Page 22 of Get Me to the Starting Line
“I am happy,” she spits at me. The tone of her voice contradicts the words, and I raise my brows as if to say, “You don’t sound happy.”
She rolls her eyes when I don’t say anything. “I’m not happy now, jackass. Ihaterunning.”
“That’s your own fault.” I’m learning where to push her buttons. Her anger thrills me. It emboldens me.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re doing it wrong.”
“There’s a wrong way to run?” Her voice has gone up an octave.
“Your steps are too heavy,” I point out.
She snorts. “Says you. I could hear your elephant steps from a mile away.”
“One point six kilometres,” I correct. Americans and their aversion to the metric system.
Leah grunts in response, but I see her attempt to change the way she’s stepping.
“Land on your midsole,” I instruct quietly.
Surprisingly, she does as I say. The change is immediate. The slapping of her heel-to-toe gait becomes less noticeable. Her brows pinch together. I don’t think she likes that I was right.
“My steps are loud because I am large,” I point out. “You’re small, so you shouldn’t have that problem.”
Her steps slow and she walks again. I check my watch.
“That was two minutes.”
Her head whips towards me. “Really?”
If I thought her anger was sexy, it’s nothing compared to her joy. Her whole face lights up for a moment before she realizes who she’s talking to and her adorable scowl returns. She’s too slow, though. I caught the moment.
“R-Really,” I answer, not wanting to push it too far. We seem to have come to some sort of truce.
When I continue to match her pace, she glares.
“Are you planning on following me the whole time?” she asks.
I shrug in response, earning me another eye-roll.
We stay silent for a while, Leah setting the pace, walking and running in intervals. She doesn’t tell me to leave her alone, so I count that as a good sign.
We make a loop around the park until we come back to the path she came from. I could tell she was focusing on her steps, her face set in determination.
Her intervals stayed around the one-minute mark, but I can tell she’s being held back by her self-doubt. I know the feeling well. Maybe I can help her.
If she’ll let me.
She hesitates at the path leading to wherever she came from. I’m not sure if she drove here to run or if she lives nearby. I wait for her to say something, not wanting to push my luck. I’d probably say the wrong thing.
But apparently, I can’t help myself.
“You did better than I thought.”
Her face scrunches up, anger flaring in those vivid eyes.
“Fuck you.”
