Page 44 of Get Me to the Starting Line
Levi had given Julien the usual chompy greeting he adopted a couple of months ago. Most people expect a little “Hi” from him and laugh uncomfortably or smile politely when they get the chompy teeth instead. Julien laughed, sincerely, and rolled with it.
My little wolf.
And Levi responded. It may be a French word, but it’s still a word. Julien hasn’t interacted much with Levi on our runs, not that it’s possible with Levi either napping, eating, or not paying any attention to us, always distracted by the birds or attempting to escape his restraints.
Julien speaking to him for the first time made my heart do a weird flippy thing. Am I having a heart attack? Is there a blood clot working its way up from my calf? Because there’s no way I’m actually starting to like this man.
Except he spoke to Levi, and Levi spoke back. He has three words now. It’s still not enough for his age, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Woo,” Levi says to me, his smile as big and bright as usual, and my heart explodes.
“Yeah, baby,mon petit loup,” I respond, trying to impersonate Julien’s accent.
I cannot even think about him speaking French, the way he practically caressed the words with his tongue.
Shivers.
At my approximation of French, Julien stiffens in his seat. Oh shit, did I offend him? I thought it sounded exactly like him, but maybe I got a word wrong. I inwardly cringe as he swallows, his jaw clenched and staring at Levi.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he says immediately, barely letting me finish the question. He blows out a big breath and turns to meet my gaze. Damn, his dark eyes are intense. Because we run side by side, I can typically avoid direct eye contact. And now we’re in this tense staring contest.
There goes the blood clot making my heart flip again. Maybe I should go to the hospital.
“I like it when you speak French,ma têtue.”
Did I die? Did the clot take me out?
“What—” I clear my throat. “What does that mean?”
He doesn’t say anything, instead turning his attention back to Levi. Looks like I’m not going to get an answer. Not to worry. I have Google Translate—I’ll look it up later.
“How are your legs?” he asks, bringing my attention back to his enormous hands still gripping my calves. As if I could have forgotten.
This is what convinced me I have a blood clot. As soon as he put his hands on me, it was my first thought. Well, frankly my first thought was, “Oh shit, when was the last time I shaved?”
But my second thought was he must have dislodged a clot, because there is no way his hands on me could elicit such a visceral reaction from my body. I’ve never responded to a man this way before.
There has to be a medical reason why I felt a charge from the spot he touched all the way to my brain. Maybe I’m having a stroke? I can still feel the left side of my face, so I don’t think it’s that.
His long-sleeved shirt, the one he always runs in no matter the temperature, one he must have multiples of, pulls taut as I watch his hands move over my skin. I catch a glimpse of ink, just above his wrist. Intriguing.
“Leah?” Julien jolts me from my thoughts of medical disasters where I die from his hands.
“Hm? Oh, right. Um, yeah, my legs are feeling better. Thank you,” I stammer out.
He lingers a beat longer, and yet, not long enough, before lifting my legs from his lap and removing his hands. I feel cold now, even though my heart races like I’m still running. He was so warm.
When he stands, he begins inspecting the stroller.
“What are you doing?”
“How do you unlock this?”
I press my foot on the pedal right beside the wheel and the lock clicks off. Julien takes the stroller and pushes it towards the path.I jar out of my stupor before I end up pregnant again simply from seeing those big hands expertly grip the handle of Levi’s stroller.
Hands that were just on me.
