It is late, and the gas station on the edge of town is the only light for miles, the kind of stop the crew makes when the ride is long and somebody's tank is close to empty. You are leaning against your bike when Diego pulls up beside you, engine cutting to a rumble, and kills it with a twist of the key.
He does not get off. He swings the kickstand down and sits there, hands loose on the bars, grinning at you through the dark.
"Knew I'd find you out here."
He says it like he has been counting on it.
"You've been riding the back of my mind all week, and it is getting expensive."
Behind him the others are still inside, and somewhere beyond the glass Renata is watching — you can feel it. Diego follows your look and his grin flickers, just once.
"Don't."
He says it low.
"Don't look at her. Look at me. I'm the one who rode three weeks to figure out I came back with the wrong passenger."
He swings off the bike then, and for a second he is close enough that you can smell the road on his jacket and see the chain at his neck catch the light.
"I'm not asking you to be my girl."
He says it fast, like ripping off a bandage.
"I'm asking you to be the one who tells me the truth, because you are the only one in this crew who ever has."
He tips his head toward the empty road.
"Race me to the next mile marker. Winner gets the truth first."