3. Spit Take
Chapter three
Spit Take
“Y ou know, I prefer the other kind of cardio we do,” I said.
Well, sort of said. It came out more like a gasp and Ben chuckled, pulling the water bottle from his running belt and twisting the top off as I leaned against a fence post to catch my breath.
“You’re doing well considering you said you’re not a runner,” he said, taking a casual sip of water before passing the bottle to me. “Which I still find hard to believe since you’re keeping up with me.” He checked his watch, which was one of those fancy runner ones that measured how oxygenated his footsteps were or whatever. “And I’m not slowing my pace all that much.”
“Yeah, which you can credit to all that other cardio I do.” I took a glug of water from the bottle before handing it back to him. “I hate running.”
“I wish I would’ve known that before I suggested all this gear,” he said, frowning a bit as he gestured at me.
“Seriously, stop feeling bad about it. My dad won’t even notice the charge on his card.”
“Yes, but for a charity race… and with only a couple of weeks, I can’t even do all that much to help you train…”
“Ben, it’s okay. You told me that up front.” I took another deep breath and reached for the water bottle I’d given back to Ben. “It’s still helpful. I needed to make it look like I’ve been jogging all summer. And this way I’ll at least be able to know how hard I can run during the race so no one realizes I was making the whole thing up.”
And also how far I could run in case Anne-Marie ever found out the actual secret I was keeping from her, but I didn’t add that part.
Ben laughed again, waiting as I drank nearly half his bottle of water before giving it back to him.
“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I should have brought my own.”
“It’s okay.” He sipped his water again. “We’re not too far from a bathroom that has a water fountain if we need to refill it.”
I nodded, wiping sweat off my forehead as I looked at the sunlight glinting off the water in the Rideau River and silently regretted every moment of my life that led to me thinking jogging was a good excuse for sneaking out to fuck JP.
But for now, I had to consider myself lucky that Kimberlee had told Anne-Marie I was running when she’d stopped by my dad’s place to see if I was around for an impromptu wine night on my last trip to Montreal.
Even if it didn’t feel lucky once I’d found out why she was so excited.
“You sneaky, sneaky girl,” she’d said as I tried to catch my breath after realizing she wasn’t talking about me fucking her brother. “If I had known you were a runner, I would have hounded you about Illumi-Nite years ago!”
“About what now?” I’d gasped.
She pressed her lips together, her eyes bright with excitement and her voice taking on a distinctly sales-like tone. “The Illumi-Nite Race. Each summer, dazzling runners such as yourself come together to brighten up the night with a race like no other, raising money and awareness for Montreal’s vivid neurodiverse communities, including a number of programs targeted to assist children, students, and adults with diagnoses of autism, ADHD, and dyslexia supported by the HueManity Foundation.”
I blinked three or four times, trying to follow everything she’d said. “Uh… a race?”
“But not just a race!” She gestured as if there was a Powerpoint presentation behind her, so convincingly that I looked before remembering we were standing in my dad’s foyer and there were no projectors there. “The HueManity Foundation was created and is still spearheaded by neurodiverse leaders who want to celebrate neurodiversity while creating supports and accommodations in a world designed for neurotypical people. The Illumi-Nite Race challenges the standards of a typical race. By racing in the evening and creating an atmosphere of celebration with lights, colour, and music, we show how there is space in the world for minds that exist outside the box. And at the end of the race, a live dance party and beer garden extend the party into the night.”
She finished her presentation by knitting her fingers together, an expectant look on her face. I was especially thankful for that since I’d gotten about halfway through her canned—though admittedly well-prepared and cheerful in a soulless corporation sort of way—speech before zoning out.
I couldn’t help it. Jargon like that felt like verbal melatonin to me.
“Right,” I said slowly. “And you want me to… sponsor you?”
She laughed. “Oh, chérie . You are too funny. I will be there, of course, but I work with the HueManity Foundation as the community outreach coordinator for Illumi-Nite.”
“Really? I thought you were still doing the personal stylist thing.”
“I am, but I am both picky and relatively new, so I do not have that many clients,” she said, waving her hand. “So I spend my extra time helping the organizations I enjoy supporting. Illumi-Nite is close to my heart based on the personal connections. Remy is Autistic and has worked with the HueManity Foundation in the past, but Jean-Paul also had a friend who helped create this event and it has become very meaningful to me.”
From the way she said it, I was pretty sure it was a volunteer thing, kind of like what I assumed Kimberlee did for all the organizations she supported. Which made sense. None of the Marchand children really needed to work. Jean-Luc Marchand was a successful lawyer who made very good money, but the Marchands also had family money that ran a lot further than one or two generations.
I guess that was technically true for me, too. But between realizing what taking my dad’s money actually cost me and my certainty that I’d eventually annoy him enough that he’d fully cut me off, I’d never even considered not trying to support myself.
