I felt like a million bucks yesterday. The race was amazing, and I did each obstacle without walking around them. Which I learned you could do, but not that Jordan would let me. And honestly, I’m happy I didn’t skip any. I would have felt like I cheated if I did, even though there were no rules to the race other than crossing the finish line.
I think I had a runner’s high or something. I never ran that far before without taking a break. Add in the physical exertion from the obstacles and I was floating on a cloud. Jordan and I never practiced the obstacles, just focused on keeping my stamina up for running and being able to pull my own weight. Which I did, so yay me. I wasn’t the one who held the team down. We came to an obstacle, and no matter what it was, we all got through it. Some of it was just me doing it, like running through tires without falling, or crawling in the mud under barbwire. The monkey bars and rope ladder were a freaking challenge. And thank God I had a team, or getting my ass out of those shipping containers or climbing that twelve-foot wall would never have happened. I totally failed at the rope climbing, but doing the twenty burpees instead made up for it. I wasn’t even the only one who opted for that, as Jules also had no clue how to climb a rope. I think we both missed that day in gym class.
But that was yesterday. The day I could still feel my arms and walk without limping and moaning in pain. Nothing prepared me for this part. Jordan never pushed me so hard that I was too sore to move. Sure, there were days during training that left me kind of sore, but not in full-on pain. I think at one point this morning, just breathing was painful. Which was about the time that Jordan had called to check on dance practice, and I said I wasn’t going. Which is the first time I’ve ever turned down practice. That was the start of the “lovely” calls from my friends.
And I say that with as much eye roll as I can manage without hurting. Yeah, even a simple eye roll hurts right now. Who the heck knew your face could also feel pain after running six miles and completing twenty obstacles? They don’t seem to get the hint that I want to wallow in self-pity today. That I don’t want people to see me and just want to enjoy my life as a potato on the couch with very little movement.
For the past three hours, everyone has called me about four times each, asking if I need anything or sending me texts about what I need to do. I get it. Stretching, icing, and elevation are very important right now. But that all seems like a ton of work, and I can’t do much more than lift the water bottle to my mouth and take the Tylenol pills I got from the bathroom the last time I peed.
The doorbell rings, and I glare at the door, then pull the phone away from my ear and glare at it. “That better not be you,” I growl into the phone.
“Me what?” Jules asks as the door chimes again.
I grunt as I get up off the couch and shuffle in pain to the front door.
“At my door. I told you I don’t want to see anyone. You have any idea how much it hurts to get up?”
“First off, moving is good for you. You should move more. The pain will be less.” I highly doubt that but choose not to say anything. Mostly because I’m holding in a scream as my legs ache. “And second, I’m not at your place. I’m still at the club, waiting for Flint to take me to practice.”
Her words register a second after I open the door without looking. I fully expected it to be her, having no idea who else would come over. I’m stunned, frozen in my spot, when my eyes land on the person in front of me.
The one person I really,reallydon’t want to see. Not only because I look like a hot mess in my short shorts and my bralette that I slept in and still have been wearing all day, but because of what happened the last time I saw him. When my brain short-circuited on me and used him in my anger to prove to that jerk that people saw me for more than just my size.
I don’t know why I moved to Gator after Stanley suggested I would be all into a buffet for a date. God knows I love a deal on food like the next person, but I wanted to feel desired for more than just a good deal.
I’d felt Gator’s eyes on me the entire time we ran. He was beside me the whole way, just like the rest of the team. Never going faster than I was, just constantly keeping pace. Always behind me on every obstacle to make sure I got through it after Bass took the lead.
And Gator went way above the need to just stand there and make a show that I was with someone. He basically claimed me, and not once did he stop, or even hesitate. From the moment he put his lips to my forehead, which tingled with his touch, he never moved his arm off my shoulder till the group walked me to my car and I got in, with him shutting the door for me.
Neither of us really spoke about it, nor did any of our friends comment on it. It was just a thing that happened. Like breathing. It was natural, and despite my self-preservation screaming at me to step away, it felt right.
But that was yesterday, when I rode that high. Today, I’ve been freaking out and playing it over in my head on repeat. Wondering if I pushed him too far or what would happen the next time I saw him. Of course, in all of those scenarios, the next time was weeks from now. Not today.
“You going to let me in?” His voice is like honey, flowing over me, and the shiver in my body isn’t pain for once.
“Who was that? Was it Gator? Is he at your place?” Jules is talking so loudly that I know he can hear her from the smile on his face.
“What are you doing here?” I finally find the words to speak. Though I don’t seem to find it in me to slam the door and be ashamed of my outfit, or lack thereof. It covers everything important, even if there’s a ton of skin showing. Which he doesn’t seem to notice, and I can’t tell if I like that he keeps looking me in the eye or that he hasn’t checked me out. The feminist part of me loves it, but my inner goddess is stomping her foot in a tantrum that the hot young biker isn’t rolling out his tongue and drooling over me.
“Bringing you pizza,” he says as if it’s obvious, and I finally see the boxes. You know you’ve got it bad for a guy when you don’t even notice your favorite pizza joint’s name on the box of food he’s holding.
“I don’t like pizza.” I don’t know why I said it. It’s obvious I do, as my stomach growls loud as soon as I deny it. I think it’s just my way of keeping things on the level I want them. The level where he isn’t the nicest guy on the planet and sexy as sin. The one where I can continue to freak out about what happened after the race, and he can just continue to exist as though nothing happened.
But him showing up means the opposite of that.
He grabs the phone from my hand before I can stop him and puts it on speaker. “Hi, Kitten. It’s Gator. Your girl like Naps Pizzeria, right?”
“Oh hell yeah, she does. It’s her favorite. Make sure she eats enough to replenish the carbs she lost yesterday. She told Jordan that she hasn’t been hungry.”
I groan at her words. Of course he would blab to everyone that I’m not eating. Wouldn’t have put it past all of them to concoct this plan to get me to eat.
What can I say? The pain outweighs my hunger. I’m sure every skinny bitch out there would probably love that, but I like food, and I hate when I’m not hungry. I also don’t like to eat when I’m not hungry. It’s my way of staying in the curvy shape I am. I eat when I’m hungry, stop when I’m not. But going almost a full day without food just makes me sad. It usually happens when I’m sick.
“Thanks, Kitten. Tell Flint I’ll be on my cell for the night.” Then he just hangs up the phone and steps past me, placing my phone in my hand as he moves into my house and heads for the living room.
My mouth is hanging open, just like my door, till he yells over his shoulder, “You got paper plates?”
I shut my mouth, then the door, before I follow him. He’s already in the kitchen, opening cabinets, and I notice the pizza boxes are on the coffee table.
