Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)(4)

Okay, maybe not occasionally. Maybe it often got me into trouble.

“You realize I’m only doing this to offset the copious amounts of vodka I’m planning to drink this week, right?” Nora asked.

“Nora, we’ve been over the benefits of regular exercise,” Hazel said. “For starters—”

“Stop,” Nora and I said together. We both loved Hazel, but once she got going on a topic, it was hard to shut her up.

“We’ve heard your statistics-laced lecture at least a dozen times,” Nora said.

“It’s really good,” I said between breaths. “Good information, I mean.”

“I’m just saying the facts are well-documented,” Hazel said.

The park where we’d started our run came into view, so we slowed to a walk to cool down. Streetlights winked to life above us. We usually ran in the evenings, and the sun would be setting soon. I put my hands on my hips and took deep breaths. Hazel pressed her fingers to the side of her throat, taking her pulse. She always recorded it at the start and end of every run. Nora pulled her phone out of her sports bra and checked her messages.

“Good job, ladies,” I said. “That was a great run.”

“It was,” Hazel said. “But I think we’re reaching a plateau. We might want to start incorporating fartleks.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Nora asked. “You didn’t say fart-something, did you?”

“Fartleks,” Hazel said. “It’s a Swedish term meaning speed play. It blends continuous training with intervals—periods of fast running broken up by recovery periods at a slower pace.”

Nora laughed. “I don’t see how running at any pace is considered a recovery period. It’s still running.”

“I don’t know, it sounds good to me,” I said. “Hazel can map out the program and tell us what to do.”

We made it to the parking lot and stood behind Hazel’s car to finish cooling down and to stretch. When we were all finished, we walked across the street to Brody’s Brewhouse.

It was possible we always came here to start our runs because Brody’s was right across the street. Their bar was one of the best in Seattle, and the bartenders never minded us coming in all sweaty. In fact, it was Jake, one of the regular bartenders, who’d given us our nickname—the Dirty Martini Running Club.

Jake was working tonight and gave us a nod when we came in. We chose a tall table with high-backed stools in the bar section. Brody’s had a nice casual vibe with wood paneling and comfortable seating. Their food was top-notch, too, especially their homemade potato chips. Not that we ordered those very often.

“Ice waters to start?” Jake asked.

“You know the drill, baby,” Nora said, curling her pouty lips in a smile. She winked at him.

He winked right back, but Jake was only playing. Nora knew it, too. He was devilishly good-looking, but the big fat gold ring on his left hand was a constant reminder that Jake was not available.

Nora was never serious about men, anyway. But she did love to flirt. It was probably her favorite hobby, besides running and drinking. And she really only ran because we made her.

Jake brought us each an ice water with lemon, then asked for our orders. We all ordered salads and dirty martinis, as usual. The salads were another concession we’d all had to make to the reality of post-twenties life.

We weren’t willing to give up the martinis.

Our drinks and salads came out quickly—another reason we loved this place—and we started eating.

“How was your weekend?” Hazel asked. “Do anything exciting?”

Nora shrugged. “I went out with Max again, but I think I’m over it.”

“But you guys have only been seeing each other for a month or so,” I said. “I thought you really liked him.”

“He’s not bad,” she said. “But if I keep going out with him, he’s going to get attached. I do not want that happening.”

“Would it be so terrible to have a real relationship?” I asked.

“I’m just not interested,” she said. “I like my life the way it is. A man would only complicate things.”

I didn’t push the issue. Nora always said things like that when one of her temporary boyfriends seemed to be getting serious. Anytime she thought a guy was developing feelings for her, she’d fly out of there faster than my ex-boyfriend’s buddies when the bar tab was due.

“What about you, Hazel?” I asked.

Hazel adjusted her glasses. “Well, a certain someone published another article. I don’t understand why the scientific community doesn’t run him out of town, metaphorically speaking. He’s a menace.”

In addition to being a genius, Hazel was a psychology researcher at UW. She’d been embroiled in what was becoming a vicious rivalry with another psychologist for months. It was all she could talk about.

“Did you read his article?” I asked.

“Of course. Every unsubstantiated word. He has no business calling himself a scientist.”

Nora and I shared a look. Genius or not, Hazel tended to have a one-track mind. Once in a while, we used the word obsessive, although she denied it. But she was definitely becoming obsessed with this guy and his supposedly bad research.

“I know how you should deal with him.” Nora smirked behind her drink.