Page 6 of Beautifully Deranged

"What are you doing here?" He grumbles.

"Morning exercise, fresh air, maybe bumping into a handsome neighbor—total coincidence, obviously."

I could swear I hear him mutter something under his breath, but I don’t catch it. "Not excited to see me? You wound me, really."

"Try keeping up." He sighs.

Asshole.

But also, challenge accepted. “Who the heck are we running away from?”

His scowl deepens. “I’m running away from you.”

Ouch.

I press a hand to my chest, pouting. “So cold. And here I thought we were forming a special little morning routine together.”

He picks up the pace. I match it, my leggings clinging to every flex of my thighs. “You know,” I continue, my breath coming shorter, “I heard running with a partner improves stamina. Maybe I should start joining you every day?”

“Don’t.”

God, he’s so grumpy. It only makes me want to push harder. “Come on, neighbor,” I purr, “it’s good for bonding. We could be running besties.”

His eye twitches. “I don’t do besties.”

I bite my lip, pretending to think. “Workout buddies, then?”

“No.”

“Morning motivators?”

His sigh is borderline murderous. “Not happening.”

I lean in slightly, voice lowering. “Lovers?”

He damn near trips. But instead of slowing down, he speeds up, his long legs eating up the trail, leaving me to practically sprint to keep up.

Alright. So that struck a nerve.

I push forward, keeping up as best I can, but Jesus, his legs are twice the length of mine, and it feels like I’m being punished for my sins. I swear to God, if he goes any faster, my soul is leaving my body. I can’t. I physically cannot. I let my body drop to the grass, my back hitting the cool earth as I sprawl out, panting.

“Go on without me,” I wheeze to no one. “Tell my story.” I let out a few dying seagull noises as I clutch my chest. Because I’m sure he left me behind. He’s probably halfway home by now, basking in his victory.

But when I crack my eyes open, he’s standing over me. Brows drawn, arms crossed, buzz cut glowing under the morning sun. I grin up at him from the grass, absolutely shameless. “Didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you still here?”

He acts like I’m the most exhausting thing that’s ever happened to him. “Because we have to get the ten thousand steps in.”

We?

Oh, I’m beaming. I try to school my face into something less delighted, but it’s impossible.He said we.I want to. I really do. But my legs are currently staging a rebellion.

“I think I’ve already died,” I inform him solemnly, arms sprawled out. “You’re talking to my ghost.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, his strong hands grasp my shoulders and haul me up.

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