The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(16)
“Run?” I feigned ignorance. Maybe if I played dumb, she’d take mercy on me, and I could get away with not working up a sweat before heading to the office. My strategy had succeeded a total of two times, both while Zoey was recovering from a wine bender. Chances weren’t looking too good at the moment.
Her lips twitched, but she held her ground, her hand planted on her unfairly perfect hourglass waist. “I distinctly remember you promising to be my running partner this morning.”
I pointed my Tastytart at her and took a bite out of the corner. “You took unfair advantage of my wine-induced state last night.” It was cruel and unusual to ask promises from a person taking pulls directly from a box of Franzia. We kept it classy.
Even though I was currently feeling the not so pretty after effects of all that wine, I had a hard time saying no to Zoey. We’d always ran together in college, since our campus wasn’t always the safest at night and early morning, and the routine had stuck when we moved to Seattle.
“I didn’t realize my best friend would leave me to fend for myself to get abducted on the streets of Seattle and end up on an episode of Dateline. They’ll find my body parts chopped up and stored in the freezer of some guy who neighbors describe as ‘nice, but just a little off.’ Do you really want that for me?”
Good lord she was in fine form today, laying on the guilt thicker than extra-chunky peanut butter. Really, it was impressive. Sixteen more ounces of coffee and I’d be able to come up with a worthy retort. Until then, it was zombie nation up in my noggin. “Fine. One more cup of coffee and I’ll be ready.”
“Sorry, cutting you off. Can’t have you yacking all over when we run the waterfront.” She grabbed my mug and poured the rest of my coffee down the sink.
“The service in this place sucks,” I jeered. I scooted off the stool and headed toward my room to get dressed while Zoey chuckled to herself in the kitchen.
Waterfront Seattle was devoid of the usual hustle and bustle at six in the morning. Much like Portland, a lot of the active business professionals ran along the water. The November chill cut straight through my bones until we were well into our second mile along the bay.
Zoey hated running—something I never understood because she was always so excited up until the point our feet hit the pavement—and she was puffing along with short, shallow breaths.
I’d run cross-country in high school and college, and when I ran, everything fell into perspective. I hadn’t been able to get out all week because of my crazy schedule, and the twitchy desire to let off steam had become so bad that I was willing to sacrifice an extra hour of sleep for some much needed exercise.
I was contemplating my goal of finding another deal on Black Friday in a few weeks when Zoey elbowed me in the ribs. I tore out one earphone and shot her a look. “What?”
“Look at that tall, dark, and give me some of this.” She nodded toward a man running toward us, and I fumbled a few steps.
No.
Why?
Of all the spots in the city at the crack of dawn, not just any tall, hot guy was running my way. No, that would be totally awesome and fair of the universe. This man with the sweat soaked gray T-shirt, the material plastered to a set of nicely toned abs, was none other than the friendly neighborhood anti-antichrist.
A dog loped beside him, pulling at the leash to go faster. At my estimation, we’d intersect in the span of fifty steps.
Crap. I knew it was pure coincidence, running (oh, the irony) into him on a morning jog, but my personal vanity would not allow him to see me in such a disheveled pre-makeup, pre-hair-taming state.
This chance meeting could not happen—no, would not happen—if I could help it. I pushed Zoey off the paved path and into a grassy area with a few large oak trees and waist-high shrubs.
We were well-hidden from view when she asked, “What the hell?”
“That’s my boss.” I whispered.
“The Antichrist?” She moved to peer around the tree, and I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back.
She let out an exasperated sigh and threw her arms out to the side. “Come on. He doesn’t know what I look like. Why can’t I take a little looksee?”
“Because someone staring at you from behind a tree is creepy.”
She raised a brow. “So is hiding from your boss behind a tree,” she deadpanned.
“Touché, but I’m willing to let that one slide if you are.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen any time this decade.”
She peered around the tree again and let out a low whistle. “I’d totally hit that if I were you.”
“Rule book,” I reminded her. Which he expected everyone to stick to. Everyone but himself, apparently.
“Screw the rule book. Maybe he could even smack your ass with it.”
I chuckled. “You’re sick.”
She wagged a finger at me. “Resourceful.”
As Brogan ran past the tree, the dog went nuts, pulling at his leash and barking in the direction of where Zoey and I stood hiding. I ducked deeper into the bushes, trying to conceal myself properly. Brogan pulled him back and lightly reprimanded him and then went back to long, purposeful strides.
He seemed to be off in his own world, his eyes unfocused and jaw clenched as he ran. If he’d seen us, he didn’t give any indication.