Chapter 10
ten
ZACH
The sun is rising to the east of the island as I step outside of the apartment and onto the graveled path.
I should turn around and go back to bed. This is a bad idea. The kind that ends with regret and broken glass. But I can’t get her out of my head. Maybe I don’t want to.
She wants me to chase her. I want to fucking catch her. After that? I have no idea.
Okay, I have a lot of ideas. But most of those ideas end with her begging me to stop, and that’s not happening.
So why are you even out here?
I don’t know. Or maybe I don’t want to think about it too hard. I just want to feel and forget. Running helps. When I move fast enough, I don’t have to think about pretty temptations or doctors or the diagnosis hanging around my neck like an albatross.
I’d rather think about the way she looked at me yesterday. Like she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
A wry smile pulls at my lips as I start walking along the driveway toward the cliff, the steps down will lead me to the beach. I’ll do a couple of miles to warm myself up then meet her outside the Salty Dog.
I groan when I hear my name being called. It’s Hudson, of course. The man is always up at this early hour. He was even when we were kids. Christmas mornings we’d be dragged out of bed at the ass crack of dawn by him, a manic grin pulling at his lips as he told us that Santa had been.
“You going running?” he calls out, closing his car door shut as he ambles over.
“Yep. Gotta get the miles in,” I tell him.
He nods. Then looks at me. “Those sunglasses are something else. You look like your eyes are on fire.”
“They cut the glare,” I tell him, lifting them up to look at him. “It’s sunny today.”
He nods. “You doing okay, man? After the other day…”
“I’m fine.” And seriously, I am. I feel better now. And I just want to run.
While I can.
“Okay. Let’s get together soon. Not to talk about the art trail or books. Just family.”
My smile broadens. “I’d like that.”
“I would too.” He touches my arm lightly. “I gotta go. Got a call with London. Have a good run.”
When I reach the beach it’s empty, as it always is at this time of the morning.
The tide is out, leaving the sand wet and compacted, and easier to run on than the dry grains further up toward the cliff.
I start slowly, letting my muscles warm up, feeling the beat of my heart echo the thud of my shoes against the shore.
It only takes a mile to get up to speed, enough that the wind rushes against me, pushing my hair back, cooling my skin, as all the noise in my head starts to fade.
This is the only time I feel close to calm. Optimistic, almost. Like I’m not on a countdown to the darkness.
When my body’s burning, I feel completely alive. And I crave that.
The air is sharp with salt and seaweed, the horizon washed gold from the sunrise. The sound of the waves fills the spaces where my thoughts usually sit.
But then I think about her. The way she looked at me yesterday; like I was both the problem and the solution.
And there it is again. The pulse under my skin that’s got nothing to do with running.
I slow a little, scanning the beach ahead, and my mouth curves despite myself.
Sadie’s there, bent over like she’s stretching, in a pair of tight shorts that end mid-thigh and a crop top that exposes her taut stomach.
I swallow hard, imagining what it would be like to press my palm against her abdomen.
To feel her soft skin. Feel the tightening of her muscles as I slide my hand over her.
She looks up, her mouth parting slightly as she sees me approach.
She stretches her other leg out, her hand on her thigh as she bends over.
And for a second, I can’t look away. Her skin is lit by the sun, turning almost translucent as it glows.
Her hair is a fiery red, piled up to expose her smooth neck and shoulders.
“Do you know how intimidating you look?” she asks me. “Like a stormtrooper out on his morning jog.”
I laugh softly, then lift the shades from my eyes, our gazes connecting. She lets out a sharp breath.
“You okay?” I ask her. And I think we both know I’m asking if she’s okay to do this. Because she can back out anytime she wants.
She nods like she gets the subtext to my question.
“More importantly are you okay?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips. “Ready to be beaten by a woman?”
I bite down my smile. Christ, she can be cute when she wants to be. “Absolutely. Ten seconds head start? Or do you want more?”
She rolls her eyes at me, and for a second I think about punishing her. Would she like that? Would I?
I would if she would. And that’s the truth of it. If it turned her on, I’d do it, just to see her creamy skin pink up.
“Ten seconds then.” I’ll count slowly, because somewhere deep inside of me is the remnants of a gentleman. “But we start around the corner. Where nobody can see us.”
