Page 20 of Get Me to the Starting Line

It’s no use—nothing can keep my focus for long, and I’m already getting hard again. I finish up, relieving myself once more before getting out of the shower. It was pointless anyway seeing as I’m about to head off on my morning run.

The woman who starred in my salacious dreams sent out an email with the finalized itinerary for the stag and doe weekend. I couldn’t help smiling when I saw she had chosen a race. A half marathon—scheduled for after playoffs, in June next year, seven months away.

Imagining her face as she angrily typed out those words gave me a sense of satisfaction I’ve rarely felt. From what little I know of her, I’m guessing she doesn’t give in easily, so to have won this particular battle is rewarding. Picturing her angry face was what stuck with me, refusing to leave.

And then images of her running, sweating while crossing the finish line, determined to prove me wrong.

Damn, the race. It’s going to be ridiculously hot that time of year in Vegas. A seed of guilt worms its way into my stomach as I lace up my shoes and head out the door.

Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested it. I barely know some of the other wedding party members. Maybe there are other people who don’t enjoy running. I shouldn’t have pushed for it. I could blame Leah for riling me up by arguing with me.

Antagonizing her was thrilling, and I couldn’t help it.

And there I go again, thinking of Leah and her anger. Her expressive green eyes as she glared at me on the houseboat. I’d love to see her glare while I sink into her slowly. I’d provoke her to the brink of her anger and desire and then ...

What the hell is wrong with me?

I concentrate on my heavy steps, watching my feet as they meander across the pavement. The run’s calming effects don’t last for longer than ten minutes because I hear an angry voice that awakens my entire body.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” the voice whispers from my left.

I lock down all my emotions, forcing my body not to react when I turn my head and see Leah walking briskly down the connecting path. That’s when I realize I’ve stopped to stare.

“W-What are you doing here?” My low voice practically growls.

That delicious anger flashes in her eyes and I feel my skin begin to itch with need. I need to go to therapy.

“I didn’t realize you own the paths,” she spits.

She’s right beside me now and I take a peek into the stroller. Her son—Levi, I think his name is—is playing with some sort of ball tethered to the bar of the stroller. He throws it and it comes right back up to him. Genius.

“Do you have a problem?” she asks, pulling my attention away from her kid, whose green eyes match his mother’s.

“No,” I say, and somehow we begin walking side by side.

“What are you doing?” she asks when I don’t begin running.

“Walking.”

“I can see that. Weren’t you on a run?”

“Yes.”

She sighs dramatically, and I can’t stop the quirk of my lips. Luckily, she’s staring ahead so she doesn’t see.

“Well.” She sounds flustered. “You can go on ahead, I’m sure your giant legs can run quickly away.”

I shrug, not knowing why I stay with her.

The sunrise gives the illusion of her spitting flames. She’s breathtaking. I thought she was beautiful at the party but here, with her fresh face and her short hair pulled back in two tight braids along the sides of her head, she’s stunning.

If only her personality wasn’t so abrasive, I might be able to handle spending more time with her.

Her black leggings hug her full ass, and the loose T-shirt she’s wearing—it reads “My body type is: exercises but loves food”—does nothing to hide the curves of her chest. I spot a tattoo on her forearm. It’s pretty, the black fine lines forming three daisies from a single stem. I want to ask her about it but I know tattoos can be personal.

“Seriously, you aren’t going to say anything?”

“No.”

---