by Kat Bastion
“Sure. Diehards, mostly.”
“This.” I slapped the paper against his chest. “This is the race I want to run.”
“You almost bit it at the top. Now you want to jump into it with a hundred other crazies?”
“Did you just call me crazy?”
“Yes.” He raised his hand and palmed the top of my head, rubbing his fingers over my scalp. “Sure you didn’t hit your head?”
I shoved his arm away. “Positive.”
I had no idea why I suddenly wanted to run a trail race, but I did.
Endorphins from running? Yeah. I had that going on. But all the nature, the trees, maybe all the oxygen from them, had me on a high. Something energized me from the trail—different than the track.
He plucked the race flier from my hand, then studied it. “Shortens the time window. Only five weeks away. Sure you’ll be up for it?”
“I will if you train me.” There, I’d said it—admitted that I wanted him to be a part of it.
I wasn’t sure what had happened on that mountain. Although we hadn’t consciously crossed any line regarding our agreement, something had happened. The constant attraction between us remained, but more had ignited in those tense seconds where life and death had collided. A bond had formed.
Then once everything had calmed, he’d gotten turned on.
By me.
On top of him.
And my body had instantly responded.
Maybe it’d been the adrenaline racing through my veins. The potent thrill of danger followed by the hard cage of his muscles surrounding me, protecting me, had to have supercharged my nerve endings.
So why is the same thing happening now?
My body warmed. Began to throb in all the delicious places we had touched. And I stood a good three feet away from him.
The threat I faced had nothing to do with high cliffs and deadly gravity. It stood before me, a six-foot-two male packed with lean muscle and a dry sense of humor. Yet no matter the danger, my common sense had apparently gone on vacation. Because something deep down made me want to push the issue—be near him any way I could.
Just friends.
I’d initially started our training adventure with an ulterior motive. I figured time together would convince him that he wanted us to have sex.
Now I began to wonder if being purely platonic was for the best.
Safer.
I exhaled a slow breath, watching his profile. He hadn’t replied. I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me, since he continued to read a page that had only two short paragraphs. “So will you? Train me?”
“Won’t be easy.” He cast a hard look at me.
“Easy equals boring. Thought we established that back in the truck.”
“You sure you’re up for it? My way? My methods?”
How hard could it be? More stadium runs? Sand-bucket pushups?
I didn’t clarify, just nodded my head. “I can handle it.”
He glanced at the ground for a brief moment, then looked up at me. “Yeah, okay. I don’t have any more time in my schedule. But if you trained on your own in between, and we found a few more safe trails to run, we could get you ready.”
“Ones without loose boulders?”
He shot me an unamused look.
“I suppose I don’t have to go jumping on them. At least not without you around.”
His lips twitched as he fought a smile.
Then his eyes smoldered a bit, and I knew I had him, knew his thoughts had gone where mine had, right back to the moment we’d shared. Not the Oh my God I’m going to die one but the Holy shit! We’re lying together on the ground and don’t want to get up one.
He gave a sharp nod. “We’ll save boulder-hopping for group runs.”
“Got it.” I walked back to the larger trailhead map that was mounted under plexiglass. “What other trails are nearby?”
He pinned the trail race flier back to the memo board beside me, then pulled a folded map from a slender wooden compartment with a hinged top marked day-pass.
I plucked a small envelope from the holder, then scanned the information it requested: date, time, name, license plate number, and a note regarding a five dollar fee. There was a locked slot over a box beside the map-and-day-pass filled compartment. “Were we supposed to do one of these?”
After a pause, he glanced up. “We did. When you tore off the instant the truck hit park, I scrawled out our info. Might think about a season pass if we come here often. Save money that way.”
“How much?”
He didn’t look up from the map he was reading. Instead, he lifted the lid, handed me a fresh map, then tapped the bottom back corner of it.
Seventy bucks. I let out a low whistle. Not cheap. But more than once a month in a year would pay for itself. And I needed to train a few times a week, at least.
Finally he grabbed the pen at the top of the box, then circled a marked trail on the right side of the map. “This is the one closest to your house. Can you run before 7:00 a.m.?”
“Uhhh…” I usually slept well past 10:00 a.m. “I can set the alarm and see what happens.”
“Good. A lot of executives from the city use these trails off-hours, more of them in the morning. If you come early enough, you’ll have plenty of company for safety.”
Because on those days, I’d have to run by myself. “You can’t run then?”
His brows furrowed and he shook his head. But offered no explanation.
Right. It’s complicated.
“Here’s another nearby trail. Longer, but it’s got steady inclines and easy elevation drops. Great for building your endurance.”
On he went: explaining where I could safely go, how far each trailhead was from my house, what distance I’d need to run per day in order be ready for the race.
I squinted at the map, memorizing the few he’d indicated. “How many can you make?”
“What?”
“Runs. You promised to train me. How many runs will you be on?”
“I can train you Tuesday mornings. And Thursday and Saturday afternoons.”
I grinned. “I’ll take it.”
Not thinking twice about it, I threw my body against him, wrapped my hands around his neck, and kissed his cheek. His entire body stiffened in surprise. But then he relaxed and curved his arms around my back into a gentle hug.
