45. Morning-Sex People
morning-sex people
Mirren
The only thing that keeps me from going way too far above the speed limit is the idea that a ticket would slow me down from getting to Strider. And too far above the speed limit, even Charlie’s connections couldn’t step in to save me from a fine, or a stint in the county jail.
Diane sent me home with cookies and a teary goodbye.
That is to say, she drove me to the airport, got out and hugged me at the curb, and said while holding me at arm’s length, “I love you for my Strider. Have a safe flight, Mirren.” With those words, she rounded the hood and waved at me, wiping away tears, as I walked through the sliding glass doors.
Even if I’m not the type, I was misty-eyed. The Andersons are good people. Strider is proof.
Now, it’s after noon, and I’m in the middle of a duel between my lead foot getting me home and my brain trying to save me from a ticket. My foot is winning as I round the corner onto my street. Pulling into my driveway, I leave everything but my purse in the car and bound up the steps.
And into an empty house.
Where are you?
The answer isn’t instant, despite me whirling my hands in a come-on gesture trying to make it go faster. I’m back at the car, ready to grab my suitcase when my phone dings, causing me to smash my head into the door frame. Ouch.
HoneyBun
800 miles deep in a brutal run with your brother. He’s trying to kill me.
Drop a pin. I’ll come to get you.
{Thumbs up emoji} {location sent}
Back in my car, rubbing what will surely be a knot on my skull, I watch the pin crawl along the coast. Hambone is keeping a hefty pace—one he’d never do with me and my short legs, even before my knee injury—one most people wouldn’t be able to maintain.
And I know it’s Jamie, because Charlie can run, but he doesn’t do it for fun, much less in the middle of a workday.
Johnny’s the same, holding religiously to his business hours like a true zealot.
Zipper wouldn’t be that far north, and Rookie would never be caught dead doing that pace.
More likely, he’d keel over from trying.
Verifying their location and trajectory, I point my car toward Ham’s house to see if I can intercept them along the way. Strider doesn’t need saving, but I’m going to anyway. It’s selfish. The only Jones I want him near right now is me.
And near isn’t the right word for it.
Strider
I never stopped running after high school. Once I learned to overpower my desire to quit with another ten strides, and another and another, it really came down to who would win in a war—my body or my brain. They both win when I run, even if I loathe most of my time doing it.
My lungs burn. My thighs are rubber. My feet numb out. But I keep going.
Mind over matter.
My feet slap in time with Jamie’s, our breaths not showing for the other the strain to which we’re pushing our bodies.
“I regret the chicken fried steak.” I wipe my brow with my arm only to discover that both are still wet.
“Puking in the bushes was enough for me to get that,” he deadpans.
“Do I want to know how you keep down the He-Man-sized breakfast you hoovered through?”
“Conditioning.”
My watch vibrates letting me know we crossed another mile. The celebration ding for the ten-mile mark was way too long ago.
“So, this run… Are we going until we die?” I ask.
“Until you give up.”
“So this is basically a dare until I cramp or dehydrate?”
“If that’s how you see it.”
Fuck that. “This is the worst kind of dick-measuring I’ve ever been a part of.”
“You do that often?”
I bark a laugh only to stumble in my stride.
“Do you haze all of Mirren’s men like this?” The words are sour in my throat, but I can’t help but hope Jamie scared them away with his glower and running shoes.
“Mirren doesn’t have men. She’s never had men. You’re the first.”
“I feel special that you saved this just for me then.”
At that, Jamie releases a puff of laughter. He tips his head to the clearing along the path on the Bay, the SUV in the parking lot, and the gorgeous blonde leaning on its hood. “Your escape route if you’re tapping out.”
“You mean choose between you and the woman I love? You have to know I won’t choose you.”
I move right when the path veers. Jamie stays left. “Scoot,” he shouts and waves as he continues his ridiculous pace for mile fifteen.
I stop right in front of Mirren, looking down into her upturned face. Her smile is wide. Her freckles dance across her nose, and her eyes are alight.
I slide both hands along her jaw, and drop my lips to her cheek, trailing my lips to her ear. “Hi, baby.”
I want to drink her in, take from her, own her, but I can’t breathe. And, of course, there’s the whole puke thing. “I’m sorry. I smell. I’ll make it up to you after I shower.”
Mirren’s hand cups my dick. “How about you make it up to me in the shower?”
I slide away, give her a tap on the ass, and plant my bum in the driver’s seat. “Get in, Freckles.”
Before she can open her door, I have the windows down and her seat warmer on. I’d do some pit move to get us there faster, but everything I need is in this car, so I extend my hand, taking hers and bringing it to my lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “Missed you. How was Peoria?”
She studies me. “Good. Productive. Your mom and dad are amazing. Strider?”
Turning my head from the road to her, my brows drop. “Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you kiss me?”
This is one of the places where I wished I were a liar, a good one, and could make things less like reality. I scrunch my nose. “Mona’s chicken fried steak was delicious going down, but…” I leave the sentence hanging and lift my brows for her to infer the rest.
Her face turns sour, but her smile becomes a cackle. “Hambone is a horse of a different color.”
That’s one way to put it. “If he heads straight home, he’ll be at the eighteen-mile mark.”
“Don’t mention it to him. He would be the guy who did a turkey trot on Thanksgiving morning. We’re donuts-that-morning people. He doesn’t need any encouragement.”
“We could be donuts and turkey trot people.”
“Shut your mouth, Strider Anderson. If you need to burn some calories in the morning, we can be morning-sex people, but never, never turkey trot people.”
“God, I love you.” I squeeze her hand. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not questioning it either.”
“Don’t say sweet things like that with a pukey mouth. I want to kiss you, but, ew.”
“Trust me. I know.” I turn us into her driveway and am rolling up the windows when she drops the hammer.
“Do you want to move into my apartment with me, or should we move into the big house together?”