“Oh, a family thing. How nice,” I said. “Well, I know I would hate to impose on a tradition like that, so—”
“ Bien tenté, chérie ,” she said. “You must run this year. It would mean the world to me and I know now that you are a runner!”
“Well, yeah,” I said unconvincingly. “But I’m not sure I’m good enough to do a full race.”
She waved her hand. “It is all for fun, Nellie. Many people walk it. But I expect to see you sprinting across the finish line. I told Kimberlee I would wait for you to return even though she said you always take a very long run. I nearly gave up waiting, chérie . You ran for a very long time!”
And what was I going to do? Tell her that no, actually, I wasn’t running for a very long time, I was sitting on your brother’s face in the backseat of his car in a parkade because we’ve been secretly fucking all summer?
Of course not.
So instead, I’d gone back to Ottawa and complained about it to Ben after we’d Netflix-and-chilled our way through the next episode of some alien conspiracy docuseries we’d been “watching” together whenever he came over.
Or at least, I think it was about alien conspiracies.
I don’t know. I was naked most of the time.
“And I don’t even have an excuse not to do it,” I’d whined as we curled up on the couch, a throw blanket over us and my head on Ben’s bare chest. “I have to be there that weekend for a gala anyway. And when I told Syd about it, the traitor said it sounded like fun and decided to come along!”
“How dare she,” Ben had said.
“I know, right?"
He’d trailed his fingertips down my bicep. “You know I’m a runner myself, right?”
“You’ve mentioned it."
“I’d be happy to help you get ready for your race.”
“You would?” I’d fidgeted again, picking at my thumbnail. “You wouldn’t worry about someone seeing us running together?”
He’d slipped his hand between mine, his fingers warm as they tapped against my palm. “I don’t think it would be likely for anyone to see us, but even if they did, I don’t think it would be an issue to see a former student running with me. We would just need to ensure it’s not obvious that there’s any more to it than that.”
I’d traced the side of his index finger. “And what about the fact that you’re at a way higher level than I am?”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he’d said.
“I’m going to hold you back. Like, I can hold my own, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not as active as you are.”
“I very much doubt you could hold me back, Ms. Belanger,” he’d said, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve seen just how active you can be.”
“That’s different from running,” I’d said, shivering as he brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed my knuckles.
“A little, sure.” He’d traced my fingertips along his lips, kissing them gently before guiding my hand to his jaw and letting me cup it. “The biggest difference between running and riding is distance, after all.”
Which was fair, since even though we ended up in my bedroom not too long after that and I rode him until my legs were shaking, I didn’t move a single inch until we woke up the next morning. Then we’d gone to one of Ben’s favourite running stores so I could get some actual running shoes and shorts and stuff before taking me to a trail that ran along the Rideau River.
He’d said it was an easy trail. I’d started believing it would be the site of my death.
“Maybe that’s why I’m struggling so much,” I said to Ben as he lifted the water bottle to his lips. “I’m overdoing it after riding your dick for whatever the equivalent of five kilometers is last night.”
Ben choked and his cheeks went bright red as he glanced around. The only person anywhere near close enough to have heard what I said was standing right in front of him covered in the water that had sputtered from his mouth when he choked, and considering she was the same person who said it, I wasn’t particularly worried.
In fact, I was almost crying with laughter as I wiped water from my face.
“Oh, God,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said, shaking drops of water from my hands.
He coughed, holding a fist to his mouth so I couldn’t tell he was laughing at the same time until he moved it. “ Where did that come from?”
“Your mouth, mostly,” I said. “Although maybe a bit sloshed out of the bottle, I’m not sure, but—”
“Not that,” he said, chuckling as he unzipped his running belt. “What you said. About, uh… your riding distance. I’m not entirely sure how you got there from me saying there’s a water fountain nearby.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it thoughtfully. “Huh. I guess that was kind of a weird connection.”
Ben shook his head, still smiling. He glanced around again and then, seemingly satisfied that no one was around, stepped forward and lifted the small towel he’d pulled from his running belt to my face. I kept my eyes on him as he gently dried my cheek, but his gaze didn’t meet mine until he’d finished.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
“Gladly.” His throat flexed as he swallowed. “And you may be, ah… correct. About being tired because of, ah, last night. Or it could be that we’re three-quarters of the way done this loop, which is impressive considering you say you’re not much of a runner.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, I’m concerned that perhaps I’ve pushed you a bit too far and risked causing you an injury.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I said, even though an injury that prevented me from running a race in the next couple of weeks wouldn’t be a bad thing.
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t. So I think we should head back to my building. So I can, ah, help you with a post-run treatment to… ah…” He cleared his throat again. “To avoid that.”
“What kind of post-run treatment?” I asked, blinking up at him.
And honestly, if every run ended with a treatment that involved a shower, being washed from head to toe, and a leg massage that just so happened to end with his face pressed against my pussy, I would have been a lot more likely to take up running permanently.