“Did you want someone to run with?” he asked.
“I, uh, I was going to see if you were up—er—awake.” Part of him was certainlyup.
“Well, I’m up,” he said, and the hint of humor in his tone make me think he knew exactly what I was thinking. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll get dressed.”
His hand released me, and he turned to walk toward his bedroom.
Did I watch his back and ass?
Yes, yes, I did.
Then I needed to sit down, thighs pressed tightly together, to try to ease the ache building between.
True to his word, Nico was back less than ten minutes later. He’d changed into black basketball shorts, a black tee, and some mildly beat-up running shoes.
“Do you need a water?” he asked, waving toward the fridge.
“Uh, no. No, I’m alright.”
“Where did you want to run? Do you want to do the whole Loop again?”
“Is that too much?” I asked.
“Not at all. I’ve been lazy with the gym this week. I can use a good workout.”
With that, we were off.
Nico was significantly taller than me, his long legs capable of a much longer stride. But he paced himself to me, staying right at my side, mile after mile. As we both started to sweat and our breathing went faster.
Despite what he said, the man clearly dedicated himself to the gym. Not just evidenced by his physique, but his stamina.
By the time we finished the Loop, he was sweaty as hell, but not huffing for breath.
“Do you want to do the North Woods?” he asked, watching me, somehow reading me. “So you don’t feel like you have to be afraid of it?” he added.
“Do you mind?”
“What’s another mile or so?” he asked, shrugging.
Then we were winding our way through the same uneven paths I’d run the last time, seeing the same thick foliage, hearing the same bubbling and crashing water.
As we neared the arch, I felt my heartbeat quickening, felt my chest tightening.
“I’m right here,” Nico said, sensing the change. “No one’s going to touch you.”
I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to keep going.
This time, though, as I closed in on the arch, I didn’t slow my pace, some part of me just wanting to power through, to hell with the danger.
It wasn’t until I felt myself tipping, then falling toward the water, that I realized my mistake.
But like he’d assured me, Nico was right there.
His hand shot out, grabbing me and yanking me. It was an overcorrection, and the momentum had me slamming into him. His firm lines met my softer ones. And suddenly, my breathlessness had nothing to do with the near-fall, the panic, or the exertion.
“You’re okay,” Nico said, his arm going around my lower back.
And, God, it felt good to be held.
