“I know.” A crease had formed between his brows. He didn’t meet my eyes this time but stared straight ahead, and awkwardness continued to creep up between us.
Finally, he shook his head slightly and held out his hand. “Give me your watch. Then you won’t be tempted to focus on it.” He tapped the face of my watch with his index finger. “Just try it.”
I slid the band over my wrist and handed it to him, embarrassed that it was damp from exertion, but he dropped it in his pocket without comment. “Now, would it help motivate you if we were running toward those old guys? We can circle back and see if they’re single.” He cracked a laugh and moved into a jog, pulling me along.
“You are such a jerk!” I called out. “I take it all back. I hate you again.”
We jogged side by side for a few minutes, though this stretch was a little easier. I was already crafting the post in my head, and I tried to remember all the things he’d taught me, holding my arms in the right way and keeping my breathing steady, not worrying about making my strides too big. Periodically, I’d glance at Wes and catch him watching me, and my already rosy cheeks flushed further. It was during one of those moments of eye contact that a woman’s voice behind us cut into my thoughts.
“Wes,” she said, slowing her run to a jog on the other side of him. I wasn’t quite to dump truck mode yet, but it didn’t matter—the woman coming up on his side was moving like a Porsche in skintight Lycra and a sports bra that hugged her frame. “Thought that was you.”
“Hey,” he said, without much enthusiasm.
I swallowed and turned back to face the fence line ahead.
“How’re things? Shame you had to cancel our plans the other night,” she said.
Wes didn’t really respond but nodded with a hm sound. “Little farther, Britta,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Kelsey, we’re working out. Can I catch up with you later?”
Kelsey.
Her cheerful expression fell. “Sure. I have a few more miles to go anyway.” She glanced around Wes, taking me in with an appraising look. She waved and sped up, calling over her shoulder, “Text me!”
I waited for him to say something, but he just encouraged me to keep going for another few minutes, picking up the pace. “Lengthen your stride . . . good. And remember to land on your mid foot, not your heel.” His tone was positive but professional, and our joking seemed to be over. “Lower your hands . . . yep. Just like that.”
I shifted from watching the fence line to watching the woman’s ponytail bob out of sight.
32
JAKE’S SHOT BOUNCED off the rim, and I cut left to retrieve it, ran to the other end of the court, and sank the winning shot. The ball whooshed through the net. It was one of the best sounds in the world, the ball going straight through. It almost competed with the sound of Britta’s little sigh when we’d hugged in the park, the slow intake of breath when I touched her. Almost. I’d tried time and time again to ignore the memory of that sound and the way it sent heat up my spine.
“That’s game!” Aaron clapped, and the other guys on the court joked with one another as we walked toward the benches. “Nice shot, Wes.”
“So close,” Jake muttered.
Aaron laughed and checked his phone. “Your definition of ‘close’ is creative. We were already up by like thirty points.”
Two of the other guys near us laughed, one of them clapping Jake on the shoulder before leaving the group. Jake continued, “We were just warming up.”
I fell onto the bench and took a gulp of water from my bottle. The next game had already started, the calls for the ball and playful jabs from the other group surrounding us again. “You’re right. The streak was imminent. You’ll get it next time.”
“Don’t coddle him, Wes. He has the money and gets to have that pretty face. We can remind him he sucks at basketball.”
Jake laughed and stretched his arms over his chest. “Wes has a pretty face, too.”
“Shit. I guess I’m the funny one.” Aaron checked his phone again and tapped out a text before tucking it in his pocket. “Hey, my better half just gifted me with the option to stay out.”
“I might suck at ball, but at least I’m not on a leash.” Jake playfully jabbed Aaron in the arm. The three of us walked toward the exit, waving to the other guys. “Do you need to ask permission to stay out late?”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “You know my wife and you know our kids. Do you know the shit I’d be in if I left her alone to do all the bedtime stuff herself with no notice?” We walked toward the parking lot, the evening air cool but not cold. It was a relief to not have to wear a coat anymore.