“Apologies for getting ahead,” I said. “I had a burst of energy and took advantage.”
That wasn’t entirely true. I’d spent most of our three-point-five-mile run unreasonably preoccupied. Despite the trouble he’d given me this morning, my mind wasn’t on my stubborn cat. It was on another stubborn male.
Corban Nash.
On his smug smile.
His surprisingly wide shoulders.
His deep brown eyes.
The jolt of electricity I’d felt when he’d shaken my hand.
The way he—
No. I needed to stop any line of thinking that involved reaching the conclusion that Corban Nash was attractive.
He was. But that was beside the point.
The man was my nemesis.
“Hazel?”
I startled, blinking as I pushed my glasses back up my nose. “What?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sophie asked.
Her eyebrows were drawn together. As were Everly’s. And Nora’s. All three women eyed me with the same look of concern.
I could hardly blame them. I wasn’t acting like myself. I hadn’t been since I’d seen that notice on the bulletin board at work yesterday.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “Let’s go get a drink.”
We walked the rest of the way back to the parking lot where we usually started our runs. I checked my stats on my Fitbit, and we all took a few minutes to stretch.
“Uh-oh, ladies,” Nora said. “Incoming.”
Looking up, I paused my analysis of my recent running performance. Four women in matching pink tank tops and pink and gray camo leggings jogged into the parking lot. Their tops read Bedazzled Bitches, the letters outlined in sparkling gemstones.
“Just ignore them,” Everly said quietly.
That was easier said than done. The Bedazzled Bitches consisted of two women Nora, Everly, and I had known in high school—and would have preferred to never see again—and two new friends they’d made somewhere in the last dozen or so years since. Bella Ferndale and Drew Browning had done their best to make my life miserable during our teen years, and the two additions to their clique appeared to be cut from the same cloth.
When we’d first seen them running our route, my curiosity had taken precedence over any hurt feelings from the past. After all, we were adults now. Any so-called mean girl tactics, I thought, had to have been left firmly in the past.
I’d been wrong. When I’d attempted to ask them a few questions—I was particularly interested in their personality types and the social structure of their group—Bella had called me a freak. Everly and Sophie had been forced to hold Nora back to keep her from engaging in a physical confrontation.
“Why do they always have to glare at us like that?” Sophie waved her hand in front of her face, as if to ward away a bad smell. “So much negative energy.”
They were indeed eying us with expressions of undisguised scorn.
“They lack self-confidence, so they lash out at other women in an attempt to feel better about themselves,” Nora said.
“That’s very insightful, Nora,” I said.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“It’s so unnecessary,” Everly said.
“I agree,” Nora said. “I’m normally not in favor of female rivalries. Women have enough to deal with without being shitty to each other. But those four are the exception.”
I adjusted my glasses. “Just don’t make eye contact.”
“Too late,” Sophie said. “I’m sorry—when you said that, I looked. I didn’t mean to.”
The Bedazzled Bitches, led by Bella, walked toward us with exaggerated hip sways. They stopped in front of us, all striking the same hands-on-hips pose.
“Have a good run, ladies?” Bella’s eyes flicked to Sophie. “That’s a cute shirt. I didn’t know they made it in plus size.”
My eyes narrowed at the attempted insult to Sophie’s body type. She was curvier than me, but perfectly healthy, not to mention beautiful. I opened my mouth to reply, but Sophie beat me to it.
“Thanks, I love this shirt. It’s so hard to find things that fit my chest. But I guess you’d need to have boobs to understand that problem.”
Bella huffed. It took Drew and their other two minions a second before realization settled in.
“It’s not her fault her boobs are small,” Drew said. “It’s all the antibiotics or hormones or something. You know, in our food. And she’s getting them fixed soon.”
“Drew, shut up,” Bella hissed.
“The presence of antibiotics in animal products is highly unlikely to have any impact on breast size,” I said. “Although there is a case to be made for chemicals in the food supply impacting other aspects of human physical development.”
Bella rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, is she talking again? Blah blah, science. Whatever.”
“Hazel, is there any correlation between breast size and brain size?” Nora asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
She clicked her tongue. “That’s too bad. Then the boob job won’t make you smarter. Well, as lovely as this little chat has been, I’m sure you need to go. Looks like it’s time for a new set of Lee Press-On Nails.”
All four women looked at their fingernails. Nora gave me a little smile and gestured for us to make our exit.
I put the Bedazzled Bitches out of my mind as we walked across the street to Brody’s Brewhouse. Unfortunately, Corban Nash immediately took their place at the front of my consciousness. Why was I unable to go more than five minutes without him invading my head space?
Brody’s was a restaurant and bar not far from the apartment building where Nora and I lived—as had Everly, until she’d moved in with her fiancé, Shepherd Calloway. We were frequent patrons because it was casual enough that we could come in immediately after our runs, but still nice enough to have good food. And good martinis.
Some of the best in Seattle, in fact.
We chose a table and took our seats.
“Well, if it isn’t the Dirty Martini Running Club.” Jake, our favorite bartender, came to our table. He’d given us the name, a commentary on what might be perceived as an inconsistency—women who went running only to consume alcoholic beverages immediately after.
He probably had a point.
But our routine also made our running sessions much more fun than if we’d only been focused on fitness. Yes, the fitness aspect was important. We’d all discovered that life after thirty meant making certain adjustments. But none of us particularly wanted one of those adjustments to be fewer martinis. I’d suggested we take up running.
It was a brilliant plan, as far as I was concerned, and the results were conclusive. We’d all maintained a reasonable level of health and fitness without sacrificing the pleasures of girl talk over an enjoyable cocktail.
My genius IQ came in handy for practical purposes from time to time.
“Looks like you had a good run,” Jake said with a smile. “Nora’s actually sweating.”
“I don’t sweat, I glisten.” Nora’s full lips turned up in a smile. “Although I don’t mind getting a little sweaty in the right situation.”