“Ten, nine, eight…” The race app on my phone started to count down.
I looked ahead of me, everything else blurring out of focus. That was what happened when I was on a track. Nothing else mattered. Every care and worry faded as I zeroed in on what lay ahead of me.
“Three, two, one,beep!”
Exploding into a sprint, I pumped my arms. A pulse of pain throbbed in my hand as I swung it, but I shoved it down. My quads tensed with each step, powering me forward. I relaxed my jaw and leaned into the stride. Wind whipped past me as I pushed onward, my muscles working in unison, propelling my strides. Every step bringing me closer to the finish.
Come on, Grace! Move it!
I usually loved speedwork, but I could already tell I was a tick slower than normal, which was annoying but understandable. I leaned forward, pushing through an imaginary finish tape, and then slowed down to a jog. As I did, I caught sight of someone walking toward me on the track up ahead.
It was Preach.
And he was smiling so big, I could see it from the opposite end of the track. He was wearing running tights and a long-sleeve compression gear shirt. It didn’t hide the defined quads and biceps from showing as he started jogging toward me.
A silver-and-maroon skull cap covered most of his dark hair, but some flipped up as he moved. I’d seen plenty of track athletes in my five years of racing, and he looked like he belonged with anyone who’d been racing that long. It amazed me that track wasn’t his primary sport.
A tremor pulsed through my belly as I watched him. I’d only seen him as a drunk, scowling jerk for the most part, but like yesterday, today he was different. As he approached, his face came into better focus, and the bags I’d seen beneath his chocolate eyes yesterday were gone. His pale skin was clear from the dirt smudges, and his shoulders were wide, like he was standing taller.
Confident.
And it was sexy as hell.
Crap! Focus, Grace!
Forcing myself to kick Preach and his perfect smile out of my mind, I bowed my head and checked my watch.
Twelve-and-a-half seconds.Not bad for an upright start and not having dashed in over a month!
I tossed the baton on the ground, hunched over, and took in a few deep breaths.
If I wanted to be competitive, though, I needed that back down into the low twelves. Putting my hand on my hip, I sucked in air as Preach stopped before me.
“Impressive.”
“Thanks,” I said. My heart raced, and it wasn’t from the sprint this time.
What the hell was going on with me? Just because he was cute, that didn’t erase what he’d done to me. How royally screwed up my life was right now. Even if he was nice to me yesterday while picking me up right after I’d left Helping Hands. Even if he was helping me with baton passes.
I needed to keep my guard up. It wouldn’t last. I couldn’t risk getting attached. It’d end in a broken heart.
“What time did you get?” he asked.
“Good, not great,” I said, showing him my watch. “And I was already holding the baton, so no handoff.”
Preach’s gaze fell to the brace on my hand. “You’ll get it.”
“I hope so,” I said, looking over my shoulder at the reddish-brown track stretching around the football field.
Bending down, he grabbed the baton. “Are you ready to give it a try?”
I stole a quick look at his butt.Damn, he’s got a nice ass.
“Or do you need a minute to stare at my backside?” Preach asked, still bent over even though he’d already snagged the baton.
“Backside?” I let out a laugh. “Are you in the third grade?”
“Don’t change the subject.” He grinned as he stood straight.