Chapter 4
JAMIE
“You’re a sick man, Veikko. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“My doctor, last year, when I had the flu,” Veikko answers Felix, without a trace of irony.
Sebastian shakes his head, letting out a sigh. A puff of frozen breath crystals expands in the cold air. “I’m already regretting this.”
Veikko is a cardio freak. He loves to go on runs outside, and he’s not about to let the freezing temperatures of the Vermont winter stop him. Today, he somehow convinced us all to go on a run around the neighborhood.
It’s partially my fault we’re out here, because when he proposed it at the house this morning, I did pipe up and mention that we’ve all been slacking off when it comes to cardio. Especially thanks to the holiday break we just returned from.
I take a deep breath, puffing out my chest. The cold air makes my lungs sting. “Veikko, I was always on your side when the topic of whether or not you’re secretly a serial killer came up. But knowing that you voluntarily subject yourself to this multiple times a week, I might have to reconsider.”
“If I were a serial killer, do you really think Felix would still be around?”
A beat of silence stretches as we stand shivering in front of our house, and then we all crack up with laughter.
“Fucking hell, V,” Carter says, playfully punching Veikko on the shoulder. “A real joke.”
Veikko wears a rare grin.
“Yeah, right. You love me, you Finnish asshole,” Felix replies through a smirk.
Veikko claps his hands together, and a moment later, he’s off, eating up the distance on the sidewalk with his long strides. “Keep up!” he calls back to us.
“I hate you, Jamie,” Carter grouses by the end of the second block.
“Hey, we all agreed to this,” Sebastian says. “We should all hate ourselves equally.”
“No, we should hate Veikko the most,” Felix grumbles.
When I glance at Felix, who’s running by my side, his eyes seem pointed directly at Veikko’s butt. Maybe he’s paying attention to how the more experienced runner moves his hips and legs efficiently.
For the next block, I keep my eyes low, pointed at the sidewalk lined with snow and strewn with rock salt. I try to get control of my breathing. Hopefully the physical movement brings my body temperature up enough to stop the shivering soon.
The next time I look up, my chest clenches.
Carmen is about two blocks ahead, walking towards us.
She looks so damn cute it literally hurts.
She’s wearing a big, puffy black winter jacket, bundled up with a yellow scarf tucked into the collar.
A blue beanie is pulled over her head, her curly hair spilling out of it.
She’s looking at her phone as she walks down the sidewalk, wearing a fingerless glove.
In defiance of the brutal cold, a pulse of heat swells between my legs when my gaze latches onto those fingertips, the same ones that brushed against my hand two days ago.
Fuck me. I’m getting aroused over fingertips now. I’m like some perverted Puritan from four hundred years ago, getting off on seeing one of the village maidens wearing a skirt that rises above her ankles. I need help.
My lungs still feel tight, but it’s not because of the cold anymore. In fact, I’ve grown oblivious to the temperature. My brain isn’t paying attention to the nerves on my skin anymore. My legs keep pumping like they’re on autopilot, rather than from any conscious effort.
I don’t see Carmen outside Last Word often. When I do, my brain tends to tune out everything else, focusing exclusively on her.
Sometimes it has unfortunate results, like …
The harsh screech of car brakes and the blare of a horn yank my attention back to reality.
My head whips to the sound.
Okay, great, I’m about a quarter of a second away from being hit by a car.
My reflexes kick in. My hips twist, and I kick one leg back, shifting my weight to the hand that I plant on the car’s hood. The quick braking of the driver decelerates the car enough to give me time to somersault over it, avoiding the collision.
But when I’m back on my feet, I’m totally disoriented and off balance. To make matters worse, the tip of my shoe snags onto the curb, upsetting my equilibrium.
The good news? I’m out of the road and no longer at risk of being run over.
The bad news? Someone else is at risk of being run over—by me.
While I stumble forward, an uncoordinated tangle of off-balance limbs, I’m on a collision course with a sweet-looking old lady out walking her little dog.
Her eyes go wide with panic. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My momentum and tilted body weight are inexorably propelling me forward, and I can’t gain enough control of my legs to change my course.
In an act of desperation, I shoot my arms up as high as they can go to add upward momentum to my jump. I vault into the air, and my leg muscles don’t let me down. I spread my legs and get enough height to leapfrog over the alarmed lady and her tiny tartan-clad dog.
A wave of relief washes through me as I clear them—until I smack face-first into a tree branch on the other side, its heavy burden of icy snow bending it low and putting it directly in my path as I complete the arc of my jump.
The impact stops the forward movement of my upper body, but not that of my legs. I go horizontal and drop like a rock back-first on the sidewalk.
I blink dumbly up at the grey, overcast sky.
The old lady doesn’t come to check on me. I don’t blame her. She’s probably shaken up and thinks I’m a nut.
My teammates don’t, either. I lift my head, and they’re nowhere to be found. They probably turned a corner ahead of me while my pace slowed as I was gawking at Carmen.
But someone does swim into my vision, concern furrowed on their face.
Concern furrowed on her face.
“Jamie, are you okay?” It’s not just concern in Carmen’s voice. There’s a heavy trace of befuddlement. This is the second time this week I’ve looked like a total klutz in front of her.
Hearing my name on her voice removes any trace of discomfort I might otherwise be feeling right now.
“Oh, yeah. I’m perfectly fine. No problem.” I need to do something to erase the impression I’m making as a clumsy oaf.
I know. I’ll kip up to my feet. It’s a move I’ve perfected. A showy feat of athleticism will make me look less ridiculous in her eyes after that sorry display.
Still on my back, I pull my legs up and, in a flash of movement, kick them forward. The motion propels me upward, and I land on my feet …
Right onto a patch of ice.
As soon as I’m upright, the soles of my shoes slip, and I instantly fall flat on my face this time.
“Jamie!” Carmen yelps.
With embarrassment spiraling through me, I just turn to her with the stupidest smile plastered on my face and give her a thumbs-up sign. “All good. No need to worry.”
Carmen stares at me for a long beat of time with her jaw slack and her eyebrows high … and then a peal of laughter leaps from her mouth.
A warm feeling expands behind my chest as my ears feast on the sound.
My smile pulls higher as I watch her face while she laughs. The never-seen crinkles at the edges of her pretty eyes. The way her brow scrunches in something other than frustration or annoyance. Her cheeks bunched up with just the slightest tinge of rose. The curve of her pink mouth.
A feeling of awe swells through me. This must be the kind of sheer wonder that the first person who ever saw Michelangelo’s David felt when it graced his presence.
I wish I knew why she doesn’t smile or laugh much. And I really, really wish I knew how to be the guy to fix that.
“Sorry,” she says, covering her mouth. “I shouldn’t laugh.”
Yes, you should. All the time. I’d do anything to make that happen. Fall down and crash into things until I didn’t have a bone left in my body to break if I had to. That’s what I want to say.
I push myself to my feet, this time without a disaster. “Nah, it’s cool. I probably looked hilariously ridiculous just then.”
She tilts her head and gives me a wry nod. It’s a strangely personal moment between us, and it makes my heart race.
“Well, I need to get to work. Try to pay more attention to your surroundings and don’t get yourself killed.”
A toothy grin carves on my face. She doesn’t want me to die. That’s something.
“Next time you see me, I’ll be alive. Promise.”
The gust of breath she exhales isn’t quite a laugh, but it’s maybe … a quarter of one? At least? I’ll take it.
She walks off in one direction, and I start running again in the opposite one, trying to find my roommates.
The temperature hasn’t risen a bit, but with the memory of Carmen’s laughter fresh in my mind, I don’t feel cold at all.