We both inhaled deeply while we held each other for those brief seconds, as if savoring another stolen moment. One where we didn’t have an agreement to be just friends. One that didn’t have my fears and his complications. One that ignored the fact that we’d already begun to blur the lines between what we couldn’t have and what we wanted.
Hours later, I sat at my worktable in the quiet of the warehouse like I did so many nights—staring at the envelope.
Unopened, it almost appeared harmless. But starched ivory, inked letters, and two postage stamps with Love scripted in pastel colors on its outside surface didn’t change the contents behind the sealed flap.
Underneath the stationery camouflage lay a grenade.
And I wasn’t about to pull the pin.
Instead, I warily stared at it like I had the handful of other times since the postman had come to my door. Front side up, partially concealed by a stack of mail, its green perforated strips hidden on the backside were evidence that I’d acknowledged receipt.
“Open it. Don’t open it,” I grumbled. Then I took a sip of coffee, glaring at the damned thing, willing its contents and all they represented to poof into thin air.
But as usual, nothing happened.
And I wasn’t kidding myself that anything would.
Common sense screamed the explosion would happen anyway.
But still, the nightly exercise, futile as it was, helped soothe my version of reality: that nothing would change. As long as I didn’t open the envelope.
The longer it sat there, the more hazardous it felt, though. Like it was merely a grenade if I eventually took control and pul
led the pin. If I didn’t? Then it morphed back into what it had been all along: a ticking bomb.
Darren…
Fucking traffic. Sucked that I’d left so early—only to be late.
I glared at the right lane, willing a spot to open.
Score. When a Jaguar inched forward, I gassed it, yanking the wheel hard to steal the opening. A horn blared from a white sedan I’d cutoff.
My lips curled into a smug smile. “You text, you lose. Idiot.”
Not that I should talk. Multitasking had overrun my life.
As I barreled down the highway exit, I glanced at the time. Five minutes late, clock still ticking. I threw out the desperate hope that late happened all the time in the music industry. And that everyone else I’d be meeting had gotten snagged by traffic too.
A disembodied girly whine wailed through my truck speakers, dragging me back to the phone conversation. “Darren, are you listening?”
“Yeah, Logan. I heard you.”
“You’ll be there?” Her tone wavered with doubt.
I sighed, pissed at myself for getting distracted. She counted on me being present with her. Even when I had a million other things on my mind. “Of course. You know I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Awesome. It’s at seven on the first.”
“I’ll be there.”
“And Darren?”
I took a wrong turn onto 41st Street instead of 42nd. “Fuck,” I bit out under my breath. Then I exhaled, calming down a bit. For her. For us. “Yeah, Lo?”
“Thanks. This means a lot.”
My heart melted. All the crunch, all the multitasking, all the sacrifice was for her. Too often, lost in the chaos of it all, I forgot that.
“Love you,” she said quietly.
“Love you too.” I did. To my bones.
Yet sometimes love trapped you into a life you hadn’t been planning—along with the worst possible events.
But I dealt the best way I knew how.
At nineteen, I’d been served my unexpected future like a prison term with no parole in sight. My only task? Make sure it wasn’t a death sentence for her.
But day after day, week after week, two years and three months after our lives had been changed forever, a light had appeared at the end of my dark tunnel.
Kiki.
A girl I hadn’t counted on. One I never thought I’d deserved. One I definitely didn’t think could fit into my and Logan’s unorthodox and unforgiving world.
In fact, I still wasn’t sure. Could my crazy life—barely held together—handle Kiki? Would I be betraying Logan?
That was the kicker. Logan came first, over all else. I owed it to her. I’d promised.
And if dealt the same cards, I’d promise all over again, even knowing the difficult times I’d be committing the both of us to. Because for better or for worse, she was family.
Just because life seemed worse most of the time, didn’t mean you abandoned your loved ones. It only meant you had to work that much harder to find hope in the middle of it all. That some days would be better.
Allowing Kiki into my life risked that hope. Threatened to upset the balance I’d tried so hard to maintain.
And yet, I couldn’t stop myself.
She was like a drug—quieted the noise in my head.
In just a few short days, she’d become my escape. And a part of me didn’t want to deny myself the best feeling I’d had in years.
Maybe I could have both…if I was careful.
Maybe.
Just…maybe.
Kiki…
“Oh. My. God. My calves.”
Upside down on Kristen’s couch, feet planted on the wall while I surveyed the fresh coat of lilac toenail polish, my muscles seized. I sucked in a breath and dropped down with a sideways spin. Then I grabbed my big toes and flexed my feet upward, pulling them toward my shins.
I exhaled in relief.
Pain took my mind off of other things. But I could only handle so much.
Kendall stared at me from the other end of the couch, brows drawn low. “What did you do?”
“Ran up a mountain yesterday. In Vibrams.”
“What ’ems?”
“Vibrams. Shoes specially designed to run as if you’re barefoot.”
“Why would you want to do that?” Kristen sat between us in the center of the couch, concentrating as she brushed a second coat of hot-pink polish on her toes.
The blender began to whir loudly in the kitchen.
I shrugged. “Something different. An activity to get me outside and in shape.”
