Which is ridiculous.
We’re cool. So, we slept together. Big deal. I asked him to take my v-card, and he ruined my career by trying to claim my heart in front of everyone. It’s super great. But I’ve moved on, or at least, I’m trying to. Okay, it’s a lie. I haven’t moved on. I’m not sure I can move on. Not when it comes to Teddy. But crawling back to him after everything that happened? I can’t exactly do that, either.
I glance at him again, my heart rate kicking up a notch. I have a feeling it has nothing to do with the exercise.
Why is he here? I know for a fact how much he hates running. Did he know I’d be here? And if that’s the case, should I be flattered or would it make me feel even more desperate? I stare at the white painted lines separating the lanes on the track and try to get a grip on my emotions before it’s too late. But it still doesn’t make sense. Why hasn’t he given up yet when I know he has the attention span of a gnat and I’ve already made my stance very clear?
My stance I’ve been regretting as soon as I slammed the door in his face, but still.
When I don’t slow down as I run past him, Theo curses under his breath and jogs after me.
“Blake, wait,” he calls.
The rhythmic thump-thump of his feet against the pavement rings in my ears as he runs after me, so I pick up my pace. My lungs are screaming at me since I’ve already been working them for the past hour, but the bastard doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t quit. He keeps pushing.
So, I do too.
Pumping my arms back and forth, I speed around the final turn while trying to block out his pounding feet acting like a soundtrack in a horror movie or something. Which is an insane analogy. He would never hurt me.
At least, not any more than he already has.
Once he finally catches up to me, he matches my pace and stays glued to my side.
Bastard.
Despite the stitch in my ribs, and the lightheadedness making me dizzy, I run two more laps until I finally give in and slow down.
“Thank fuck,” Theo mutters beside me as he catches his breath.
It’s kind of adorable. Or at least, it would be if I wasn’t so pissed at him.
With my hands on top of my head, I breathe in deep and attempt to slow my heart rate as I ask, “What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to talk.”
“Well, I’m finishing up my run, so…”
“Yeah. Caught that. Guess it means I’m running, too, until you’re ready to talk.”
“Since when do you run?” I challenge.
“Since”––deep breath––“recently, apparently.”
“You don’t run,” I remind him, my breath slowly steadying as the seconds tick by.
He takes another deep breath and rolls his eyes. “Special circumstances, I guess.”
“Like what? Your puck bunnies aren’t available?”
His brows furrow. “Huh?”
“When I was moving in with the girls. You said fucking was your favorite form of cardio,” I remind him. “Guess I figured if you’re at the track, they must be busy or something.”
It’s a low blow, but I can’t help myself. He hurt me. More than once.
He grabs my bicep to keep me from darting off but continues catching his breath. And I hate how good it feels. His hand on me. The way I want him to wrap it around my waist and just…hold me.
Snap out of it, Blake.
His heated gaze burns the side of my face as we stand in silence at the edge of the track, but I don’t look at him. If I do, he’ll see how much I’m hurting. How much I miss him.
“I wouldn’t know if the bunnies are busy,” he says. “I haven’t talked to them in months.”
I scoff and tug my arm away from him. “Sure, you haven’t.”
“I’m serious, Blake.”
“Not sure why you’re telling me about your sex life, Teddy. It’s not like it has anything to do with me anymore.”
Frustrated, he twists his baseball hat backwards and asks, “Look. Can we talk?”
I glare at him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Come on, Blake.”
“I’m serious. What’s done is done, okay? No hard feelings. Let’s just…move on and go our separate ways. And since you’re leaving at the end of year, anyway, it’s what’s best for both of us, right?”
“Blake,” he repeats. There’s an edge to his voice causing me to pause.
I suck my lips between my teeth, look up at him, and wait.
“Give me another chance.”
I laugh. “You’re joking, right?”
“I meant what I said to Coach. I care about you. I could fucking love you, Blake. And I was wrong for putting your job on the line. It’s not what I meant to do.”
“We’ve already covered this,” I remind him. “Besides, I’m…” A beat-up red and rust minivan pulls into the parking lot and seven kids pile out of the back, racing toward me with giant grins. Theo follows my gaze and tucks his hands into his pockets.
“I can’t talk about this right now,” I seethe under my breath through a fake-ass smile directed at the kids.
“Then when can we talk about it?” he asks.
“Never?” I offer, taking a step away. He grabs my arm and twists me to face him.
“You know, for a girl who’s convinced I’m gonna leave, you’re doing a hell of a lot of running from me.”
I gasp, blindsided.
But I don’t have time to argue with him. Not when the kids are arriving, and I have a class to teach.
“Hey, Blake!” one of the kids calls. His name is Billy, and he’s one of the sweetest little boys I’ve ever met. He’s also in the foster care system and has a twin brother and a little sister. Both of whom are trailing behind him.
Billy stops short when he sees how tense I look, and I hate the fear flashing in his eyes. “I-is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” I promise, giving Theo my back as I group a few more kids together on the grass surrounding the track loop. “We’re having a little bit of an argument, but I promise Theo’s a nice man, okay? I’m sorry if we scared you.”
“Yeah, buddy. We’re good,” Theo calls from behind me. “I just asked Miss Blakely to race me, but she’s too afraid I’ll win, so…”
I stop short, convinced I’ve heard him wrong as a few of the kids around me “ooo” like we’re on the playground and a fight could break out at any second.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask, facing him again.
The bastard’s cocky smirk does annoying things to my insides as he says, “I said…you’re too afraid to race me.”
“Who says I’m afraid?”
His gaze softens, and I know he isn’t thinking about the race anymore. He’s referring to something bigger. Something more.
With a shrug, he rasps, “Guess it’s just a hunch.”
Refusing to let him see how close he hit home, I demand, “What are the stipulations?”
His biceps bulge as he crosses his arms, considering his options as the kids wait with bated breath.
“If I win, you give me another chance to make it up to you for being an––” He hesitates, remembering our current audience is all under twelve, and clarifies, “A jerk.”