Page 39 of Get Me to the Starting Line

That would have been embarrassing for him to witness. Thankfully the truck is so high he can’t see—

“You okay?” he asks.

“AH!” I jump at the sound of his voice. I didn’t hear him get out of the truck. I try to collect myself as best I can given the heart attack he nearly gave me. “Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing?”

He furrows his brow, not understanding. “I’m taking you home.”

I gesture to the building. “You did.”

“Paige said to make sure you got home safely.”

“And you did. Thanks. Again.” I start walking off, but the sound of his footsteps follows me.

I round on him. “You don’t have to follow me.”

“Do you want me to walk beside you?”

The loud sigh that leaves my mouth is both overexaggerated and necessary. The couple on the other side of the street turns to see what’s going on. Maybe I was too dramatic.

Nah.

He looks incredulous. “What was that for?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Paige said—”

“Yeah, I know what Paige said. Fine, walk me to my door. Sure you don’t want to sling me over your shoulder, Caveman?”

I glance up and I swear his eyes darken.

“I don’t want to get scratched by your claws.”

Was that . . . ?

“Did you just make a joke?” What are the odds?

He looks me square in the face when he answers, “No.”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, and I’m still chuckling to myself when we get to the elevator.

The humour dies as the doors close, locking us in the little box. It’s even quieter than the truck. My mind races as I think of all the things I could say to him. With every new little detail I discover about him, I have more questions than answers. And he’s probably not comfortable answering any of them.

“I’m sorry if I was prying earlier,” I say, even though I’m not actually sorry. There’s no way I’d pass up the opportunity to ask a man how having a single parent affected him growing up.

“It’s fine.” He pauses and then takes a deep breath.

And still doesn’t say anything.

“Ugh, you are so frustrating!”

“What?” He genuinely seems bewildered.

The elevator dings, reaching the fourth floor, and I stomp off. I shouldn’t care so much about what he was going to say. Why do I even care?

I’m almost to my door at the end of the hallway, trying to focus on the fading speckled pattern on the blue carpet. What is that suspicious stain on the grey walls? I don’t think I want to know. My door is right there, the dark grey representing my sanctuary, if I can just—Julien steps in front of me, blocking my path.

“If I’m going to irritate you, I have to at least know why.”

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