Chapter 4 #2
I leave the stall and look in the mirror; Dane’s already gone.
My eyes are starry and glazed like I just saw paradise.
I can’t go out there like this. I fix my hair and wait for the flush on my cheeks to fade.
Then I stride with confidence back out into the shopping center, trying not to look like I’m doing the walk of shame.
No one else could possibly know what just happened.
It’s the last thing they’d expect considering how Dane and I treat each other at the club.
The bells on my shoes jingle, drawing all eyes to me as I walk.
The ends are hooked up and tied so the toes are all curly, like something from a fairytale.
I’m belatedly realizing that it’s probably not the best footwear for running.
Maybe I should’ve gone for the Santa outfit after all… but Malachi is already calling me over.
“You’re up,” he says.
He gestures to áine who’s still on the treadmill, appearing to be on her last legs. But Dane steps forward.
“I’ll go next,” he says.
Asshole, trying to impose himself as usual.
He shoves past me, bumping my shoulder. It almost makes me topple right over in my curly boots.
I don’t want to start a fight in front of half the tennis club, not to mention half the town.
I bite back a retort. He jumps onto the treadmill with a look aimed only at me.
The looks says: beat this. Idiot. This is supposed to be about raising money for the club, not putting me in my place.
He just can’t help himself. I should’ve known he’d be up for a competition, as usual.
He sets a good pace, settling into an effortless rhythm, arms pumping.
áine peels off her Santa hat and chugs sips of water from a bottle until the redness in her cheeks gradually dies down.
By the look on her face as she watches Dane run, she hasn’t forgiven him for cheating any more than I have.
But the guilt isn’t slowing him down at all.
He’s the fastest of the club so far, according to Malachi.
Shit. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to beat this.
It proves that he’s a lot fitter than me, as if I didn’t already know. But I’ll die trying.
After a half hour he jumps off the treadmill, looking barely out of breath.
“Your turn,” he says to me, with deadly sweetness.
“Thanks,” I answer in the same tone.
The coach looks between us, probably thinking we still have bad blood because of the cheating. If only that was the only issue between us.
“Kick his ass,” áine hisses to me.
I give her a thumbs-up and get onto the treadmill.
But right away I feel unbalanced and idiotic.
I almost never run on treadmills. Or anywhere, except for the tennis court.
And especially not in shoes like these. Each step makes a distracting jangling sound, and the curly toes really aren’t optimal for running.
Forget the shoes. The main thing is to beat Dane.
I fix my gaze on a point on the wall and focus hard.
Someone in the crowd wolf whistles at me—I choose to believe unironically.
“Going great,” áine shouts.
It feels like it is going great. For about ten minutes, anyway.
Then I look at the screen and realize I’m behind Dane’s time.
If I’m going to have a chance at beating him, I have to hurry up.
I put on a burst of speed. My breath comes harder and faster.
Sweat trickles down my forehead under the elf hat.
I’m sure I hear a snort of disdain coming from the direction of Dane.
He’s still lurking in the crowd, his careless gaze just raking me over like I don’t measure up to some invisible target in his head.
He catches my eye and starts eating that stupid Refresher bar again.
There’s a distinctly a suggestive look on his face as he wraps his lips around it, which reminds me of what he feels like wrapped around my dick.
He’s doing it on purpose. He’s the most shameless, juvenile…
Hang on. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to distract me, and I’m falling for it.
He doesn’t want me to beat his time. I ignore him and push myself harder on the treadmill, pumping my arms and lifting my knees.
Check the screen … I’m not that far behind him, actually.
That’s probably what he’s worried about.
He’ll do anything to stop me beating him.
I speed up even more. Then my left foot slips.
I try to regain my footing and trip over my other curly toe.
My feet are all tangled and the treadmill is still moving fast beneath me.
There’s a moment of panic where everything seems to hang in the air, then I’m propelled hard and fast right off the treadmill.
Dane is suddenly there to catch me. I have a moment to be surprised and then I land, Dane breaking my fall and making it much less bad than it could’ve been.
Even so, pain spears through my left ankle.
“Fuck,” I whimper. My head spins. I try to clamber off him, and stop when pain hits hard. He wriggles out from under me and feels cautiously around my ankle.
“Probably a mild sprain,” he says.
“For fuck’s sake,” Malachi says. He looks exasperated as well as worried. “You were pushing yourself too hard.”
“Sorry,” I say.
I can’t think of anything else to say. I wish everyone would stop looking at me.
I feel weak and kinda sick with pain. Also like the biggest idiot.
I couldn’t even go ten minutes without falling and injuring myself.
No one else has fallen off the damn thing, not even the older club members.
Dane’s hand is on my shoulder. I want to shrug it off.
I’m still mad at him, even though he tried to save me.
But I don’t have the energy to push him away.
I’m fighting back tears of pain. Shoppers crowd around to offer advice and help.
Some are complaining about whoever chose my shoes, which seems fair.
Everyone is being so nice, but I still feel humiliated.
First Dane cheated, and now this. Why’d he have to see me fall on my face in front of everyone? This Christmas is going so wrong.