“No consulting today?”
“Nah,” he says, stifling a yawn. “Gave myself the day off. Was up late working last night.”
We arrive at the lobby and he lets me out first, fingertips grazing the bare skin on my back where my top has ridden up. My skin prickles at his touch, but I pretend not to notice.
Raymond watches us leave, giving us a nod and fighting a half-smile like he thinks he’s witnessing the beginnings of something special.
“Hi, Raymond,” I give him a wave. “How’s it going?”
He gives me a wink. “Wonderful. Have a good one, Ms. Aldridge. You too, Mr. Warner.”
Jude gives him some sort of wave-salute thing, and even as we leave, I feel him watching us.
“So nice out,” I say, taking in a lungful of clean, mid-morning air.
Today is one of those rare summer days when it’s not too hot, the breeze is just right, and the sky holds nothing but a handful of puffy white clouds that occasionally block the sun at just the right moments. Suddenly the idea of sweating it out at Soul Cycle while pop music blasts my eardrums doesn’t hold the appeal of a jog in the park with a side of fresh air, but I don’t want to invite myself along—he might get the wrong idea.
“You like to jog?” he asks, basically reading my mind.
“Uh, yeah, actually. I do.” I stare ahead, tempering my excitement. Running in Central Park was one of the reasons I wanted to move to the Upper East Side.
“I could use a partner today,” he says, one hand rested on his narrow hip, fingers tucked into the waistband of his shorts and a hint of taut skin peeking out. “Sometimes it gets boring … going alone, I mean.”
I hesitate, not wanting to seem desperate because I am desperate. Desperate for some fresh air and a sweaty, breathless, mind-clearing jog.
“I don’t know …”
Jude rolls his eyes. “Come on. Let’s not do that thing where I invite you to do something and you hesitate and in the end, we both know you’re going to give in. So … just spare us both this time and give me that big, fat yes you’re holding back.”
I almost choke on my spit.
He’s right.
And I didn’t even realize I was doing it.
“You sure?” I finally ask, though I’m mostly doing it to mess with him.
“Good god, woman,” he says, wrapping his warm hand around my wrist and leading me to the corner where we wait our turn for the crosswalk, and a few minutes later, we find a park bench and begin to stretch.
“Ready?” He jogs in place for a second as he waits for me to finish.
A moment later, we hit the trail.
I keep behind him a couple of paces, his strides being longer than mine, and I watch as the sweat gradually saturates his white shirt, making it cling against his muscled back. Halfway into our run, he pulls his shirt over his head and bunches it up in his hand, running all the while.
Two muscled divots down his lower back all but point toward his perfect ass, and I thank my lucky stars he doesn’t know I’ve been staring at him the entire time we’ve been running. I’ve always found running to be a little boring with the exception of running track in high school, but I could run for hours if I had a view like this to keep me occupied.
Approaching a congested piece of sidewalk, we pass a couple of power-walking older women and a crowd of joggers and dog walkers when I lose him, but a minute later, I find him resting on the sidelines of the path, hands on his knees as he waits for me.
When Jude spots me, his olive-green eyes light in a way that Hunter’s never did, and I feel it everywhere: in my bones, in my chest, in my stomach. I might not be dating Jude (or planning to), but I like spending time with him. Cameo would be happy to know that I find my time with him to be extremely fulfilling.
He joins up with me again, our arms brushing against each other as we navigate through a small pocket of tourists.
“Race you to that tree?” Jude says toward the end of our run. He points ahead to a giant oak surrounded by enormous boulders.
“What’s in it for the winner?” I ask, words breathy and teasing.
“Winner gets to decide what we’re doing Friday night.”
I reach out, trying to jab his arm, but he dodges me in time. That whole quiet thing earlier was nothing more than me reading into him, worrying over nothing.
“Smooth,” I say, pretending I’m more annoyed than flattered that he’s still interested in me.
Jude turns back, flashing a quick wink. “So you in?”
He may have long legs, but I’ve got speed.
“Yep.”
“Go!” Jude’s strides lengthen and he’s several paces ahead of me.
Clearly, I underestimated my competition.
Damn it.
Arms pumping and quads burning, I chase after him, catching up but not enough. The tree ahead grows nearer with each breathless second, and I’m so close I could reach out and touch Jude if I tried, but he’s still in the lead.
A short moment later, his hand is splayed across the gnarled bark of the oak tree and he’s wearing the biggest victory smile I’ve ever seen. As soon as I get there, he gathers me in his arms, securing his hands behind my back, and swings me around.
My skin sticks to his, the two of us glistening with sweat.
“You let me win on purpose, didn’t you?” he asks, breathless and possessing a devious glint in his playful gaze. For a moment, it’s just us. Everything else fades away for an endless second until he loosens his hold.
Waiting for my feet to hit the ground, I gently push him away. “That was all you, Daddy Long Legs.”
“You almost had me a couple of times.” He dabs his bunched-up t-shirt against his sweat-laced brow.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I rest my hands on my hips, trying to steady my breathing. “Head back now?”
Jude nods, and we make our way home to The Jasper quietly taking in the sunshine, the chirping robins, the rustling leaves, the gossiping nannies, the selfie-snapping sightseers, and the giggling children.
When we reach the lobby of our building, we wait for the elevator side by side, our hands so close they’re almost touching. The doors part and we climb inside. I let Jude press button number seven.
“We should do that again some—” my comment is silenced with a kiss. One that comes out of nowhere. One that makes my stomach roll and my body weightless as the elevator lifts us higher.
He’s backed me into a corner, my hands braced against the carpeted walls as my knees weaken.
His hands graze my jaw, his fingers tangling in the sweaty hair at the nape of my neck, and before I can protest, he kisses me harder. His lips taste of sin and salt. Lifting my hand to his hardened chest, I accept the dance of our tongues and I embrace the thrill of this moment—of being kissed by Jude Warner, who had to have me so badly he didn’t care that I’m covered in sweat and my hair’s a mess and there isn’t an ounce of makeup on my ruddy, wind-kissed face.
I think he likes me.
And he likes me just the way I am.
The elevator doors open and the kiss comes to a gentle end as our eyes connect. Jude takes me by the hand, leading me toward our shared hallway.
We stop outside our respective doors, only this time we’re not alone. The lady from the apartment next to mine steps out, squinting in our direction with a wrinkled stare. Even as she shuffles toward the elevator, her gaze is fixed on us. Whether she’s nosy or entertained, I can’t tell, but her heavy presence has served as a bucket of water on our fire.