Just One of the Guys(34)

“You’re not just gonna sit there and take that, are you?”

Trevor is running beside me. He glances over, grinning. “Come on, Chas, we can catch him. You know Mark. He’s all show. This hill will be his last hurrah.”

With Trev next to me, smiling, I can’t help feeling invigorated…and so bleeping fond of him. Damn it! The man is a prince. We chug solidly up the hill. “Hi, Trevor!” calls a feminine voice, and Trev waves but doesn’t look over. “You doing okay?” he asks.

“Great,” I say. We’re at the top at last. From here, it’s about two miles to the bridge, then just six more blocks to the green.

“Come on, then,” Trevor says. “I can see Mark up ahead.”

The field of runners is considerably thinner here. We’re at the front of the pack…well, in the top quarter, anyway, well behind the true cross-country runners who are probably finishing right this instant. We run along, and I feel my second wind, the runner’s high, the endorphins. Or maybe it’s just Trevor next to me, his hair damp with sweat, face flushed, dark eyes sparkling.

I need to speed up without burning out, to tail Mark to the bridge without letting him know I’m close enough to make a move. But Trevor was right. Flying up the hill was Mark’s mistake, and we close the distance to about thirty yards by the time we reach the bridge.

“Here you go, Chas,” Trevor says. “It’s all yours now. Empty the tank.”

“Thanks, Trev. Couldn’t have done it without you.” I blow him a kiss and do as instructed.

I’m flying now. There’s a slight incline down to the bridge, and by the time I hit the steel grid flooring, I’m flat-out sprinting. When I pass Mark, I don’t say a word, too focused on keeping my stride, on finishing the bridge. I turn onto Ridge Street, taking the corner fast and tight onto the last two blocks of the race. The streets are packed with screaming supporters waving pink flags and cheering madly, and the sight of a flat-out sprinter makes them go a bit nuts. I tear down the last block, cross the finish line, legs rubbery and buckling, and collapse onto the green, heart thundering, lungs burning, happy as all hell.

“You okay?” a race organizer asks, helping me up.

“I had to beat my brother,” I gasp, laughing.

“Good for you,” he says. “Get some water, okay?”

Mark finishes a few seconds later. “Crap,” he gasps, slowing to a walk. “I thought that was you.” He doesn’t look happy, and I know him well enough not to gloat. “Well, shit, congratulations.”

“Thanks, buddy.” We shake hands. Mark slaps my shoulder and goes to get some water without further talking. I catch my breath and stretch my calves and wait for Trevor.

When he crosses the finish line, much more gracefully than I did, he runs right to me and envelops me a big sweaty hug, smelling manly and athletic and somehow of fresh cut grass. “You beat him, of course?” he whispers, making my entire left side tingle.

“Yes, I did,” I whisper back. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Good for you.” He lets me go—oh, it feels so damn lonely!—and takes a long pull from the water bottle the race people give out. “That was a very pretty sight,” he says, wiping his forehead. “You flew over that bridge like you had wings.”

My heart may burst from pride and happiness. “Well,” I say modestly. “It’s a great day for running.” In a flash, I decide to ask him out for a celebratory beer. Just him and me. Maybe the possibility of being with Trevor is not quite as dead as I pretend. Maybe things will shift, and we’ll see that—

“Hi, Trevor.” We both turn. We both freeze.

It’s Hayden Simms, Trevor’s ex-fiancée.

The blood drains out of Trev’s face. “Hayden,” he breathes.

“Hi, Chastity,” she says, her eyes flicking to me. She’s dressed in white jeans and a pink shirt and looks as cool and fresh as a tulip. Her blond hair hangs straight and silky, and she wears several silver rings on various fingers, making her look artsy and cool. Silver bracelets tinkle and slide over her tanned arms. I am suddenly aware that I can smell my own sweat.

“Hi,” I mumble. “Wow. Fancy meeting you here.”

“My mom is walking today,” she explains, tucking some perfect hair behind her tiny ears. “She’s a cancer survivor, so I wanted to come, of course.”

Trevor still hasn’t said anything.

“How’ve you been, Trevor?” Perfect Hayden asks softly.

“It’s good to see you, Hayden,” he murmurs. Then his eyes start with a smile, and the rest of his face follows. A brief flare of hurt fires in my chest.

“Well, I should go,” I blurt. “Um, thanks, Trevor. Again.”

He drags his eyes off Hayden’s blond perfection and looks at me. “Right. Sure, Chas. See you around. Good run.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

No beer. No celebration. No revelation.

Crap.

CHAPTER TEN

BY GRADUATE SCHOOL, I BELIEVED myself to be over Trevor. Time did its work at healing the old broken heart and all that crap. I had a boyfriend or two in college. At Columbia, I was pretty damn popular with the men, being a professional one of the guys type, but I was too busy for anything real. I dated a little…Jeff, a fellow grad student who was wickedly funny and edgy and snagged a job with CNN our second year. Then there was Xavier, who taught chemistry at PS 109. But nothing serious. It wasn’t time. It was New York City, and in Manhattan, marriage isn’t something to think about until you’re forty or so.