But what was the harm?
My hormones were practically begging me to kiss him.
So I went up on my tiptoes and touched my lips to his. It was a small connection of flesh, but my senses went haywire, my body lighting up like a firecracker.
“Fuck,” he murmured against my mouth. His hand wound into my hair, tilting my heated face toward his. His gray eyes were delirious with desire, and my breaths came in short pants at just his taste. “You taste fucking delicious.”
His lips came down on mine again, and he deepened the kiss, opening my lips, sucking, nipping. Heat poured off him in waves. The kiss turned demanding, and I grabbed his soft shirt to press him against me. I whimpered into his mouth as his kiss sent me skyrocketing.
Emmett kissed like he was confused. His lips were soft, but as he grabbed for my body, his fingers dug into my sides. Almost punishing. Almost brutal. But I rolled with it, matching each sweep of his tongue with mine.
“Ophelia!” came my mother’s voice.
I shoved Emmett away, finding my mother’s shocked face over his shoulder. Oh shit. Coach, my stepdad Brendan and my mother were staring at me with a mixture of confusion, disappointment, and amusement.
“Sorry,” I said to them, wiggling past Emmett’s still form and walking up to the trio.“I got distracted.”
“I’ll say,” Coach said, fixing Emmett with a glare. “You look like a tomato.”
I brushed my hot cheeks with the back of my hand. I decided to roll with it and dismiss their ogling. “Whatever. I just needed to get it out of my system.”
But as I walked away from Emmett, I felt his heavy gaze on the nape of my neck. Shivers wracked my body and I ached to run back and finish what we had started. I couldn’t help it – I sent a backward glance to where Emmett lounged against the stadium wall. When our eyes met, a flash of desire took hold of me.
Emmett was decidedly not out of my system. I shouldered my bag again, trying to brush off the sexual images burned in my brain.
Well, he needed to get out of my system. I was heading back to Oklahoma, and I wouldn’t see him again.
1
Chapter One
I hate running.
I do.
It’s painful. It’s hard. It’s monotonous.
But then again, there’s always been some sort of thrill, some sense of accomplishment that I feel when I push myself to the brink of passing out. It makes my thoughts numb, everything focused on pulling my burning muscles forward, expanding my heaving chest, and feeling the sweat trickle down my back or off the bridge of my nose.
So maybe, yeah, I fucking love running.
I love the sweet satisfaction that comes from every cell in my body burning with this intense heat.
I love the pain.
I love the delirious effect of a good race.
I love the sound of my feet slapping concrete, track rubber, grass, dirt.
I love that however I do in a particular moment boils down to me. There is nobody responsible for my failures or successes other than me. I am the sole determinant of how good or bad I perform.
I’m damn good at running. Just not that good. I’m nationally ranked in the top 50 of the Girls 300 Meter Hurdles. Thoughts of the Arcadia Invitational sour my steps. Even though it was months ago, I still can’t get it out of my head. Just how hard do I need to work to run those thoughts out of my head?
Too hard.
I shake off the tendrils of disappointment that threaten to falter my stride. I obviously wasn’t ready to go to finals. Nameless Lane 9 had showed up to kick my ass in gear.
Today’s a long day. Seven miles.