Page 45 of Meant to Be
Chapter Nine
Sydney remindedherself that she’d chosen to drink and accepted the consequences as she splashed cold water on her face in the small bathroom and then searched her bag for pain reliever to dull the cleaver whacking her brain. She probably owed Mitch an apology but wasn’t sure what for, except for the usual: the letters, her parents talking her out of marrying him. No. She let them talk her into postponing the wedding, not cancelling it. That was on him.
She needed to clear her head and the toxins from her body, so she got dressed to go running. Mitch lived in an established residential area with lots of houses. Surely she’d be safe. She put her toiletry bag back in the guest room, at which point she heard Mitch in the kitchen. Steeling herself, she made her way out but stood at the entry of the small kitchen, not wanting to crowd him. His back was to her, a pair of sweatpants riding low on his hips. He didn’t wear a shirt, exposing a more toned, defined back than he’d had in college. How many pushups or pull-ups had he had to do to get the near-perfect V-shape from his shoulders to his waist?
He turned, taking a sip from the coffee mug he held, his eyes scanning her from head to toe and back again. “Running before coffee?”
“Coffee is my reward, usually.”
She tried to tell herself the cotton in her mouth was dehydration from drinking the night before. But it was hard to convince herself of that when all she could think about was dragging her tongue over his perfectly sculpted chest, running her fingers along the ridges of his six pack, and following the trail of light, bronze hair disappearing into the waistband of his sweats.
“You know, someone is trying to kill you. You shouldn’t be running by yourself.”
“I figured you’d come with me. You look like you can keep up.”
One bronze brow lifted, then he glanced down, as if he’d only just realized he was shirtless. He took another gulp of his coffee, turned to put his cup in the sink, and then strode around her. “Give me five.”
When he emerged, he’d changed into running shorts and shoes, but had left off a shirt.
“I haven’t folded my laundry yet.” He went through a side door in his kitchen to what looked like a mudroom. When he returned, he was wearing a tank top. Sydney stifled a groan. Following Mitch’s firm sculpted body would have made running all the easier. But then she remembered their conversation about how he had no intention of letting her get her hands on him.
“Normally I run along the river, but there aren’t a lot of people and you’d be an easy target. So we’ll have to run in the neighborhood.”
“I just need a couple of miles to run off the moonshine.”
He smirked. “I warned you.”
If only he knew that the majority of her pain was emotional, not from a hangover. “You did.”
With a nod, he made his way to the front door. Sydney followed him outside and to the street, swinging her arms in preparation for running.
“Ready?”
She nodded and headed up the sidewalk. He ran beside her in the street.
“Do you run every day?”
“A couple times a week.” Sydney was already getting winded. She’d gone out too fast, probably in an adolescent effort to impress him.
Mitch, on the other hand, looked like he was engaged in a leisurely walk in the park.
“You?”
“I run a little. I’m involved in rec sports, basketball, and soccer. I prefer to play rather than exercise.”
She wondered if that was a reference to sex.
A horn tooted twice as it pulled alongside Mitch.
A woman grinned at Mitch through the window. “That ought to be against the law, detective. You could cause an accident, running your fine self up the street like that. Swooning women will drive off the road.”
The woman in the car was probably a few years older than Mitch, but very pretty with blond hair. Long fingers with red nails held the steering wheel. Immediately, Sydney’s stomach tightened and she had a profound desire to grab Mitch, and kiss him senseless to mark him as hers. She wondered if his supposed other women had felt the same, although if the rumors were true, they hadn’t. In fact, apparently, all of them loved him, despite his having a reputation as a lothario.
“You look alright to me.” Mitch trotted alongside the car.
“Yes, well, it wouldn’t go over very well if the wife of a police sergeant was distracted by a lowly ole detective running up the street.”
Mitch laughed. “You should get your husband out here. He’s looking a little soft in the middle these days.”
