Page 21 of Running Into You
“That douchebag didn’t know that.” There’s an edge to his voice I haven’t heard before. He’s walking with his hands in his pockets, and he looks positively disgruntled. I start to scan our environment for people. People passing us on the street, driving by in cars, waiting for buses. Do people think we’re a couple when they see us? Seriously? Josh is a ten and I’m a solid seven on my best day. If this were a Hallmark movie, he would be the guy the successful business woman leaves her seven-figure salary and filthy rich fiancé to be with.
“I need to get a few things in here,” I tell him, pointing to the large Lululemon logo on the brick building. “Why don’t you head back, and I’ll see you tomorrow?” He looks up at the building.
“You don’t need fancy clothes to go for a jog.” His voice is low as he looks me over. There’s that heat again.
“But I do need a bra that will stop my tits from smacking into the chin. See you tomorrow!” I leave him staring after me as I escape into the store.
Chapter 12
Josh
Iget back to the apartment a little after six and collapse on my couch. Images of Betty jogging self-consciously in the store while that jerk-wad leered at her replay in my brain. Her full breasts bouncing as she ran. And don’t get me started on how perfect her ass looked in her tight skirt. God, it sounds like I had been doing my fair share of leering. Still, I was ready to permanently blind that guy so he would stop looking at her like that.
The more time I spend with her, the more I’m aware of how she affects me. When I thought she was upset earlier, I could think of nothing else the entire day. I meant what I said to her yesterday; I would do anything for her. She’s been back in my life for a week now and already it’s hard to imagine my life without her. I care for her very much. Which is why I need to stop thinking of what kind of sports bra she’s going to select. It’s a good thing I’ve volunteered to run with her several times a week for the foreseeable future. I collapse on my couch, wondering just how much trouble I’d signed up for.
I check my phone and see that I’ve missed two calls. I sigh and decide to get the least frustrating of the pending conversations out of the way.
“How was Lil’ Yoshi’s first day of school? Were the other children nice to you?” My sister is such a shithead. Yoshi is a nickname she gave me after I taught her how to play Super Mario World on our old Super Nintendo. She used to squeal with laughter anytime one of our characters got knocked off the dinosaurs and the little Yoshi’s ran around like chickens with their heads cut off.
“No, but I picked a fight with the biggest one, and now I’m the head bully on campus.” This banter goes back and forth for a bit, and we fill each other in on each other’s days. I tell her I have a great feeling about the school and that the administration seems forward-thinking and very supportive. She tells me about the new place she’s bartending a few evenings a week and the progress she’s made on her novel. She’s been working on the novel for three years and she’s still not happy with it. It’s a fantasy novel where she’s built a new world from the ground up. Thanks to a hefty inheritance from our late grandparents, she doesn’t need to work; neither of us does. Rilla works because it makes her leave the house and talk to people.
Like me, Rilla knew from a young age what she wanted to do in life. Unlike me, she didn’t constantly look to other people for their approval and therefore avoided any guilt and pain when they didn’t give it to her. I’ve always admired that about my baby sister. I’ve also never had to worry about someone taking advantage of her. She knows exactly who she is and if anyone doesn’t like it, they can go fuck themselves.
“Are you being nice to my girl?”
“I’m always nice to your girl. Far nicer than I am to you.”
“This is true. What the hell, man?” She pauses. “But for real, Betts seems good?”
“Yeah.” I tread carefully. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs and I can picture the scowl that goes with it. “I worry she’s not getting out a lot. All she talks about is work when I call. She hasn’t really dated anybody since Kurt.”
Wait. Who is Kurt and why do I have the sudden urge to tell him that I hate him? I don’t remember Rilla ever mentioning that Betty was in a relationship before, but maybe she had, and I just wasn’t paying attention. I’m paying attention now.
“How long were they together?” I ask, hoping my tone is casual.
“I don’t know. More than a year, at least. She met him during her master’s program. I never met the guy and Betty doesn’t like to talk about him. But I think the relationship was toxic and I’m pretty sure he caused some lasting damage.”
I can actually hear the blood rushing to my head as I grip the phone in my hand. Thinking of Betty with someone else is unpleasant. Knowing that person wasn’t good to her is downright unbearable. What kind of person does that? This Kurt guy had the chance to be with someone as wonderful and amazing as Betty and instead of being grateful that he’s the luckiest son-of-a-bitch on the planet, he hurts her. I take a deep breath and attempt to calm myself down.
“I met her friend Maggie the other day,” I say, moving the conversation away from Kurt. “She seems great. I think Betty likes her better than you. I know I do.”
“Don’t get me started on Maggie and her skin magic.” Rilla growls. “Are there any gorgeous young single teachers at your new school that you can introduce Betts to?”
“I haven’t polled the staff on their relationship statuses yet, I’ve been too busy enriching young minds.” I had met a couple of guys my age at the school, but like hell I was going to play matchmaker for Betty.
“You should get on that, and not just for Betty. Maybe there’s a cute librarian who could beHot For Teacher.”
“I did meet the librarian. Her name is Ruth, and she’s three hundred years old.”
“Ugh, you’re so picky.”
“Look, I’d love to continue this conversation, but I have to call mom back.” I mean that. I would much rather keep talking to Rilla than field endless questions from my mother.
“Ah,” she says knowingly. “Good luck with that.”
“I’ll need it. Take care, crone.”
