4. Finn
FOUR
FINN
The woman in front of me doesn’t know who I am, but I know who she is.
Margo Andrews.
My son’s girlfriend, and someone I’ve only seen in passing.
It was enough to make a goddamn impression, though.
I’ve wondered where she’s been. The last time I saw her, she gave me a salute from a distance when she pulled out of my driveway and drove off into the sunset, her hair a fiery mess of red.
It’s wrong to admit that one interaction with her had me curious. Had me thinking she was hot and fighting off the attraction I felt in that split second.
It’s even more wrong to feel it right now when she’s dry heaving into a bag with snot running out of her nose.
“Hey.” I crouch beside her and do my best to come across like a professional, not like a horny asshole she’s never met. My lips twitch at the look of disdain she shoots my way. “How are you feeling?”
She regained consciousness pretty quickly after she passed out, but I was worried there for a second. Not being able to hold herself up tells me she’s dehydrated. She probably pushed herself too hard, and I want to make sure she’s firing on all cylinders before I send her on her way.
“How does it look like I’m feeling? Like I’m having the time of my life, right?”
I grin at her sarcasm. “I’m going to ask you a few questions to get a baseline for your cognitive functions. What’s your name?”
“Margo Andrews. Today is December eleventh. I’m twenty-four years old. I can’t believe people think running is fun, and I feel like I’m dying.”
Twenty-four.
She’s so fucking young.
Jeremy is the same age, but it sounds different when she says it.
“Some people think running is fun,” I say. “And mentioning things like you feel like dying while you’re in a medical tent after collapsing at the finish line of a race is a quick way to get put in the back of an ambulance.”
Margo snaps her mouth closed. Her attention moves to my holiday sweater, and she tips her head to the side. “Christmas lover?”
“Come on.” I gesture to the reindeer with a bright red nose stitched on the wool. “This is a classic.”
“Classically cheesy.”
“All right, Christmas hater.”
“I’m an everything hater right now.” She groans and stretches out her legs. I pop to my feet and grab a blood pressure cuff. “You’re probably thinking I’m not fast enough to be acting like this. It’s not like I set a world record.”
“I’m not thinking that at all.” I wrap the Velcro around her arm and put my stethoscope on the crook of her elbow. A quick listen tells me everything sounds fine and she’s healthy. Thank fuck. “Is this your first race?”
“Yeah. I signed up after my shitty ex-boyfriend told me I’d never be able to run one. He was some college track star, and I really wanted to prove him wrong. Guess I did. I could’ve done without the dramatics, though.”
I frown.
Ex -boyfriend?
I’ve known Jeremy to be a playboy in the past. He’d sneak girls over after curfew and never seemed interested in relationships, but I thought he liked Margo. Last time we talked about his personal life, he said things were going well with her.
That was a couple months ago, and I guess shit changed.
I fucking hate that he said something like that to her, even if it might’ve been a joke. I don’t know where the hell he learned that kind of shit, but it wasn’t from me.
I train alongside some of the fastest women in Chicago in my running club, and they can put me to shame. Telling someone they’d never be able to finish a race is such an immature thing to say. I’m going to give him a fucking earful when I see him next.
Good for Margo for not putting up with his bullshit.
“You did prove him wrong.” I grab a clipboard and make a note of her vitals. “And you did very well out there. Finishing a race is an achievement, and your time was impressive.”
She lifts her chin and looks at me. Her green eyes roam down my body, and she hums. “You work out, don’t you?”
“I’ve been known to run a few miles myself.”
“Is this some sort of cult?”
“Kind of.”
“Why didn’t you run today?”
“Someone had to be at the finish line wearing an obnoxious sweater to catch you when you fell.”
“Okay. Easy there, buddy. This isn’t the start of some love story.” Her attention moves to my lips for the briefest of seconds, and now I’m wondering what she would look like with my cock in her mouth. How deep she could take me down her throat and if she would gag. I haven’t been with anyone in a while, but five minutes with this woman, and I’m close to asking her if she wants to come back to my place.
My son’s ex-girlfriend.
I’m going straight to hell.
“You probably pull this stunt with everyone, don’t you?”
