Page 117 of Get Me to the Starting Line
She doesn’t text me back at all during dinner, and I’ve about had it. Like a fucking child throwing a temper tantrum, I stomp up to her room and bang on the door. Nothing more than faint, muffled sounds tell me she’s inside until I hear a muttered, “what the fuck,” before she wrenches open the door.
I’m stunned for a moment. Her hair is tousled—messy as though she recently had sex. Oh fuck. I hope she didn’t have sex. What if she was feeling so high after the run that she took someone to bed?
First, none of my business. Second, that would be completely out of character for her. She wouldn’t do that. She’s in comfy looking pajamas, soft cotton pants and a loose T-shirt. I have to bite back my moan as her nipples pebble through the fabric at my perusal.
“Do you need something?” She sounds irritated. I guess I’ve been standing here staring. She’s just so beautiful. Her face is all freckled and sun-kissed, her nose a little red. She looks clean enough to lick.
“Can I come in?” My voice is husky and I see her stifle a shiver.
She narrows her eyes but then steps aside. The door shuts with a loud click behind me, sealing us in.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, resuming my assessment.
“Weird.”
Not the answer I was expecting. “How so?”
“I feel so drained—more exhausted than I ever have. Kinda like I spent the whole day at the beach in the sun, but also my muscles are hot and achy.”
I’m hot and achy. But for a whole different reason.
“That’s pretty normal, especially after a race in the heat.”
“You don’t look exhausted,” she accuses.
But I am. I’m exhausted from staying away from her. Especially right now when she takes me in. Vulnerable and assessing. She’s wary but hasn’t told me to leave. I’m done waiting.
“Do you want a massage?” I ask, deflecting her question.
“Paige came in and gave me one,” she says. Is that regret in her voice?
I nod, unsure what to do next. Every part of me aches to reach out to her. But she stands too far away, keeping her distance. She doesn’t give me any sign that she wants me to come closer, so I take a step back towards the door, already feeling the sting of disappointment and embarrassment.
“A-Alright, I’ll leave you to rest.” Without waiting for her response I turn, my hand on the handle.
“Julien—”
Her soft voice makes me pause. I don’t turn around, worried that if I do, I won’t be able to hold back.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For w-what?” The words stick in my throat.
“I couldn’t have done this without you today.”
That makes me turn around. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to.”
“Is that what you think? That I’m mad at you for this?” Her arms fly out to the sides, gesturing at the whole situation, but I know she means the race.
“Aren’t you?”
“If you’d asked me that at mile twelve, I would’ve said yes.” A small smile plays on her lips. My mind goes back to when she hit the wall. I’ve felt that before—in races, on the ice. That moment where you don’t think you can’t keep going.
“And now?” I raise a brow. She takes a step closer and I don’t dare to breathe.
I watch the column of her throat as she swallows. She’s a walking dream, in real life, standing in front of me.
My fingers pulse with the need to touch her. She takes another step forward.
