5. Jesse
5
JESSE
“ C ome on Jess, home stretch, you got this. The eyes of the world are on you, willing you to hold your lead, to keep it going for one last, glorious mile. Don’t let them beat you! Don’t let them take this away from you!”
Mark was running three feet ahead of me, backwards, so that he could turn around and face me as we climbed the hill. We were on the last mile of an eight-mile run and he’d apparently decided that my usual wheezing, grumbling style wasn’t going to cut it this time.
“They can have the win,” I said, gasping for air. It was seriously so hot out. How did he have the energy for this? “Whoever they are. Really, they can take it. I’m fine just—”
“Don’t say it,” Mark interrupted. “Don’t even think it. Only positive thoughts when running. Negative thoughts are poison. You’ve got this. This is your race.”
“Where exactly is this hypothetical race even taking place?” I asked, marvelling at his ability not to trip and fall as he jogged backwards.
We were on the same route as last week, but this time I’d let Mark talk me into following the running path all the way up to the top of the hill. He’d reminded me, before we started, that the hill, ‘ isn’t really all that big, it just looms large in your imagination .’ He’d been lying.
What had I been thinking?
I glanced at Mark and couldn’t help but notice how his white T-shirt, slightly sweaty and clinging to his chest, outlined every muscle he had. I could even see his nipples. And if I let my eyes trail downwards, to the washboard abs that peaked out of his shirt when he twisted, or even lower...
I tore my eyes away before he could notice where my gaze had been. I probably hadn’t been thinking when I’d agreed to this run. I’d probably just been ogling him like I always did, and trying not to be too obvious about it. Or maybe I’d been thinking about his beautiful green eyes, or the way he said my name. No one else called me Jess, but coming from Mark, I liked it.
“Where do you want your race to be?” he asked, bringing my attention back to the present. “The Olympics? Representing the good old U.S. of A.?”
“And wear those tiny running shorts with a flag on the butt? No thank you. I don’t think anybody needs to see that much of me.”
“But if you were running in the Olympics, you’d obviously be in prime shape,” Mark said. “Not that you were in that bad shape to start with, I mean.”
“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, except getting me to run this hill faster.”
“I mean it.” Mark nodded. “It’s been a few weeks now and I can already see the difference.”
I flushed. To be honest, I’d been seeing the same thing myself. I’d told myself that it was just wishful thinking, but when I’d caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror getting dressed today, I’d noticed my calf muscles in a new way, and it felt like there was a bit more definition in my core than there had been before. It was nice to know it wasn’t all in my head.
“I’m still not ripped like you are,” I said, making a face.
“That’s because cardio’s different from strength training and weights.”
“You and your gym terms. Why are you so buff, if it’s not from running? Did you used to be a personal trainer or something?”
A strange look flashed across his face. Had I asked something inappropriate? Why would he be uncomfortable talking about something like that? I thought straight guys were supposed to love talking about the gym—though to be fair, I didn’t actually know.
“No, nothing like that,” Mark said, finally. “For a while, I was just spending a lot of time with some guys who were real gym rats. I don’t see them much anymore, but I guess the habit kind of stuck.”
“Well, if it makes you look like you do, it’s a good habit to have,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“You’re too hard on yourself. Everybody—every body , I guess—is different, but none of them is better or worse than any others. Besides, I think you look good.”
There it was again. Every now and then, Mark would say something like that—something I would have interpreted as just friendly encouragement, but then he’d go and blush, just like he was doing now, and leave me all confused.
Was he flirting with me? He’d never said anything to indicate he liked men. Of course, he’d never said anything to indicate he didn’t, either. But statistically speaking, it was safer to assume he probably didn’t. Right?
The whole thing was stupid, because I shouldn’t have been crushing on him anyway. I was still hurting from the Tanner breakup, and while it was a classic Jesse move to try to use one guy to get over another, I knew it was a bad idea. Then again, since I’d started hanging out with Mark, I realized I had been thinking about Tanner a little less.
Dammit, I didn’t know what to do, and this stupid hill was making thinking straight—or rather, thinking gay—even harder.
I put my head down and tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of another. That was one trick Mark had taught me about hills. It could get disheartening to look up at how much I had left to run, and how high it was. But if I narrowed my scope, just concentrating on keeping my stride right and watching the ground in front of me, it seemed like the distance went by faster, and the hill wasn’t quite so steep.
“There it is,” Mark said, and I looked up. We were just cresting the top of the hill, and he’d turned back around to run next to me. He was pointing to an old stone tower at the far end of the park. Whatever it had been built for, it was mostly falling apart now, but it was the end point of the run. “Race you there?”
I looked at him, astonished. “Are you crazy? I can barely breathe.”
“You’re tougher than you look,” Mark said. “Come on, don’t let me beat you now.”
I could tell he was picking up the pace a little, and I had to push myself to keep up. “You said we were just running this hill today,” I complained. “I never agreed to sprinting at the end. I’d probably die if I even tried.”
“Come on. If you don't try, you’ll never know what you’re made of.”
“Maybe I’m okay with that.”
“Fine. I’m going to have to break out the big guns, I see.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously. He moved in closer to me and gave me an earnest glance.
“Did you know that bulldogs have the most airline deaths of any dog, due to their respiratory problems?”
“What? Why would you tell me that?” I glared at him. It was hard enough just trying to finish this run without having to think about canine tragedy.
“And that most of them have to be born via cesarean section because their heads are too big for natural birth?”
“Oh God, I didn’t need to know that.”
“I’ll stop if you run faster. Did you know that there was a bulldog on the Titanic who passengers remember seeing drifting out to sea after the ship went down?”
“This isn’t fair,” I gasped, picking up the pace some more. “You didn’t mention that torture was part of the package when I agreed to train with you. I want my money back. A full refund, please.”
