Page 41 of Get Me to the Starting Line
This immediately raises her hackles, her calm demeanour flaring to life.
“Well, excuse me. I’ll tell Levi to hurry up his temper tantrum because Julien will be pissed if we’re”—she grabs my wrist, checking my watch, the heat of her touch sending a shockwave through my system—“four minutes late.”
She frowns, releasing her hold. My arm drops to my side, the effects of her touch still lingering. Has she ever voluntarily touched me before? I don’t think so. We typically keep a safe and respectable distance, running or walking side by side.
Even when we were sitting in the restaurant the other day, we barely touched.
But now she’s standing so close to me, one hand still on the stroller. The heat of her body radiates between us.
The shield starts babbling, releasing me from her green eyes as she turns to her son.
I have to pull it together. If she decides she doesn’t want to run with me anymore ... I don’t want to think about that. Besides, I’m here to keep her safe.
“It’s dangerous, okay?”
“What, walking to meet you?”
“Taking the same way every time.”
There’s a flash of irritation before she inhales, I’m assuming to calm her temper. What did I say now?
“I’m going to let this slide this one time because I’m assuming you’re worried about me. Which is sweet. But I’ve lived thirty-one years as a woman, I know what precautions I need to take. I may come through that path every day, but I take alternative routes, not in a pattern, to get here.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have assumed. I should apologize. But instead I say, “Okay.” Which earns me an eye-roll. “How long do you want to go today?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’m not sure. How much do we usually do?”
“We typically run for about thirty minutes.”
“Ugh, why does it feel so much longer than that?”
Funny. To me, it’s not nearly enough.
“Let’s try running a little longer each interval today.”
“What are we at?”
I have to hide my smile. She’s unlike any runner I’ve ever met. Even being new, she’s not obsessed about pace or time or tracking every step. She’s here to ... What is she here for? It can’t just be for Paige.
“We’re at five minutes running, two minutes walking.”
“Lead the way.”
The silent trust she places in me to lead our runs satisfies some primal part of me. The need to be needed. We settle into our usual pace for the first interval.
I’m not going to tell her I also want to try picking up our pace. The slow runs have been working to my advantage—I’m getting some great low heart rate training.
My endurance has built, especially on the ice. And in the runs I do alone, I’m able to go farther. There’s something to be said for running at a slower pace.
After our first walk interval, when we start running, I go a fraction faster. Apparently I can’t sneak anything past this woman because her head whips towards me, and I feel her attention lasering in on the side of my head. I don’t turn, though, merely continue at this quicker pace.
She’s huffing by the time we finish the seven-minute run interval I set. I do the next one at our regular pace and continue that pattern.
We’re almost to the end when I see her wince out of the corner of my eye and immediately stop, thoughts turning from run coach to worried ... friend? I think we’re friends. Why does that word sound off?
“What’s wrong?”
“What are you talking about?” She glares back, and I feel my brows pull together.
