The Recovery Run

Chapter 1

MILE ONE

LITERARY FUCKBOY

“An espresso martini?” I guffaw, nestling against the chair’s high back.

“Don’t be judgy, Jensen. They’re delicious.” Anker takes a long swig of his drink before letting out a contented sigh.

“If you’re a mother of two out for ladies’ night,” Garrett deadpans.

There is seldom a happy hour with my brother that his best friend isn’t at. Though the jury is still out on whether he’s the third wheel for a sibling outing, or if I’m the one tagging along to their post-work guys’ nights. Considering my social calendar, I’m sure it’s the latter, not the former.

“Ladies’ night,” Anker hums. “Where I always drink for free.”

“Of course you do.” I shake my head.

A year older, my brother is a steady current of self-confidence. He’s unabashed in his enthusiasm for the things he likes—never second-guessing anything. His career. Relationships. Himself.

Whereas I’m in a constant state of self-doubt. Aside from the thick brown hair and hazel eyes we inherited from our mother, we’re the antithesis of one another. Anker never worries about being liked, unlike me.

“You’re aware the purpose of ladies’ night is for you to buy the ladies drinks?” I smirk.

“I can’t help it if the ladies love me,” he says cheekily.

Of course. A crease dips my brow. “At least, one of us is getting drinks bought for them,” I say, trying to keep the grumble out of my voice.

Unlike Anker, whose good looks are reinforced by most of my friends having crushes on him, I buy my own drinks. Not just because I’m an independent woman, but because nobody’s offering—at least nobody I want.

“No worries. Garrett’s treat.” He slaps Garrett’s back. “We Larsens are too pretty to buy our own drinks.”

My eyeroll is both involuntary and necessary. Garrett Marlowe.

Since meeting five years ago, it’s crystal clear that Garrett has little motivation to buy me a drink, unless it’s to appease my brother.

If I didn’t have years of his judgmental comments or exasperated sighs, the memory of overhearing him refer to me as a “Yappy Yorkie” within an hour of meeting me has burned into my psyche how he feels about me.

Garrett’s mode with me has three settings—polite indifference, best friend’s younger sister, and judgy tolerance.

“Didn’t realize I was here just to provide you and Jensen external validation of your worth,” Garrett mutters in his deep, silky bass.

Somehow, he’s gathered up all the derision in his body to infuse it into the judgmental way he says my name. It’s almost an auditory scowl… Jensen.

“Is someone just grumpy because nobody’s offering to buy them drinks?” My mouth pulls into a mock pout.

I meet Garrett’s not-so-subtle distaste for me with wry smiles and venom-laced teases. Most people like to avoid the bear, but I poke. At least, this bear. With everyone else, I worry about them liking me, but not with Garrett, since he seems to merely tolerate my existence.

It also helps me push back against the stupid, nagging little crush I have on him. Yeah, because that’s healthy. I blame Jane Austen. Just had to read Pride and Prejudice as a teenager and form a lifelong crush on the Mr. Darcy types.

Ms. Austen aside, it’s on-brand for me. I have a bad habit of liking men who don’t seem to like me back.

He clears his throat. “Some of us don’t require external validation.”

“Not all of us enjoy being an antisocial dickwad.” My coo is acidic.

“Corners, you two,” Anker laughingly groans.

“Perhaps we can find a dark corner for Garrett to sulk in because the bar doesn’t have the blood of his enemies on tap.” Smirking, I toss my long hair over my shoulder.

“Or maybe there’s a corner with a doctoral student that fancies himself the next Jack Kerouac for you to buy drinks for all night,” he drawls.

Asshole. Of course, he goes there. It’s the easiest bullseye to hit. My chronic singlehood is well-known. My relationship history is littered with unrequited crushes, an ill-fated situationship, and a maybe something with a man who is not a student.

“Miles is a doctor,” I say, my brow puckering.

“Of English,” Garrett scoffs.

The medical doctor snobbery aside, Garrett tends to be standoffish with most people. Besides Anker, I may be the only other human he interacts with outside of the hospital, and most of the time, I annoy him.

Miles, however, seems to enjoy everyone.

I just wish he liked me in the way I want to be liked.

Since meeting ten months ago at the university where I work as an assistant disability services coordinator, our relationship has teetered between friends and something more.

Beyond the occasional dinner before one of his evening classes and a few steamy make-out sessions worthy of a soapy drama, he hasn’t asked me out.

Of course, I haven’t asked him out either. I’ve just been waiting. It seems like waiting is my not-so-cool superpower, or kryptonite, depending on your perspective. My patience is endless, but all this waiting leaves me always wanting.

