Page 26 of Get Me to the Starting Line

His thick thighs flex with each step as he takes the hill in quick little strides, his shorts showcasing the definition of his muscles, leaving little to the imagination.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s a tattoo on his upper thigh, a flash of black ink peeking out.

Biceps bulge under a tight, long-sleeved shirt—black, as always. Paige and Julien should start a club for boring people who almost exclusively wear black.

His long, curly hair is pulled into a thick bun on the back of his head, his light brown skin flush with exertion. He finally looks up, and I see the stubble on his face has grown out to a cropped beard perfectly shaped to his strong square jaw.

Why does he have to be so fucking attractive? It’s reverse karma when jackasses get good genes.

Dark eyes meet mine and I see the surprise in them. Is it just me, or does he pick up his pace?

“Hey,” he addresses me with his deep voice.

Can I speak? Is my brain even functioning?

“Hi,” I manage to get out.

His gaze sweeps up and down my body. Is that judgement? I can’t tell.

“You switched paths.” It’s not a question, but with the way he’s focused on me, he clearly wants an answer.

“So did you.” If he can speak in short, clipped sentences, then so can I. It’s not like I need to ramble on and on. I can be quiet.

That’s such a lie. It’s a trait my sister and I share. We cannot shut up, but I’m forcing myself into silence in front of this man.

It’s a difficult feat to be sure. What would it be like to not need to fill every silence with words? Although, now that I think about it, it’s not that quiet. The birds are chirping now that the sun is rising, something I absolutely hate.

I freaking hate birds. I hate their shrill, offbeat chirps, their incessant need to constantly make noise. Maybe that’s how Julien feels about people.

When it’s almost too much for me to bear, he surprises me.

“Let’s run.” Without waiting for me to agree or disagree, he turns on his heel and starts running down the hill he just ran up. Why is he switching directions? Why are my feet moving to follow him?

“Hey,” I say, trying to control the speed of the stroller going down the hill. “What are you doing?”

He continues staring straight ahead. “Running.”

“Yes, I can see that, you big oaf. Why are you running this way?”

“Were you not going this way?”

“Yes, I was, but you were going the other way.”

“I switched.”

This man. God, he’s frustrating. He falls into step beside me, and I honestly don’t know what to think. His actions and his words are at odds, and yet, he hasn’t said anything douchey yet today. Yet being the key word.

I’m about to turn around and make myself clear that I do not want to run with him when he opens his big, gorgeous, stupid mouth.

“You shouldn’t wear that,” he says.

And there it is.

“Excuse me?” The fucking audacity.

“Your sh-shirt, it’s too bright.”

Too bright. Like he has any right to tell me what to wear.

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