “That’s awesome, Jesse. I hope it works out for you. So I guess you’ll be out of here before long and back into racing all over the world?”
    “It’ll be a few more months, but yeah. Have to find a team first and a sponsor to finance everything. It’s an expensive sport, Motocross racing.”
    “So…what about Niki? If you go back to racing, where does that leave the two of you? Remember what I told you; I don’t want to be the one picking up the pieces when you decide to go back to New York. Am I gonna have to kick your ass?” He joked and cocked an eyebrow.
    “Easy, bro. Niki and I are doing great. We’ll work things out. There’ll be no pieces for you to pick up. Trust me.”
    “I hope not. She’s one of a kind and I don’t want to see her hurt.”
    “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
    At least I hoped so. Niki and I hadn’t talked about the future yet and how our careers could mesh. Or not mesh. Damn, I hadn’t really anticipated my hand healing this well. I pissed and moaned about my racing career being over, but soon I would have to face the facts. In my pea-sized brain, I envisioned the two of us together; Niki would join me on the road on my racing circuit. But she had art school to attend, her dream to play out. Damn, you know what they say: