We’re barely a quarter mile into our jog, far from done with our warm-up when she glances at me. “You’re not going to ask?”
“What? How far are you planning on going today?” I know what she’s really asking, but if she wants to avoid, it’s not my job to push. “Six miles?”
“Eight?”
“Ten?”
She smirks at me, puffing out a breath. “How far is it back to Charlotte?”
“We can be there in three hours by car.” And frankly, I’m ready to whisk her away. Sticking around for a rehearsal celebration at her house and then the actual wedding seems like a waste of time at this point. Hasn’t she been through enough?
“Funny guy. I meant about this morning.”
“I know. I don’t need to ask.”
“Why?”
“Because I heard your voices when I came down the stairs. Heard you two talking so I figured I’d give you a minute.”
She laughs through her spaced breathing. “Spying on me?”
I keep my gaze on the uneven, old sidewalks and ahead of me. “Knew you could take care of yourself, figured I’d give him a minute. Took a lot out of me not to shove my fist in his face when I came out though, especially when I saw him holding you.”
“As much as I wish I could have avoided all of that, I’m glad I actually had that conversation with him. If there was any doubt in my mind before if I was over him, this morning sealed it.”
“He’s a dick. Actually, I take that back. He’s not a dick because I don’t think he has one. The man is spineless and weak. He, and I hope you don’t take offense to this, but he reminds me of your mom. Always fighting for something better, not caring who he lays out as he gets there.”
“Too bad he’s not as refined as my mother. Maybe then he’d have some class while he’s shoving people to the side.”
“What are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“Julianna and what he said to you.”
“What about her?”
“Are you going to tell her Roman’s only marrying her because she reminds him of you? Seems something she should at least know, don’t you think?”
We reach The Battery and curve the road, following where I know will take us toward the U.S. Coast Guard Station.
Jillian is quiet for a while before she finally says, “You’re assuming she doesn’t already know the score, Klaus, and that’s sweet as well as naive. Hell, he even admitted he called her by my name last night. You think she doesn’t know what he’s doing?”
“He did what?”
“You said you heard.”
“Not that.” He’s worse than I thought, and I already thought he was nothing more than a chunk of ice on the rink. “I missed most of what he was saying until you started freaking out and started talking loud. Then his voice raised. Tell me what he said.”
“Just that. He said he loved me and when I told him he didn’t know what that meant he said he called Julianna my name last night. I assumed it was during… well, you know.” She flips her hand in the air, never breaking her stride. “Personally, I’d like to scrub the memory of that entire conversation out of my brain, so don’t make me repeat it.”
Thank God we’re running off steam. Otherwise, I don’t know what I’d do if faced with Roman again. He’s absolute scum. “Had I known he said that, I definitely would have punched him.”
“Whatever. I could tell Julianna, but she obviously hates me and if I needed to know why before, I definitely know now. And the last thing I want to think about is them together like that. But the more I think about it, the more I think Julianna knows exactly what she’s getting herself into. Her family doesn’t have as much money. By marrying Roman, she gets to think she’s reached some high social status, or whatever. She’s getting something she wants out of this and she’s going to have to live with it. Both of them are. I think that’s punishment enough for them, don’t you?”
Her breathing is increasing as she rants, telling me it’s time to back off.
I don’t want her lungs to wear out from talking before the run is over.
“Whatever you say, Jilly-Bean.”
Her grin is my reward as we return to our run, talking less, until we find our rhythm and the warm-up is over and our bodies move on autopilot through Charleston, around the Medical Center and Charleston College before dodging pedestrians as the city awakens and we run back to her house.
There is only so much torture a man can take and I am at my limit.
For well over a year, I’ve run next to Jillian, been distracted more than once over the bounce of her tits beneath a tank top and sports bra, and sometimes only the bra. I’ve licked my lips to the sight of her abs and her heavy huffs of breath as we reach mile seven or eight. And I’ve gone home hard from the sight of her firm ass in her tight running shorts.
Now that I’ve actually had my hands on her and the freedom to touch her and kiss her whenever I please, I’m ready to punch straight through my shorts as we arrive back at her house.
We fall in through the front door of her parents’ house, dripping sweat, faces flushed, and limbs rubbery. All great signs of a perfect run.
She grasps the thick, gleaming railing and drags herself up the stairs. My eyes settle on that ass of hers. So damn perfect.
“This is why treadmills were invented,” she moans, pulling herself up the stairs with every slow and painful step.
“We’ve had harder runs than this around Freedom Park.”
She glares back at me, grinning, a thin line of sweat on her upper lip. “Pretty sure I whined and complained then.”
Probably. As much as Jillian loves running, she has the habit of good-naturedly complaining all the way through them. “Get upstairs before you collapse. I don’t think I can carry you today.”
I’ve had to do it before. When she fell once, blamed a flat stretch of road as the cause afterward. Yet as she said it, she had this glazed look in her eyes—which were focused on my bare chest.
Possibly why I quit wearing a running shirt since then unless necessary.
“Bossy, bossy.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” I step up toward her and slap her ass on the way. No man could resist that opening.
She squeals and jumps forward from it, but I race past her.
“I call dibs on the shower.”
“The hell you do!” she calls out from behind me, but I know Jillian, she likes a good competition. I half-heartedly race up the stairs letting her catch me and when she does, we elbow and shove each other down the hall and around the corner through the doorway to her bedroom and into her bathroom.
My chest is heaving, and my cheeks hurt from smiling as we both reach the bathroom at the same time. Her wide grin matches mine as she tries to catch her breath.
“Looks like a tie,” I say. “What do we do now?”
Jillian reaches for the hem of her tank top and pulls it over her head. Speech flees and my gaze drops.
Her bra has a zippered front. It takes everything in me not to reach for it, give it a good, firm tug so her breasts fall free, right into my waiting palms.