“By yourself?” Kendall plucked two polish colors from the rainbow lineup she’d been examining on the coffee table. “Blushing Harlot or Tourmaline Sky?”
Kristen snorted. “Since when does a harlot blush?”
“Well, damn. That’s my color.” Kendall replaced the bright blue into the cosmetics tray, then shook the frosty pink bottle she’d chosen. “I’m nothing if not a bundle of contradictions.”
Blushing Harlot. Nonsex. Kendall’s gaze shot to mine the instant our hilarious conversation about nonsluts and wannabe hussies slammed into my brain. We both inhaled deeply, lips pressing into firm lines as we fought laughter that threatened to bubble up.
When I narrowed my eyes a fraction, she gave me a nearly imperceptible nod. I shot her one back. Yep. Our twisted sexual sense of humor belonged just between the two of us.
“And I didn’t run by myself.”
Hannah emerged from the kitchen, cradling four strawberry daiquiris in her arms.
I grabbed one of the glasses from her. “I went with Darren.”
Annnd…there goes my mind to other things.
“Sex on a stick!” Hannah and Kendall shouted in unison.
“Jinx!” They pointed at each other.
“Double Jinx!” Kendall and Hannah froze, watching their red drinks slosh in their glasses with their animated excitement. Then everyone burst out laughing.
“What is ‘sex on a stick,’ anyway?” Kristen swept a final brushstroke over her pinky toenail, then leaned back, arching her brows. “How can it be an actual guy? Isn’t sex…on a stick?”
Hannah nearly choked on her daiquiri, coughing out more laughter.
I had no idea why I’d ever called him that; I’d first voiced it to Hannah months ago at Loading Zone. Probably because the description had sounded delicious at the time. And Darren? Definitely delicious—delectable…decadent. Darren got all the best D words.
And now, because I was with my girls—I played along for fun. “You know, all the best things are on a stick.”
Kendall nodded. “Fudgsicles.”
“Deep-fried Twinkies,” I added.
Kristen gave a slight tilt of her head left then right, in the way she usually did when considering something, then her expression brightened. “Cake pops!”
“That’s so wrong.” Hannah dropped onto the opposite wingchair with an offended expression and planted her daiquiri glass down onto Kristen’s end table with an echoing clang. Hannah used to own a bakery, Sweet Dreams, until she sold it to her two star employees. Now she made designer cakes for Invitation Only’s parties, in addition to spending her time starting up a riverside restaurant with Cade.
Hannah sighed, shaking her head. “Cake is not meant to be a single bite, like a donut hole or a chocolate truffle. And some genius made cake pops round. Real imaginative.”
“No.” I maneuvered an aching calf onto my opposite knee, then dug my kneecap into the tight muscle with a groan. “Darren isn’t a boring single bite. He’s like an enormous lollypop. Your mouth waters and you can’t wait to try and tackle it. Even though you aren’t sure how to. Do you take long licks? Or do you suck?”
“Suck. Definitely suck.” Kendall got this dreamy faraway look.
I landed a soft punch on her shoulder. “Hey. No fantasizing about my man candy.”
She held her hands up in surrender, one still clinging to the stem of her glass. “I’m speaking in ge
neralities.”
On a long sigh, I dropped my head back onto the couch cushion, then stared at the ceiling. “Well, Darren is no longer sex on a stick.”
“Why not?” Kendall glanced my way when I didn’t immediately answer.
Tell the truth?
Why not? Who else was I supposed to bounce my problems off of?
I took a deep breath. “Because according to Darren, I ‘deserve better than a one-night fuck.’”
“You do.” Hannah gave me a serious look.
My chest felt heavy. None of them knew my story: why I kept guys at arm’s length, the reason I’d quarantined them strictly into sexy-heartbreaker-but-one-night-stand territory.
But our fun girls’ night didn’t need to be bogged down with my issues. So I veered far away from the serious therapy talk. “Yeah, well sometimes a girl wants only a taste of man candy.”
For years, it’d been all I wanted. Only now that I’d gotten tangled up with Darren? I’d begun to want a whole lot more from him than a taste. I swallowed hard, refusing to think about something I couldn’t fully define.
“But for now, we’re just friends. He’s helping me train.”
“For what?” Kristen glanced up, pausing her top-coating at midtoenail.
“Well, originally, it started as a 5K. Now? I’m gearing up for a trail run race.”
My two sisters fell silent, eyes blinking.
“What?” My tone turned defensive. I sat up straight, glaring at them. “I could do it.”
“You were always the one ditching chores.” Kristen shot me an accusing eldest-sister look.
I shrugged. “Why exert myself when the two of you had cleaning and yardwork down to a science.”
“And it’s…sports.” Kendall jerked out an open hand in emphasis at the end, like that last word said it all. Probably because my sole passion had been art from the second I cracked open my first Crayola box.
“Mmm-hmmm…” Kristen folded her arms across her chest, doubt in her expression.
“Are you suggesting I’m lazy?”
“Uh…yeah.” Kendall twisted to fully face me on the edge of the couch. She and Kristen now physically formed a united front on the topic, practically shoulder to shoulder.