When I get to the shop the next morning, everyone is laughing and gathered around a laptop.

Pictures and videos of our race went online within a few hours. The most popular clip was Eric head-butting Fat Mike off his bike, and then us kissing after we won.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Shit, Ruth, you’ve gotta see this,” Wilson says.

“I was there,” I say, “I—”

He turns the screen toward me and starts the video over.

I see Fat Mike and Cunningham standing next to each other in Central Park. Someone is interviewing them.

“So this is where Eric Prince head-butted you?”

“And punched me, yeah,” Fat Mike says. “I was just like, playing some joke, you know?”

“What kind of joke?” The person behind the camera asks.

“Ah,” Fat Mike says. “Just this joke I always do.” He bends down and picks his bike up, and he lifts the front tire up so it’s in frame. “I got these big-ass tires on it so I can ram people down without hurting ‘em too much. It’s funny stuff.”

“So,” the interviewer asks, “you were going to ram into Eric Prince?”

“Nah,” Fat Mike says. “I figured I’d go for his girlfriend, like that’d be funnier, you know?”

“Not really,” The interviewer says. “So you decided to knock Ruth Biederman off her bike, and that’s why Eric Prince jumped on you?”

“Yeah,” Fat Mike says. “I think that guy is mad in love, like so much that he can’t appreciate a good joke no more.”

“What did you say to make him punch you?”

“Probably called him a bitch!” Cunningham says.

“Yeah,” Fat Mike says. “I call everyone a bitch, but it’s not a gendered insult or nothing. I know you ain’t allowed to call women bitches anymore, but I call everyone a bitch, so it’s cool, you know? Equal opportunity insults and slurs.”

“So you called him the b-word,” the interviewer asks, “and then he punched you?”

“B-word,” Fat Mike says, snickering. “Nah, he just punched me. I think he wanted to like, incapacity me—”

“Incapacitate,” Cunningham chimes in.

“Right,” Fat Mike says. “Knocked the wind out of me so he could win the race.”

“And you’re not pressing charges?”

“Nah,” Fat Mike says, “But I got a three hundred dollar fine here, so Cunningham and me, we got a GoFundMe setup to cover the fine, and then we’re asking for some more money to support our YouTube channel—”

“Yeah,” Cunningham interrupts. “It’s a prank channel. We do a lot of hilarious pranks.”

“We got this one,” Fat Mike says, “Where we take our bikes and run into—”

The clip cuts off and goes to an anchorwoman. She starts talking about Eric and me, and they roll the clips that I’ve already seen.

“Sorry if I scared them out of the shop,” I say.

Maya shrugs. “They were here this morning. I think they are grateful to you and the shop for giving them their fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Hopefully, they’ll get a lot of Patreon money and spend it here. I could use the commission,” Wilson says.

I feel a little bit taken aback. Fat Mike said that Eric loved me. I never thought I’d hear that in regards to Eric and from Fat Mike of all people. It did feel good for Eric to protect me like that though.

The bell rings, and I turn to see a customer coming in.

We shut the laptop, and I go up to help him since I’m working the floor this afternoon.

“Hi. How can I help you?”

He’s a guy in good shape, and quite attractive. He’s not nearly as good looking as Eric. He looks damn familiar, but I can’t place him.

He grins at me. “You don’t recognize me?”

“I’m kind of bad with faces,” I shrug, “you look familiar though…”

“Dmitri,” he says. “I came in here with Eric when you guys first met.”

“Oh!” I say. It clicks, and I suddenly remember him. “Yeah, I do remember you. Did you decide you want a bike too?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I might. Show me what you’ve got.”

I show him around, and he makes a it a point that I know money is no object, so I show him all of our highest-end models.

He seems somewhat engaged, but I get the feeling that he’s not really interested. He has the aloof air of a billionaire who doesn’t really know what he wants. He just wants to spend a lot of money on something.

“So,” he says, “things are going well with Eric?”

I bite my lip, not wanting to get too sneaky and ask what Eric has said about me. “Eric told you that?”

“I haven’t seen much of Eric lately, I was just basing it on what I’ve been hearing about you two in the news.”

I laugh nervously. “I’m still not used to being in the news. I’m not the kind of person who is supposed to be famous.”

Dmitri smiles. “Eric is natural in the limelight, isn’t he?”

I nod. “Yeah, he is. I couldn’t handle it alone.”

“No matter how well someone handles the light, everyone still has secrets,” Dimitri says cryptically.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Secrets? Are you talking about Eric specifically?”

“What about this one?” Dmitri says, pointing to a bike hanging up on the top rack.

I’m tempted to repeat my question, but I can tell he’s intentionally dodging it. I get the bike down, and Dmitri says he wants to test ride it.

“You have to sign some waivers,” I say.

“Sure thing,” he shrugs.

When he’s working on the waiver, I ask him, “What did you mean about secrets? Are you telling me Eric has some dark secret?”

Without looking up, he says casually, “Everyone has secrets, but every billionaire has at least one dark secret. Hell, I’ve got dozens.”

I laugh, trying to sound more casual than I feel right now. “So what is Eric’s then?”

Dmitri finishes the waiver and hands it to me. “Well, that’s not for me to tell, is it?”