“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Brock. I thought you would be sick of losing by now?” came a laugh. Brock whirled around from securing his bike to a chain link fence. His hazel eyes narrowed to glaring slits as he saw his taunter was none other than Andre. Andre and Brock had been doing marathons for years and the young men were bitter rivals. It frustrated Brock to no end that he hadn’t yet managed to defeat the dark haired French Andre that moved like a cheetah.
