"Mini Phinney!" Nate called. His voice echoed throughout the bicycle shop. "I've found a pump for you!" he said, holding the new wheel pump above his head so that Taylor would be able to see it from a few rows away. Well, Taylor would  be able to see, if Nate was able to get it above the tall rows. Nate looked up and down the row.

"Nate?" Taylor's voice called from a few rows over.

"Taylor!" Nate responded, running the direction of his friend's voice. He heard his name being called again, this time from the opposite direction. He followed the new voice. "Taylor? Is that you?" Nate asked, looking down a shady row of the store. As he walked slowly down the row, he looked at the shelves. All that was there were knives and wrenches.

"Nate," a voice said from in front of Nate. Nate looked towards the voice, only seeing a shadow. A man suddenly stepped out of the shadow with a katana sword in his hand.

"Marcel," Nate responded with a gruff voice.

"Ja, das ist mich," Marcel Kittel responded with a grin. "That's me." Nate widened his eyes and took a step back as the German raised the katana high above his head and let out a loud screech. "AHAHIIHIHIHAAAOOO!" Kittel screamed, about to bring the sword down on the American's head.

Dang, Nate thought, the one time I don't wear a helmet.

Just as the sword began to whip down, a loud SMACK came from behind Kittel's head. As Kittel dropped to the cold, hard floor, Peter Sagan held the lead pipe, ready to strike again if necessary. Nate gasped at the blood thirsty Slovak man, who was wearing a 2016 Tour de France Green Jersey. Living in the past...

"Sagan?!" Nate exclaimed. When will the surprises end? The Slovak smiled.

"Yes, is me," he said in broken English. "I have come to save little American and beat German to floor." Sagan dropped the lead pipe and removed his green bicycle helmet, revealing his long, luscious brown hair. He shook his hair out and gave Nate a wink. "See you at Italian class," Peter said before disappearing back into the shadows, dragging Kittel's unconscious body along with him.

Nate turned on his heel and ran away from the sketchy row with the knives and murderous bicyclists. He began to call out for his love once again.

"Taylor!" Nate called, more desperate this time. Nate ran to the checkout line of REI and went to the cashier. He panted for a few seconds- he had more endurance for biking than running- before asking for Taylor.

"Have you seen a man named Taylor Phinney?" Nate asked. The cashier shook her head. "About yea big," Nate said, holding his hand above his head, "big glasses, beard, dopey eyes, probably filming an Instagram video? No?" The cashier shook her head again.

"No, I haven't seen him, but he sounds hot." Nate growled and reached over the counter, grabbing the cashier by her collar.

"He's my Senpai! Back off!" Nate yelled.

"Nate?" a familiar voice said from the left. Nate turned his head and dropped the cashier.

"Oh, hey," Nate said to Taylor, acting cool. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Taylor responded. "I found the pump I needed and then started taking a few Insta vids." Taylor walked over to Nate and handed him his phone. "Mind getting a few shots for me?" Nate nodded and started snapping a few shots of Taylor, though he was thoroughly annoyed.

Really? I wanted to find him to hang out, not do more of these dumb videos...

"Taylor," Nate said, putting the phone down by his side. "I have to tell you something..."

This is the moment Taylor had been waiting for... Nate was finally going to confess his feelings, and then the two would ride off together on a double bike, down the Champs-Élysées and off into the sunset ...

"Marcel Kittel is hunting us down," Nate said. Taylor was stunned and disappointed.

"Kittel?" he asked.

"He wants us dead," Nate explained. "Sagan is on or side, but I'm not sure who else is... do you know what this means?" Taylor nodded.

"Yes, yes indeed... it's the War De France."

To be continued...