“Run faster and you won’t have to hear me anymore,” Mark said with a malicious grin. “Bulldogs also can’t swim. So don’t take ‘em on a plane or anywhere near water unless you want them to drown.”
“Literally, what is wrong with you?”
“A bulldog’s breathing problems are so bad that—”
I sprinted.
I didn’t wait for him to finish, didn’t want to know what horrible factoid was waiting for me at the end of that sentence. I just took off, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. But for all of Mark’s teasing about me being in better shape, it was clear I couldn’t actually outpace him. Making for the tower at a dead run, he was still at my heels, reciting depressing facts as he went.
I stumbled, reached out, and grazed the tower, just barely touching it with my fingers before I collapsed on the grass below. Oh God, I had a cramp. I was breathing about as well as a bulldog right now.
I lay on my back trying to catch my breath and pictured myself drifting out to sea on a piece of plywood. Dying didn’t actually sound so bad right now. At least the north Atlantic would be cold, with all those icebergs.
Mark reached the tower a few seconds after me and turned, walking over to where I lay in the grass. I squinted up at him, trying to block the sunlight with an arm across my face. It was hard to be certain, over the sound of blood rushing through my ears, but I was pretty sure he was laughing at me.
“I can’t believe that worked!” he crowed, looking down at me. He had his hands on his hips, a giant smile plastered across his face. He didn’t even look winded. Completely unfair.
“And I can’t believe you could be that cruel,” I said, my chest still heaving. “What did you do, stay up all night last night, researching bulldogs?”
“And I’m not even the littlest bit embarrassed about it,” Mark said, his eyes flashing.
“You should be, you nerd.”
“First I’m a jock, now I’m a nerd? Make up your mind.”
“How am I supposed to do that when you’re so mysterious about your background?”
Oof, that had come out more sour than I’d intended. It was true that I didn’t know that much about Mark, despite the fact that I felt like he knew everything about me. But he seemed so uncomfortable talking about his life in Chicago, and I didn’t want to make him feel bad.
“I bet you’re a secret bulldog trainer,” I added, dialing back from what seemed like dangerous waters.
“You’ll never find out if you spend the rest of your life collapsed on the ground like that.”
I noted with some relief that he was smiling. Crisis averted.
“You know, it’s very hard to be me,” I said with my most put-upon voice. “It’s not enough to have to run eight miles, nearly all of which was uphill, but I have to put up with you while I do it.”
“You’re right, you’re a saint.” Mark grinned, and I couldn’t resist—I reached out with one of my legs, intending to give him a nudge. But my body apparently hadn’t started working again yet, so I ended up tangling my foot in between his, and suddenly Mark was falling down on top of me.
He put his arms on either side of my body to break his fall and came to a stop with his chest just inches from mine.
“Did you seriously just fall into a push-up?” I asked, looking from side to side at his biceps. “Who does that?”
But he didn’t answer, and when I looked back at his face, he was staring at me with an inscrutable look. Those green eyes of his were wide and wondrous.
This close, I could see where they were flecked with blue and gold. I could have looked into them forever, could have gotten lost in them and died happy. In fact, I did get lost for a moment, and all the while, Mark just held himself there. Watching me.
“Hi,” I said quietly. My heart was beating a mile a minute in my chest, but this time, it had nothing to do with running. He was so close. I could feel the heat of his body in the air between us, and if I arched my back just slightly, I knew that we would touch.
“Hi,” he said.
And then he kissed me.
My eyes widened in surprise, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was this real? I must have imagined this a thousand times already in the few weeks that I’d known Mark, but I never thought—
But no, it was real. His eyes were closed, and his lips were on mine, and I was being an idiot, lying there frozen in shock. Time to snap out of that before he changed his mind.
I closed my eyes and gave into the kiss. Not that it was hard. Mark’s lips were soft and smooth. He was hesitant at first, but I pressed against him and opened my mouth to encourage him, and it didn’t take him long. His tongue slid across my lips, then pushed between them, and I lost myself in the velvet sweetness, letting him explore my mouth.
He was still bracing himself on either side of me, but my hands were free, and I brought one to the side of his face, pulling him down tighter. He hummed as I rubbed his neck, and when his chest finally lowered onto mine, an electric current passed through my body.
Oh, this was good. This was very good.
Mark’s weight on top of me, his lips on mine, his skin underneath my fingertips—it was all perfect. Better than I’d imagined, because it was real. I didn’t understand how, but I wasn’t going to question it. I reached up with my other hand and drew him closer to me, and his whole body rubbed against mine until—
“Sorry,” he said, pulling back abruptly. He pushed himself up with his arms, then rocked back so he was sitting on his heels, looking down at me from the side. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” I said, scrambling up into a seated position. “Really, I don’t mind. I mean, I more than don’t mind, I actively un-mind. I liked it, I mean, in case that wasn’t clear. Wow, I’m doing a really bad job of this.”
“No, you’re fine,” Mark said, running a hand through his hair. He shook his head like he was arguing with someone. Me, or himself? I wasn’t sure. “I just…I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, I’m pretty sure you definitely should have.” I cocked my head. “Unless you didn’t want to. But as far as I’m concerned, it was a good idea. Even if it does make you even more mysterious.”
I’d meant that last bit as a joke, but it had the opposite effect. Mark’s body went rigid, and a look of pain passed across his face. Dammit, what had I done? This wasn’t going the way I wanted it to go at all. I tried again. “What I meant was—”
“I have to go,” he said, interrupting me before I could get any further. He stood up abruptly, looking around the park like he was searching for an exit. “I just—I need to—I’m sorry.”
He took off, running back across the park like he hadn’t just run eight miles. Like someone was chasing him with depressing statistics. Like he was running away from something, or someone, that terrified him.
Like he was running away from me.