Her words shake me from my reverie, and I laugh. “It’s my first time being a hero. Will you be gentle with me?”
Margo huffs out a chuckle, and that tells me she’s on the mend. I hand her a Gatorade and she gives me a reluctant smile. “Thank you. And thank you for saving me. I don’t have a habit of being over the top, but I’m exhausted.”
“That’s what happens when you push yourself.”
“What’s your half marathon time? Better than two hours and twenty-two minutes, I bet.”
“That time is more than most people can say.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And I’ll only tell you if you drop the self-deprecating bullshit. You did the damn thing. Be proud of it, Margo Andrews.”
Margo gapes at me, and there’s a glazed-over look in her eye. She takes a deep breath and grips the bottle tightly. “I am proud,” she says quietly, and I beam. “I did well today.”
“That’s more like it, and you did do well today. My PR in the half marathon is an hour and three minutes. I’m better at the longer stuff.”
“An hour ?”
“Can’t forget the three minutes. Those 180 seconds are important.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“How is that humanly possible?”
“The world record in the half marathon for men is fifty-seven minutes. Some people consider my time slow.”
“Who? Cheetahs ?”
I laugh again. “Exactly. Enough about me. How are you feeling now that you’ve had some time to recover?”
“The world stopped spinning, so I guess that’s a good thing.” She twists open the cap of the sports drink and takes a small sip. “Have you seen my friend? She’s half my size with blonde hair. I was with her at the finish line.”
“I told her to check back on you soon. The tent is too small, and they wouldn’t let her in.”
“I don’t want her to think I died.”
“I poked my head out a few minutes ago and let her know you were breathing.”
Margo’s face softens, and she studies me. “Why do you look so familiar? Have we met before this awkward encounter where I look like I’ve been dragged to hell and back by aliens?”
“We haven’t met, and I wouldn’t say you look like you’ve been dragged to hell and back. Maybe only to purgatory.” We’ve never been introduced, so it’s not technically a lie. I’m never going to see this woman again—especially after learning she’s not dating Jeremy anymore—so there’s no use in being honest about where she might know me from. Plus, I don’t want her to think he inherited his shitty opinions about female athletes from me. “And I get that I look familiar a lot. I’m always a friend of a friend. Some nondescript white guy.”
“Hang on.” She snaps her fingers. “You sound just like the dude who narrated the book I listened to last night.”
Fuck .
Her liking romance books isn’t good news for me.
I don’t alter my narrating voice from my normal voice too much, and the longer I stand here talking with her, the sooner she’s going to know I’m lying.
Again.
Which is a trait I don’t want to possess.
“Weird. I haven’t heard that before.” I clear my throat and point over her shoulder. “I’m going to hand you off to the dispatch person. They’re going to have you sign a couple of forms, but you’re free to go. We’re not holding you hostage, and you should go celebrate with your friend.”
“Yeah. I should. This wouldn’t have been possible without her.” Margo stands and clutches the Gatorade to her chest. She looks brighter than she did when I dragged her into the tent, and that makes me feel better about sending her back into the world. “Thanks for all your help.” She nods at my clipboard. “Sorry about the extra work.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s always fun when people hate on my Christmas sweater,” I tease, and fucking Christ . She is really damn cute. Her lips have this little pout to them when she tosses her head back and laughs, and it’s distracting as hell. “Make sure you grab your medal on your way out. You didn’t have one when you came in, and I’m a full supporter of wearing it around town so you can show off to everyone else what you did this morning while they were asleep. Especially shitty ex-boyfriends.”
“So true. I appreciate you not letting me bust my ass in front of everyone.”
“The cleanup would’ve taken hours.” I tap her shoulder and move to a runner coming in with a bag of ice wrapped around their knee. “You can do anything you set your mind to, Margo Andrews. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“I appreciate the pep talk.” She offers me a wave and turns to the finish line. “Hey. You probably know my blood type, and I know nothing about you. Are you going to tell me your name, or am I supposed to call you Rudolph?”
“Finn,” I tell her with a wink. “My name is Finn.”
“Finn,” she repeats, and I like the way she says my name. “That’s way better than Rudy.”
With a flip of her braided ponytail she shuffles outside, and I grin as I watch her leave.