“Because you don’t want them to see you being outraced by a girl.”
“Sure,” I say. Let her think that. It’s not that the gentleman somewhere deep inside doesn’t want anybody watching this.
Because the red discs on her cheeks tell me she’s been thinking about this as much as I have. We’ve both read the book, dammit. We know where this could end.
I let her walk ahead, telling myself she needs some distance from me. Because this has all the hallmarks of getting way too intense.
But it’s a lie. I want to watch her move. To see the swing of her hips, the flex of her calves. The way the morning light slides over her skin. She’s temptation wrapped in Lycra, and every step she takes feels like a challenge meant for me.
When we round the bend, the beach opens up, wide and empty, the waves breaking against the rocks at the far end. The wind picks up, catching the strands of hair that have escaped her bun, teasing them against her neck. She glances back at me, a spark in her eyes.
“Here?” she asks.
“Here,” I agree, my voice low.
She nods once, turns to face the open stretch, and plants her feet in the sand, rolling her shoulders like she’s readying herself.
“Do you want to be caught?” I suddenly say. Mostly because I need to know. This has to be her choice.
I don’t want to misread any signals.
“Do you think you can catch me?” she asks, her eyes sparkling in the sun.
I shrug. I’m pretty sure I can. I’ve always been a fast runner. And the simple difference in biology puts me at an advantage.
“You’ve read the book,” she breathes, and I’m struck by how alike we think.
“Yeah, I have. And I want to know if you want it to be like that.” Because I’m not a dick. I don’t do suppositions. This is too important for that.
“Yes,” she says, her gaze not wavering from mine. “I want you to try to catch me. Don’t treat me like I’m fragile. Don’t treat me like I’m weak. Run hard. Run fast. I’ll do the same. And the rest… I guess is up to fate.”
Our eyes connect again. And I feel it. That desire. That ache. Reflecting back on me. And it hits me. She’s not judging me. The way I’m not judging her. We’re two people who like to run. To chase and be chased. Who apparently get turned on by it.
And what happens here is nobody’s business but ours.
“You go when you’re ready. I’ll count. You probably won’t hear me, but I promise to count to ten.”
She nods, looking ahead at the beach, like she’s calculating her route. Then before I can say anything else she’s off. And we’re on.
“One,” I call out, as I watch her speed across the sand, her legs taking long, fast strides, her ass swaying with the effort to propel herself forward.
“Two,” I call, my voice lower, swallowed by the wind.
She doesn’t look back. My thighs tense and my pulse slams as she keeps running, creating distance between us.
But I don’t move. I wait, I plan. I taste the anticipation on my lips, mixing with the salt from the ocean, as I keep calling out the numbers, each one bringing us a beat closer to what we both need.
By the time I hit ten, she’s nothing but sunlight and motion, her red hair catching the early light as the distance stretches between us. I take off after her, heart pounding, lungs burning, every nerve alive.
And for the first time in a long time, there’s no thought, no hesitation, no worries or fucking medical conditions. Only her.
She’s running, and I’m already lost.
SADIE
I can’t believe I’m doing this. My feet pound the sand as I run like my life depends on it, my heart slamming against my ribcage with every step I take.
I lose the sound of him by the time he shouts four, his voice drowned out by a combination of the crashing waves, my harsh exhalations, and the rush of blood through my ears.
But I know he must be close to running. Close to chasing. And my body is already reacting. My nipples pebble, my thigh muscles tighten, heat blooms low in my belly. Every nerve is awake, my skin alive to the salt air and the thought of him somewhere behind me, ready to catch.
Fear shouldn’t feel this good, this wild, this freeing. But it does. The sand gives beneath my feet, my muscles burning as I push harder, knowing he’s coming for me. Knowing he’ll close the distance between us in no time. Determined to make him work for it.
But I don’t look back. I want to feel him before I see him. And looking back would slow me down. I’m not going to let him win that easily.
The wind shifts, and then I hear his footsteps. Muted at first, then louder. The bastard calls out to me.
“You need to run faster than that.”
He barely sounds breathless. Like this is easy for him. But I hear the desire too, low in his voice. Thick. Like he’s closing in on his prey, and it excites him.
My legs pump harder, sand spraying up behind me as I push myself forward, but the sound of him only grows louder. Every muscle in my body is screaming for mercy.