Cycling Downhill

I swim, run, and cycle into the hearts of two boys, but only one can win mine.

Nothing this year has gone according to plan. I lost my state title, place as valedictorian, and my dream college scholarship. I’m ready to coast through this last trimester of my senior year, but my boyfriend, Paul, throws a wrench in my plans and I veer off course.

I struggle to hang on and find comfort in my friends, including Dylan. I enter a triathlon with Paul and Dylan, hoping to repair their severed friendship, only to discover why they can never be friends. It comes down to the triathlon for me to let go of my plans and give someone a second chance. But it might be me who needs the second chance. At the finish line I award Dylan and Paul medals, but only one wins my love. Who will it be?

Coast along with Ash in the final book of the Love is a Triathlon series and discover who pedals into first place in her heart. Grab this sweet sports romance and cheer for your favorite young adult character as the trilogy crosses the finish line.

“I love you.”

The words spill from my mouth. They’ve been in my heart, but this is the first time I voice them. I kiss Paul immediately after because I’m nervous about his response. He’s told me he loves me, but my heart feels vulnerable telling him. Butterflies flit in my stomach and mask the pain of my injuries. I sit in a chair of the medical tent at the Spring Fling 5K. My right leg rests on another chair and an icepack covers my knee. Paul stoops at my side and his fingers brush across my cheek.

“I’m sorry about Bridgette,” he says in his soft voice.

I sigh. Bridgette may have won the high school girls’ category of the 5K because she tripped me, but I win where it counts. Paul has my heart, and he chose to kiss me over her. It shouldn’t surprise me because I’m his girlfriend, but it does. Bridgette is everything I’m not. She’s Paul’s best friend, a cheerleader, fast track runner, outgoing, and much prettier than me. Her hair has beautiful brown curls, while mine is a mass of frizzy brown waves. Bridgette’s figure is curvy and girly, while mine is not. Bridgette has everything a girl could want, except Paul. I’m the one in her way of him.

“It’s fine,” I say. I don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend anymore. I trust Paul and his actions have shown me I can. It’s a tradition for the winner of the Spring Fling race to be awarded their medal and a kiss by someone they choose. Bridgette chose Paul, and she’s chosen him the last three years. Paul refused to kiss her this year because of me.

“Let me take you home.” Paul helps me up from the chair. My knee is stiff and sore, and I have a serious case of road rash on my palms and forearms from the unfortunate incident near the finish line. I was edging Bridgette out for the win, until she tripped me. Bridgette claims it was an accident, but I suspect otherwise. I limp to Paul’s blue truck while he holds and supports me.

“Paul!” A shrill voice yells.

Paul opens the passenger door for me and turns to the voice. It’s Bridgette. Her jaw is clenched, and her fists are even tighter as she storms our way. We stand still in the parking lot, Paul bracing me, as we wait for hurricane Bridgette to hit.

“Why’d you leave?” Bridgette demands. “You promised you’d give me my award.”

The kiss. She wanted Paul to kiss her. They may be best friends, but Bridgette wants more from Paul. He either knows and plays dumb or he’s oblivious.

“Ash is hurt. I needed to be with her,” Paul says. He turns away from Bridgette and helps me in the passenger seat. He shields me from the rage radiating off Bridgette.

“You broke your promise.” Bridgette’s voice is clipped with anger. “You know what this means.”

A heavy sigh emerges from Paul and he closes his eyes tight. He lets his fingers linger on my hand for a moment before closing the door and sealing me in his truck. He turns back to Bridgette and his hands move in an apologetic gesture. They talk in low voices and from the cab of the truck I only hear muffled sounds.

Paul rubs the back of his neck and short sandy blond hair with his hand. Bridgette narrows her eyes and juts her chin out at the truck. She gestures at me, obviously not happy. I cross my arms over my chest and wait. I can either focus on the mental pain from Bridgette or the physical pain she’s caused me. My knee is swollen and the road rash on my hands and forearms throb in discomfort. After a couple of minutes, Paul walks around the truck and opens the driver’s door.

“You have until tonight,” I hear Bridgette say. She gives me one last evil look and jerks around before heading to her car.

Paul starts the truck and the noise breaks through the tense situation.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Apologizing for anything and everything, even if it isn’t my fault, is natural to my personality.

Paul clenches the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I’ve messed everything up and I don’t know how to fix it.”