Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(14)

Like we could throw caution to the wind and bridge the gap.

Like it didn’t matter what he’d challenged, and I’d promised.

An instant later, the moment vanished as he released his hold on my arms. He lifted his hands above his head and locked his fingers of the right hand on his opposite wrist. Then he nodded forward and resumed our course in a casual stroll. “Keep that chin up, opens the lungs. Walk it off.”

Unable to catch my breath, a sharp stitch stabbing my side, I mimicked his posture and pace, a few steps behind this time. I had no idea where my competitive streak had come from—easygoing and free-flowing more my style—but the limits of my body had overridden all else.

Along the curve of the track, we walked. When we reached our initial starting point at the end of the curve, he stopped. “Ready?”

No. “Yes.”

And there it was, my newfound competitive streak, back with a vengeance. Maybe it wasn’t running itself, but Darren that kept provoking it from me.

Or maybe it was frustration that my plan to flirt kept falling by the wayside. Every time I got close to him, he threw me off-balance.

On our resumed run, his pace slowed. And this time it was a bit easier to keep up with him.

One additional lap. No collapse.

Another: winded but hanging.

After the third nonstop lap, fourth if the lame first one was included, we slowed and eased up to two shaded metal benches where he’d left the Gatorades. Slight condensation beaded the surface of the bottles. Arms up again, we paced along the short length of the benches. Then he uncapped one of the bottles and handed it to me before opening his own and chugging.

After a slow inhale, I tipped my head back to let the sweet chilled liquid splash over my tongue and, with greedy swallows, coat my parched throat.

“Not bad.” He wiped the back of his arm across his mouth.

His tone had lowered a timbre, almost as if he’d weighted the statement into a double entendre. But with his face tilted slightly downward and his eyes hidden under the shadowy bill of his hat, I couldn’t decipher his expression.

I shrugged, acting nonchalant. “I’ll get better.” Just being out of the warehouse—away from the pressures of real life—boosted my spirits, made the abuse of my muscles worth it.

“Give me about ten while you cool off.” He began jogging away.

“Where you going?” I screwed my cap back on, placing my half-full bottle beside his empty.

“Stadium runs.” He paused and pointed up an incline of metal bleachers.

I eyed the bleachers that glinted in the bright sun. Before he had a chance to run off again, I smiled and raced to catch up with him. “Are you training me, or what?” I gave a light shove to his chest, then charged in front of him.

The last image in my mind was the corners of his lips twitching.

But soon, all thoughts of him vanished as the wisdom of my cockiness reared its painful head. Regardless, I forced myself upward, step after step—muscles screaming, me ignoring.

When I slowed a half dozen steps from the top, he caught up beside me. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” All I could get out.

“You sure? Your face is turning red.”

“No.” Everything hurt. But I powered on.

When we reached the top row, he stopped. “No shame in taking it easy your first try, Flash. Better to pace yourself so you don’t get injured and have to stop training.”

My eyes narrowed. “Why are you calling me ‘Flash’?”

He grinned. “Better than slow poke.”

I punched his shoulder. “Kiki. The name is Kiki.” I tore down the metal steps, legs shaking. “And I’m done.” I shouted over my shoulder.

Rapid clanking followed until he was right behind me, voicing, “I’ve gotta shower then head to class anyway.”

Second to the last step.

Last step.

Bottom.

And I hadn’t fallen on my face: major accomplishment.

“What are you studying?” I didn’t picture him in college. Yet another tidbit of info I hadn’t bothered to ferret out of him.

“Sound engineering and music theory.”

“Music theory?”

“We analyze how the great composers create. We learn the language behind the music. Sound engineering because musicians don’t always make it. But there’s usually a need for technicians in music, movies, and gaming.”

“Wow. Sounds…technical.” Brilliant. Clearly, my thumping heart had cut off my brain’s ability to formulate educated responses; it had siphoned all the oxygen to my screaming muscles.

“So what do you think? Ready for something different next time?” He held the gym door open.

I brushed past him, doing my best to ignore the enticing heat from his body and his sexy-as-hell masculine scent. “I don’t know. What constitutes different?”

“It’s a surprise.” He leveled a serious look at me, then waited a beat. “In or out?”

Both. My nerve cells pinged to life as my thoughts guttered. He looked incredible, all hot and sweaty and shirtless.

What the hell was I doing? Losing control. I kept guys at a safe distance. Man candy. Fun. That’s all I’d ever felt comfortable enough after…

I swallowed hard, refusing to go there.