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“Okay.”
“I love you,” he said carefully. The front door opened again as Dean extended an ice tea. “Dallas?”
“I love you, too.”
When Rita made it back to Dean’s mother’s house, Dean surprised me by taking a detour on the way home. We pulled up to the brightly lit track and I turned to him in surprise. He reached behind his seat and then held out his hand to me. I made out the stopwatch in his hand and gave him a sideways look.
“Exactly what are you thinking, Martin?”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“About what, old man? There is no way you still have the speed.”
“Care to wager on it?”
“Nope,” I said, exiting the car. I heard his laugh as he popped his trunk and pulled out his old track shoes.
“Afraid you’ll lose?” he said, exchanging his shoes and tying them the way I’d seen him do it a hundred times. His shorts were too long, and I couldn’t help but smile that he had kept the same shoes all these years.
“Afraid of your impending injury,” I retorted, rolling my eyes. As we walked and approached the track, I felt the inevitable drift of the memories we had made here. Hours of practice led to hours of nights we talked until the timed lights clicked off. Sometimes he would take me driving after, or out for food, others he would simply keep talking far after we were supposed to have left.
“Good times here,” he whispered as he lifted his foot behind him, stretching his hamstring.
I’d loved everything about watching Dean race when we were young. I loved the layout of the clay track, the emotion of the race, and the fact that Dean was unstoppable. It was as if there could never be anyone faster. I admired his athleticism so much. I pushed him hard because he simply was the best and his record reflected that. Without another word to me, he began his warm up in a slow jog around the track. I admired his physique the way I had so many times before, with the exception of the fact that the beautiful guy he used to be had turned into an even more stunning man.
“Three,” I piped as I always did when he rounded the corner. When Dean got into the zone, he often needed a reminder of his progress. When he was fully warmed up, he took his mark and gave me a nod.
I shook my head and humored him. “Ready, set, time!”
A few older women circling the track for their nightly workout hollered out their appreciation as Dean took off like a bat out of hell, shocking us all. Something inside of me swelled, maybe it was pride, maybe it was recognition of the days when Dean blazed across the very clay he was racing over now, but I fell right back into step.
“Get the lead out, Martin. A geriatric could do better!”
I wasn’t positive, but I thought I could see a small smile form on his lips at my comment as he flew past me on his first lap.
“Three seconds off!” I hounded as the women stared at me with contempt. It never failed, even years later, there were always groupies. “Seriously, Martin, hang it up. You don’t have a chance!”
I narrowed my eyes at the two women who were openly ridiculing me, and that had just joined the Dean Martin fan club.
“Suck it, ladies!” I said loud enough to hear their answering gasp. Dean cornered the track slightly winded as I dug in.
“You’ve lost it, old man. Time to burn those shoes and invest in some Dr. Sholls.”
I saw his face contort and recognized something I hadn’t seen in years. When Dean began to race toward me, I panicked and threw the stopwatch down as I began to run from him. “Angry Spaniard!” I screamed in a laugh as I raced toward the women who were now just as terrified from the spectacle. I felt the rush of air leave my lungs as Dean tackled me in the middle of the grass. The women laughed hysterically, clapping for Dean as he pinned me down under him.
“Seriously I thought you were a good coach?” He grinned down at me, droplets of sweat trickling down his now loose hair.
“It worked.” I grinned up at him.
“Did you tell those women to suck it?”
“No,” I said, lo
oking at him like he was delusional. “But I have to say your groupies are getting a bit older than you are used to, but no less willing.” I rolled my eyes as Dean waved a polite hello to the two women openly ogling him.
“Why did you stop? Worried you wouldn’t make your time?”
He rolled off of me and lay next to me on the grass, his chest heaving as he answered. “I didn’t have anyone to beat.” He looked up at me in question. “What was my time?”
