Page 55 of Get Me to the Starting Line

Paige glares as Isabel’s wine almost spills from her glass. But she shoots Paige an apologetic look, her big blue eyes wide and pleading. Sighing, Paige drops it and they both turn their attention back to me.

“So, what are we talking about?”

I fill her in, Paige interjecting with commentary about her own feelings. Isabel listens intently. She may be a hurricane of chaos, but she’s whip smart. Her job as a defence attorney has honed her skills as a huntress, so she’s able to detect everything left unsaid between the lines.

When Paige informs her my running partner is Julien, she almost drops her wineglass.

“STOP! NO WAY!” She smacks my arm so hard I almost drop my glass.

I clear my throat, trying to keep my attention fixed on the sleepy dogs and not the two gossip hounds beside me.

Shrugging seems like the most noncommittal gesture I can make.

Paige jabs a finger at me. “Oh no, you’re not getting away with that. You forced me to spill details when Adam and I first started dating, there’s no way I’m letting you off the hook.”

“We’re not dating,” I tell them.

Paige snorts. “Yeah, that’s what he said.”

That catches my attention. “He said that?”

“Oh, you loooove him, you want to kiss him,” Isabel teases, singing and shimmying her shoulders.

My sighs get more and more exasperated.

“No, he’s just convenient.” I feel a little guilty saying that.

“Yeah, so convenient to have a big, hunky French goalie as your running coach,” Isabel giggles. She’s such a lightweight, already tipsy after half a glass of wine. Paige laughs with her, and the sound of their joy surrounding me lightens my spirit.

I catch Paige’s eye and understanding passes between us. She’s still hurt, but she understands. It’s times like this, or when she drops by my house when I need her the most, when I wonder if she knows me better than I think she does.

“So”—Paige nudges me when their laughter has died down—“doyou like him?”

“No,” I say automatically. “I mean, he’s a jackass. He’s so surly and grumpy all the time.”

That’s not true either. I’ve seen the kindness in him, the gentleness. But still, those one-word commands, the backhanded compliments? Jackass.

“Everyone thinks he’s an asshole until they get to know him,” Isabel reassures me.

Something in my stomach sinks. He’s like this with everyone—I’m not special. He probably can’t help himself when he sees someone as terrible at running as I am.

Paige nods along with Isabel, cementing the feeling that tells me I was wrong to assume anything else. I was a damsel in distress. But he’s not a white knight, he’s a reluctant Frenchman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and now feels obligated to help me.

Damn.

I put my wineglass on the coffee table as my thoughts spiral into self-pity territory. Maybe I’m becoming a lightweight like Isabel. I know better than to assume what someone else is thinking, especially after everything Paige and Adam went through. Assumptions can have far-reaching consequences, which end up separating literal soulmates for years.

Not that Julien and I are soulmates. He doesn’t like me that way—he can’t. He’s ... Well, he’s him. All sexy and big, gentle and so incredibly frustrating. And then there’s me, and I’m probably not who he usually falls for.

Forcing myself to banish the thoughts my brain is trying to shove down my throat is harder than it should be. I’m a strong, confident woman. Successful and smart.

But the thought of Julien not wanting to help me, thinking I’m pathetic, and treating everyone this way circles around, whispering doubt to the feeling that maybe he likes spending time with me, enjoys my company.

The image of his hands on my legs this morning returns for the millionth time. He didn’t have to do that. He definitely didn’t haveto do it for as long as he did—I felt fine after a minute on each side, but he lingered.

I let him linger. If we hadn’t been in a public place, if Levi hadn’t been there, I would have let him ...

Nope. That train of thought ends there.

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