Page 10 of The Confidentiality Clause
“Unless you want your sister to get a very unfortunate wake-up call, yes, we are.”
“How is this supposed to help me?” he growls. “I barely get enough–” He stops before confessing his lack of sleep.
I raise a brow. “You barely get enough, what? Brain cells? Common sense? I already knew both of those things, but don’t worry, you can follow me on the run so you don’t get lost.” I add a hint of patronization to my tone.
His jaw clenches. I wait with a smile.
“I despise you.”
I place my palm over my heart like he delivered a sincere compliment. “I know. It fuels me. Now go get changed so I can run circles around you before I have to get ready for work.”
After another icy glare, he shuts the door in my face. The grin stretching my lips might be a sign of some kind of issue on my part, but I’ll pack that away for another time. I’m focused on Brock’smanyproblems right now.
A minute or two passes before he opens the door again. He’s changed into black running shorts and a matching fitted shirt. With my black tank top and leggings, we look like we chose to match. Like acouple. I scrunch up my nose at the thought.
“What’s your problem now?” Brock asks as he closes the door behind him.
“I’m in close proximity toyou. There are too many issues to name.”
“Please tell me you don’t talk as much while you run,” he says, exasperated.
“If I did, you wouldn’t know, because you’ll be ten feet behind me,” I shoot back as we walk down the driveway to the sidewalk.
“Do you really think you’re going to beat me, Duke?” he asks, starting to sound more like the Brock I used to know. “I was the fastest skater in the league.”
He’s not lying. When he was in high school and college, he was a blur on the ice. I used to go to hockey games with Sutton sometimes, and it was a thing to behold. But that was years ago, and I doubt Brock’s set foot on the ice in a long time.
“Yeah, incollege. Face it, Carolina, you’re washed up.” I smirk.
He chuckles as he grabs his ankle and pulls it behind him in a quad stretch. His leg muscle flexes with the movement, showing that maybe he’s not as washed up as I teased him about. I tear my gaze away before he can catch me staring and stretch myself. We both do a few high knees to warm up, then I look at him.
“There’s a cul-de-sac at the end of this road.” He points, and in the distance, I can see the rounded curve of homes. “First one there and back wins.”
It’s maybe half a mile in total. I run at least five miles most mornings, though not at the break-neck speed I imagine I’ll need to keep up with Brock.
I nod. “Deal.”
We position ourselves. I didn’t plan on actually racing Brock, but now that it’s happening…determination sets in. I’m not sure what my odds of winning are. Sure, helooksin shape, but when has he had time to work out with all that he does? And I bet he focuses on weight lifting over cardio. I square my shoulders.I’ve got this.
“Wait,” Brock says, breaking my concentration. He grabs my upper arms and moves me to his left, so he’s the one closest tothe road. The warmth of his palms on my skin, combined with the unexpected gesture, has me feeling disconcerted.
“Are you trying to throw me off?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says in a flat voice. “You caught me. I moved you away from traffic because I wanted to throw you off your nonexistent game.”
“Nonexistent–”
He cuts me off. “On go.”
I huff and get in position again.
“Three…two…one, go!”
I take off. The early morning breeze blows back wisps of hair framing my face. I keep my eyes ahead on the rising sun above the quiet neighborhood. Brock suspiciously keeps pace with me. I expected him to fall back or push ahead, not stay right next to me. I push myself harder.
My eyes cut to Brock. His gaze is straight ahead, his jaw sharp and set. It doesn’t look like this is difficult for him. He glances my way, and I jerk my head back forward. I think I hear him let out a laugh as I work to gain some ground on him. I should probably pace myself, but I don’t know anything about racing. I started running in college as a way to center myself before the day began. There was no competition. Occasionally, I try to shave a few seconds off of my time, but nothing that requires me to push myself to extreme lengths.
I enjoy my lead for a moment, relishing in the fact that this isn’t even my full speed. We round the cul-de-sac with Brock a step behind me.