“I’ll be sure to call the literary fuckboy if I have a misplaced semicolon emergency,” Garrett snarks.

“Prick,” I mumble under my breath.

Anker lets out a long groan. “I hope you two aren’t going to be like this tomorrow and ruin my churro waffle with your bickering.”

Before we fly to New York City tomorrow for Anker to run the marathon, we’re brunching with some friends. It’s the first time he’s running it. In the last four years, he’s ran the Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Long Beach marathons with Garrett, but in New York City, he’ll run solo.

It’s a Larsen male rite of passage. My father and his brothers not only ran a marathon the year they turned thirty, but found love because of it.

Uncle Pedro was in Uncle Christian’s marathon training running group.

Aunt Margot was a volunteer at Uncle Hans’s race.

Our mom worked at the coffee shop in the hotel where our dad stayed when he ran his.

“I can behave.” Hand on my chest, I bat my eyes. “It’s Garrett the Grumbly that I worry about. Is he even allowed out in the daytime? I wouldn’t want him to burst into flames.”

“I’ll wear sunscreen,” Garrett deadpans.

Snorting, I almost spit out my drink but swallow it back and choke a bit.

“On that note…” He chuckles. “I’ll grab us another round. I have your egos to feed, after all.” The chair screeches as he stands up. “Same drinks?”

“Make mine the apple martini this round,” Anker says, no doubt waggling his brows at me.

Shaking my head, I laugh. “I’m good with just the one drink. I’d like to keep a clear head for the bus home.”

“I can drive you, Jensen,” Garrett offers.

“I like the bus.”

“It’s dark out.”

“In fairness, with my eyesight, it’s always dark out,” I quip.

There are few advantages of my legal blindness since my Stargardts diagnosis at the age of ten, outside of getting through airport security quicker, but this is one.

I do enjoy a perfectly timed blind joke.

Even if my limited vision doesn’t let me see the smile tugging at the edges of Garrett’s mouth, his quiet chuckle telegraphs it.

“Such an asshole.” Laughter underscoring his retort, Garrett shakes his head.

“You are the expert.” An unbridled grin kicks across my face.

Poking this bear is extra delicious when I make him smile. I’m not a complete masochist with this crush. It’s not like I thrive around men who are mean to me.

“How about a soda, then?” Garrett says, the quirk of his mouth betrayed in the lightness of his timbre.

“Sure.” I beam with all the bluster of a wrestler hoisting up a championship belt. He’s totally smiling, and he hates it.

“Diet, right?”

“Yeah… Thanks.”

“I’ll be back,” he says, pushing away from the table.

“I can’t decide if you two sometimes dislike each other or if this is a really long game of verbal foreplay,” Anker teases.

“Eww.” I wrinkle my nose.

A loud chortle belts out of him. “Imagine the hate sex, you’d have.”

No! I will not imagine that with my brother sitting a foot away from me.

Also, that will never happen. Not to mention, my brother may tease, but I know he’d never be cool with the idea of his younger sister being dicked-down by his best friend, who is also his boss at the hospital where they are physicians.

“No more martinis for you. You’re clearly drunk,” I say, slipping my blazer off and draping it over the back of my chair with my purse.

“Says the woman who’s disrobing.” He leans across the table and flicks my nose. “Is someone hot and bothered?”

I swat at him but miss entirely.

“God, I love having a blind sister.” His laugh is hearty.

“Uncool.” Laughing, I kick his shin underneath the table.

“Oof… And you wore pointy shoes.”

“Serves you right.” I preen just a bit. “Also, you tease, but shall I remind you of how you freaked when you caught me making out with Everett Haney in high school?”

He makes a disgusted noise. “Fair point.”

Everett Haney is just another notch in my dismal romantic history belt.

My brother discovering us beneath the bleachers—Everett’s hand up my blouse—wasn’t the most embarrassing part.

It was later, when I learned that I was just a bet Everett made to prove he could get the school’s blind girl to go all the way.

To this day, Anker doesn’t know about the bet. It was humiliating enough without him learning the truth and going full vengeful older brother.

Anker, however, dated at least three of my girlfriends from high school. My brother’s typical rotating door of relationships is nonexistent at the moment. Except for texter girl, AKA Sonora Jefferies.

“Will you meet up with Sonora in New York? You know, go full You’ve Got Mail—minus bankrupting her bookstore?” Elbows on the table’s edge, I rest my chin on my hands and flash a cheeky expression.

“Maybe.” He draws out the word with a playful lilt.