“Yes,” she breathes, but it’s a lie. She wants me right now. Her breath sped up, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glossed over with thoughts of me fucking her.
“So what does our workout consist of today? Some walking, light jogging, weight lifting, stretches, what?” I ask, trying to keep my eyes on her face instead of her abs and legs.
She smirks. “I was thinking an easy ten-mile run to warm up, and then some lifting. I saw the gym you have in the basement.”
I cross my arms over my chest and glare at her. “Your doctor did not give you permission to run ten miles your first time out.”
She mimics my move, crossing her arms over her chest. “She permitted me to return to my normal activities. These are my normal activities. I have a race coming up in less than a month, and I’d prefer not to get last place.”
I narrow my eyes. “Fine. We will do things your way. But I’m coming with you so I can carry you home or call a cab when you’re two miles in and you can’t move any further. Deal?”
She rolls her eyes. “Back to worrying about me so quickly.”
“I never said I wouldn’t worry about you. Just that I’d be an ass rather than a gentleman. One wince from you, and I’ll be carry
ing you over my shoulder caveman style.”
She huffs. “Fine, let’s go.”
“You’re wearing that?” I ask, when I don’t see her reach for a tank top or T-shirt.
She cocks her head to the side, putting her hands on her hips and pushing her chest out. “You have a problem with what I’m wearing?”
I stare at her chest. I do. No one should see her body, but me. But now isn’t the time to argue. I’ll save it for when she’s in pain and doesn’t want me to call a car in about a mile. “Nope.”
She heads out my front door, stretching her arms a little as she walks out into the dark sky. The sun has barely started to rise and provide enough light to know that it isn’t the middle of the night. I predict we are back home before the sun entirely comes up. I should take her out to brunch or something. I lock the front door, turn around, and she’s gone.
Dammit.
I sprint down my driveway, squinting as I look from left to right to see which direction she went. To the left is a flat stretch, to the right a giant hill. Of course, she chose the harder path. That seems to be her preferred method.
I run, chasing after her as she finishes climbing the hill. My lungs burn, and my legs ache when I finally catch her.
“What happened to warming up first?” I ask, as I inhale hard, trying to recover.
She smirks, keeping a perfect rhythm and form. She’s barely out of breath despite tackling a huge hill and running expertly. She isn’t jogging; she’s fucking running.
“I already warmed up.”
“Huh?” is all I can get out between aching pants.
“I didn’t wake up at five, I woke up at four, stretched, and warmed up a little on your treadmill in the basement.”
My eyes widen. “You’ve already been working out for an hour?”
She nods, although I don’t see a drop of sweat.
“What race are you training for?” I finally ask, as she continues to sprint. I glance down at her taped ankle, but it doesn’t seem to be giving her any trouble.
“The LA marathon.”
I freeze, stopping for a moment to stumble and fall into my neighbor’s grass.
“Come on you pansy! I don’t have time to stop. I’m out of shape and need to get faster,” Larkyn shouts. She doesn’t hesitate for a second to stop and check on me. She just keeps running.
Shit.
I’m way out of my league. I workout. I run. I lift. I sprint. But I don’t run marathons. I never have. No desire. It’s too much work for not enough gain. I prefer crushing people when I take over their businesses.