CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Emery
I’m halfway out the door when I remember that I hate running.
Not dislike.
Loathe.
The version of hate that lives in your soul, and reminds you loudly that there are far better ways to exercise that don’t involve questioning your life choices before six a.m.
But I do it anyway.
Because discipline matters. Because consistency matters. Because if I expect my players to do the hard, uncomfortable things for their bodies, then I damn well better practice what I preach.
I lock my door, earbuds dangling uselessly around my neck, and turn down the corner of the hallway, nearly colliding with a wall of warm, firm, and very male chest.
I stop short as we both make incoherent sounds of surprise.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t—” My words sputter out as I meet Lucas’s eyes. He’s clearly just coming back from a run himself.
Shirtless.
Of course, he is.
His chest is bare—the same sculpted expanse I clinically examined yesterday—but this is the first time I really see him. Not as a patient. Not as a file to study. Just a man who’s already pushed his body hard before most of the world is awake.
Sweat slicks over his skin. His breathing is steady and controlled but a touch labored.
I absolutely do not look.
I lift my gaze immediately, straighten my spine like good posture alone can save me, and force my focus back to his face.
“Morning,” I say, voice calm. Professional. Normal. I hope.
“Morning, Doc.” He steps back instinctively, giving me space, and runs a hand through his damp hair. “You heading out?”
“Yes.” I gesture vaguely. “A run.”
He lifts his brows. “The doctor who practices her own medicine.”
I smile. “Shocking, I know.”
He glances past me, then back. “You know where you’re going?”
I hesitate. “Not exactly.”
“Thought so.” He shifts his weight. “I’ll show you.”
I blink. “You’ll—what?”
“Run with you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say immediately. “You just finished.”
“And?” He shrugs. “Cool-down miles.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m a big girl despite what you’ve seen.”
He pauses and his expression changes. Not defensive. Not teasing.
“Well aware,” he says.
Something in my chest tightens. “I’m not a victim.”
His steady gaze holds mine. “Never crossed my mind that you were.”
The lack of pity is welcome.
He gestures toward the door. “New city. New places. Figured it might be nice to have a running partner.”
“But you already ran.”
“And now I’m choosing to run again.”
I study him for a beat, then shake my head. “Fine. But I’m warning you, I hate running.”
His grin widens. “Perfect. So do I.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Absolutely.”
We walk out of the complex gates, the morning air already warm and heavy. He waits while I stretch and mentally hype myself up, not watching, not commenting—just there.
“Okay,” I say. “But I’m not fast. I’m not chatty. And I—”
“You’re already out here, which is more than most people.” He nods and then starts jogging without another word.
I fall in step beside him, surprised to find his pace matched to mine. No showing off. No commentary. Just a steady presence.
My lungs protest and my legs follow as the city wakes up around us.
“You don’t have to stay with me,” I pant. “You can run ahead if you want.”
“I’m good.”
“I doubt this is your normal pace,” I say.
“My pace depends on who I’m running with.” He shrugs and turns so he’s jogging backward and facing me, cheeky grin in place.
I snort. “Now you’re just showing off.”
He laughs and turns forward again.
We fall into a rhythm. Footfalls. Breathing. And despite myself, it’s not awful.
My mind, however, is loud.
God, you’re already winded.
You look ridiculous. You’re not skinny enough to wear that outfit.
Why do you even bother running when everyone’s judging you anyway?
Jared’s uninvited voice slips back in, sharp and familiar. The comments about my form. My clothes. The way parts on me jiggle when I run and how that isn’t exactly attractive.
I grit my teeth and shut the noise out, which is much easier said than done.
Fresh start, Em. Jared no longer holds any power over you. He can’t demean you to make himself feel better. He can’t—
He. Can’t.
The ring has been off my finger for some time. Now I just need the lasting effects of him to be gone too.
Lucas checks in. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say and mean it.
“Well, we’re going about four miles. We can go left and get another two in or go right and add only one. Your call.”
“Go left,” I say, breathless but determined.
“A woman with stamina and grit,” he says. “I like that.”
I don’t know why his throwaway compliment means so much to me, but it does. It settles deep in my chest and wipes away some of the fatigue.
“Well, I may have both,” I say, “but I still hate running.”
“It’s the best way to start the day. Just you and the world before it wakes up and someone else ruins it. You can think. Can rehearse your side of a conversation you have to say to someone later. I can run the playbook through my head. It’s a fresh start.”
He’s not even puffing and this is his second run.
“Are you always this positive?”
He snorts. “Not when my aim is off, I’m not.”
“I’ll remember that.”
And somewhere between mile four and five, it hits me that this was not how I expected my morning to go.
Running beside a man I’m supposed to have a professional relationship with. Laughing. Breathing in sync. Feeling comfortable in a space where I’ve never really felt comfortable before.
And it begs the question, do I loathe running because of how Jared made me feel while doing it or do I actually dislike it? I haven’t run with a partner since our breakup, so I haven’t really tested the theory until now.
Until Lucas with his easygoing nature and non-judgmental encouragement.
The man has seen me in a way worse state than red-faced with a bit of jiggle in my leggings, so maybe that’s it.
Or maybe he’s just a good guy who makes me feel at ease.
“And we did it,” he says as we come to a stop in front of the apartment complex, and he holds up his hand for a high five.
Both of us are sweaty, flushed, and breathless as we walk the last twenty feet to stand in the shade of the complex.
Lucas bends over, his hands on his knees, breath coming heavy. “See? Not so bad.”
I wipe my forehead, glad I pushed myself, but I’m well aware my muscles are going to punish me later for it. “Don’t get cocky, Hale.”
He straightens up, eyes bright. “Too late.” His grin says it all.
And I know he’ll get a ton more during practice, but he ran again for me.
We walk back inside together, steps echoing softly.
“Okay, off to get ready for work,” he says like he’s going to get ready to go sit behind a desk and type away all day instead of going to play in the NFL.
He walks backward down the hall. “I’m going to keep that in mind, you know?”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“That you have stamina.”
“Um . . .” My cheeks blush. I don’t really know what to say to that.
He puts his key in the lock of his door. “Because I’ll definitely be putting you through your paces.” He glances my way with a wink. “And Emery?”
“Yes?”
“Glad you’re okay,” he says and then disappears inside.
I stand there longer than necessary before unlocking my own door.
So much for a simple run.
And somehow, I didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would.