Page 32 of Get Me to the Starting Line
And somehow, she hits the nail on the head. Maybe she does understand more than I think. I could tell her about the running I’ve been doing. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Now would be the time to let her in, but I can’t. She’s already helping me so much—I can’t ask more of her. Instead, I nod andshe lets it drop.
“So, what were you trying to ask me on the phone before Levi so rudely acted his age?” I ask, grateful for the lull so I can change the subject.
She smirks. “I was asking if you want to come to a Whales game with me in a few weeks.”
“Oh, um ... I guess?” It comes out like a question. She laughs at the trepidation likely written all over my face, knowing sports aren’t my thing.
“You’ll love it. Watching in person is so much better than watching at home.”
Yeah, because I watch so many games at home, I’ll be able to tell the difference.
“Aren’t they, like, six hours long?”
“Not quite,” she says, laughing.
With her fiancé being a player development coach for the team—and an ex-NHL hockey player—she knows way more about the sport than she used to. Though she’s always loved hockey, now she gets a behind-the-scenes pass, working with the team. It’s also how she met Julien.
That’s when I realize I would get to see Julien as a goalie—observe him in his element. He’s so clearly uncomfortable in everyday situations, but I imagine the ice is where he feels most like himself. Similar to how I feel in my lab, researching and solving problems.
Of course, I’m speculating because I don’t know him that well. Even though I’ve spent a short amount of time with him, somehow, I get him.
Realizing I still haven’t answered her question, I nod. “Sure.”
She squeals and begins explaining all the ins and outs I didn’t ask for about the sport. I let her ramble on, my mind drifting to the next time I’ll be able to lace up my shoes and go for a run.
The thought hits me out of nowhere.
Woah.
Am I ... Am I a runner?
“Youcanaddmoreload,” my trainer, Mick, tells me as I nearly pop a vein leg-pressing my personal best.
Seriously? Sadist.
Sweat coats my long-sleeved athletic shirt, and it’s during these sessions I wish I was as comfortable as everyone else working out bare chested. I’m sorely tempted right now as the wet fabric clings uncomfortably to my skin. I can’t even speak as I bear down, struggling to get the last rep of my set in.
“Come on, don’t be such a pussy, it can’t be that hard.”
He thinks he’s encouraging, but he should be grateful I don’t have any violent tendencies. As it is, I’m ready to punch him in the mouth to shut him up.
Before I can say anything, the door to the gym opens and Paige walks in followed closely by Leah. She pulls up short when our eyes collide.
I tear my gaze away, my heart thudding, and nod to Mick. He adds ten more pounds on each side and I brace myself before starting.
By the end of the sixth rep, I can’t help it. I glance over at Leah. My stomach drops when her back is turned—she and Paige are speaking to Henry Whyatt, the Whales’s head coach.
Mick turns to see where my focus is and chuckles. Loudly. Paige and Leah both turn at the noise while I level a glare at him.
He simply smirks, nodding for me to continue. And now that I know she’s looking, I can blast out three more reps before I feel my muscles scream. I definitely worked them to failure and I’m going to pay for it later.
I sneak another peek and see Leah still watching me, or more accurately, watching my legs. When I catch her staring, she quickly turns around.
“You’re welcome,” Mick hisses.
“Dick,” I mutter.
“Call me what you want, but you’ve been stuck at 860 pounds for months and I just got you up to 880. So again, you’re welcome.”
