Rock Bottom Girl(47)

“I hate you,” I told Jake.

“Get your ass down here.”

I hung up and spent thirty seconds debating whether or not to crawl back into bed before dragging on a pair of clean shorts, a sports bra, tank, and sneakers. I slothed my way out of the house to where Jake was stretching his really spectacular quads.

“What are you doing here?”

“Meeting my girlfriend for an early run,” he said as if it was obvious.

“How is torturing me like this going to keep She Who Shall Not Be Named at bay?” I yawned.

“You’ll see. Besides, your health should be your number one priority. If you’re gonna coach a team of girls in a sport that’s ninety percent running, shouldn’t you know how?”

“I know how. Move legs. Stop breathing. Puke. Repeat.” I was hilarious at the ass-crack of dawn.

“Come on, Mars. I’ll go easy on you the first time.”

Oh, that devil may care grin. I might have been mostly asleep, but even not fully conscious that bad boy smile was lethal.

“Whatever. Just tell me what to do,” I said pretending not to be enthralled with those really nice muscles peeking out of his shorts. V cuts, I believe those delectable lines were called.

“Submissive. I like it,” he teased, jogging in place.

“You’re disgusting.”

“We’re gonna warm up for ten. A nice light jog,” he said, jerking his head toward the sidewalk. “Come on, pretty girl.”

I was annoyed by the warm appreciation that coated my stomach like honey at the nickname.

Following him down the sidewalk in the pre-dawn light wasn’t the worst early morning experience I’d had. His legs chugged along in front of me hypnotically. The muscles in his back bunched and tightened. Too bad my lungs were burning as if I’d just inhaled ammonia.

“I can hear you puffing like a chain-smoker.” He slowed his pace until I gasped my way to his side. “Lesson One: The Breath.”

“Teach me, Obi-Wan,” I wheezed, mustering the energy for an eye roll.

He shoulder-checked me, and I tripped, landing in Mr. and Mrs. Angstadt’s pink flamingo flower bed in their front yard. I took a beak to the gut and made one hell of a racket.

“Christ, Cicero. You’re a freaking disaster,” Jake snickered. He pulled me to my feet.

“You pushed me, you jackass.”

“As I was saying, the breath is important because if you don’t have that, you ain’t got nothing.”

“Did you ever think of teaching English?” I asked, righting a dented flamingo.

“Shut up and run.”

We took off again slowly. The beak break had been good for my breath. I had some now.

“Good girl. Now, breathe in for three steps. Nice and steady. And out. In for three. Out for two. This is called rhythmic breathing.”

Sucking and gasping, I survived his thorough scientific explanation on footfalls, breath, and stabilizing core muscles on the exhale. We navigated a few more blocks, and I was moderately pleased when the side stitch never made it beyond a vague nagging in my right side.

He was sweating, little beads that formed on his chest and shoulders before melding together in sexy little salt rivers. I had a good sweat on too, and I hated to admit it, but I felt…okay.

We turned back onto my parents’ block.

“Three houses to go. Sprint it out,” he said, not even remotely winded.

Mainly just to save face, I let my legs unspool and listened to the whistle of wind in my ears as I eeked out a respectable medium speed. I arrived at my parents’ walkway several steps behind him and bent at the waist to gulp in air.

“Don’t do that,” Jake told me, pulling me up. “Walk it off. Let your heart rate come down naturally. Don’t ask it to come to a screeching halt.”

Hands on hips, I paced the sidewalk, trying to control my breathing. I’d gone through the couch to 5k program about four times in the past seven or eight years. Well, technically I’d never actually finished it. Or run a 5k, come to think of it. But every once in a while, I tried to talk myself into becoming a runner.

However, the torturous misery of it guaranteed my failure. But this hadn’t been awful. I felt awake. And maybe just a little bit alive. The birds in the maple tree were chattering about something, and the sky was getting lighter.

“Is that a smile?” Jake asked, amused.

I used the hem of my tank to mop at the sweat that was stinging my eyes. “Okay. So maybe it wasn’t horrible.”

He grinned at me, and my heart rate that had started to slow skyrocketed again. Jake held up a hand, and I slapped it. But his fingers closed around mine.

“Nice job, Mars.” He was pulling me in, reeling me like a fish. My legs were too jelly-like to fight it.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m congratulating you,” he said.

We were standing toe-to-toe, our bodies not quite touching. There was a buzz between us. Blood thrumming through primed veins. Awareness shimmered on my skin, mingling with the sweat. I wanted him to touch me, to kiss me. But…

“Jake. This is fake,” I said quietly. It was more of a reminder to myself. I didn’t want to get swept up in this and forget that all of this was only temporary. Only pretend.

He traced a thumb over my lower lip. “Hmm.”