Page 12 of Lessons in Love
Three layers on the upper body, gloves, thick socks, sneakers, and a hat and I’m out the door running. My headache has subsided and pounding the pavement beats my head pounding. My breath comes out in puffs of white air as I work my way through the neighborhood and up toward the bridge. It’s a sea of red brake lights on my approach. I smirk, feeling mighty proud that I’m choosing to be awake at this hour instead of forced to be. There’s a difference, and I worked hard to have the option.
Pumping my arms, the slow incline becomes easier as I pick up speed. I see my stopping point ahead and run faster. I hit my mark and stop, bent over, out of breath. When I look up at the Manhattan skyline, I’m in awe of the way the sun rises giving the world a golden hue, even if just for a moment in time. If the run hadn’t, the sunrise would have taken my breath away.
My heart rate evens and I stand there at the mercy of its beauty. Forget last night and troubles that aren’t really troubles. Look at the hope that rises in the east and sets in the west. Today is a new day, wiping our slates clean again.
I start to get cold standing there, so I continue jogging the rest of the bridge enjoying the view with the slower pace. I cut right, heading for the Manhattan Bridge to loop back to Brooklyn. Stopped at a light, I push the button impatiently ready to carry on with my run and get back.
“Hardy?”
I swear I heard my name. Looking over my shoulder, nope. No one there.
“Hardy?” Glancing over my other shoulder there’s a yellow cab. The passenger window is up and the cab driver looks half asleep. My gaze follows further back. Looking too beautiful for hers or my own good, I smile just from seeing her.Constance.Shit. It’s not Constance. I forgot. It’s Virginia. “Hi,” she says as if I’ve just made her day.
I’m still smiling like a loon when I realize I’m supposed to be mad at her. “Hey,” I reply, checking to make sure the light hasn’t changed. That sinking feeling from last night sits solidly in the gut of my stomach. “You live in Brooklyn?” I ask, making casual conversation since we’re both stuck awkwardly at the same light. “I figured you for a Manhattanite.”
“I am.” Her expression falls, reading mine. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m sorry.”
“No need,” I reply, waving the apology away so I don’t have to accept it. The pedestrian signal gives me the go-ahead, so go ahead I do. “Have a good life.”
“Bye,” I hear behind me as I jog forward.
Here’s the problem with the city—too many damn lights. Not twenty-five yards later and we’re both stuck at a light right next to each other again. When I spy her cab next to me, I start debating: should I say hi again or pretend I don’t see her?
“Hi again,” she says.
“Hi,” I acknowledge her against my better judgment, but I hate being rude even if we’re only meant to be a one-time kind of thing. Besides mucking up my morning wood earlier, now she’s screwing with my bodyandmind. I look down and see my pants pushing out. My jog is supposed to center me. I usually have clarity and solid focus afterwards, but when I look down, I’m solid all right.
I’m actually impressed with the strength of these compression pants. They’re doing a fair job of restraining the will of a thousand armies down there. I’m still cautious about looking at her directly. She has some kind of super power that makes me want to toss my heart right into the ring of fire. And I’m not talking about anal, though I’m not opposed to that, quite the opposite.Fuck.
She interrupts my pity party. “It’s good to see you again.”
I pack away my tiny imaginary violin, and rub the back of my neck. “You mean from the last block?”
“No, from last night.”
“Yeah, okay.” I’m not sure what else to say to that. The woman vexes me. First off, how does someone who looks like her stay a virgin? Secondly, is she still a virgin after last night or did she give it up to that asshole after I warmed her up? Fucking asshole. I start running because the street is clear of traffic and I don’t know what to say to her. Does she want me to make her feel better? Tell her it’s okay that she made me feel used and slightly dirty, though the dirty part in reference to good or bad is still up for debate?
The cars start moving just as I reach the next intersection. In my peripheral I see the bright yellow cab slowly pulling up to the light. “For fuck’s sake. What the fuck?”
The cabbie’s passenger window rolls down and he leans down so I can see him. “Hey, mister, this could be a lot less weird if you hear the lady out.”
The back window rolls down and ConstanceVirginialooks mortified. The problem is she looks so damn good, even in mortification, that I walk up to the cab and open the door. “Scoot over.” After I slide in next to her, I shut the door, and ask, “Where are we headed?”
The driver replies in a crotchety voice, “Financial District.”
Oh, nowhe’sbothered. The irony is not missed. Turning toward her, I ask, “Why?”
The cab starts moving again, and Con—Virginia answers, “Because I’ll be late to work if we don’t.”
“You work in the Financial District?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a financial analyst.”
“I swore off that industry when I left Manhattan three years ago.”
