My eyes popped from my head as every muscle froze rigid in my body. Shock, embarrassment, confusion…I felt everything in that moment. His name wasn’t on the card. Ignoring stupid ass Andrea, I searched the box it was delivered in and all that could be found was the brand’s company name.
“Is that from the Cayenne?” Andrea asked, eyes wide with wonder.
“Who?”
“The guy who dropped you off in the Porsche Cayenne.”
The elevator dinged—and in perfect time. I threw the snobby girl, Andrea, the nastiest expression my facial muscles could strain into before pulling the boxes in my arms and skipping to the elevator.
He was different today, slower. Still ahead of me, but closer than what I’d seen of him yesterday. I wasn’t too far behind like before, but was still able to catch sight of his face twisted tight as though he was in pain. I didn’t see that yesterday at all. Maybe he got hurt at practice and was now in pain.
Just as Ashton told me, the old track was empty. I met up with him this morning for a warm-up run. He didn’t say a word when he showed up, finding me waiting. There was only a nod of acknowledgement before we stretched then took off on the track. The new sneakers were a save, but needed to be broken in.
It was nice out here, clean and peaceful. The cool breeze hit my damp face and heated body as my legs lifted and pushed against the air. Sparring was my favorite training, but running quieted the noise of my head in a way that made me feel like I was floating. This morning, I ran with a confidence Ashton didn’t allow yesterday because he went so hard. We were only on the third lap, but were too close to believe all was okay with him.
I pushed ahead, emptying my brain of anything that would prevent the success of the task at hand: finishing the run. On the fifth lap, I stopped to catch my lungs that burned, feeling like they were about to explode. As I stretched over to grab my knees, Ashton passed by slower than his norm. Dude was definitely off. After a couple of minutes, I pushed myself on to continue. Before I knew it, I’d made it to the seventh lap. When I was able to capture it from close enough proximity, his face was still screwed.
By the ninth lap, he’d begun grunting. I knew that was to push himself to the finish line. Any athlete would recognize the painful cry. On the tenth lap, Ashton was faster than he’d been since we’d started. But when he was done, he rested longer, bent over on his knees, than he did last time. Yesterday was only one day that I’d run with the guy, and not enough time for me to profess to know dude. But his aura had been so closed off yet heavy compared to just twenty-four hours ago, it couldn’t be ignored.
After grabbing his Panthers sports bottle and then my own, I jogged over to him with a heaving chest. Using the bottle, I tapped his shoulder, offering it to him.
When he grabbed it without changing posture, I asked, “I’m sure if you tell her you’re sorry for the gazillionth time, assure her the girl meant nothing, and tell her how pretty she is, she’ll forgive you again and take you back again.”
His face came up, scrunching against the newly risen sun. “I don’t fuckin’ cheat on my girl.”
“Shit happens.” I shrugged, pulling my bottle to my face for a sip. “I’m sure reminding her of her superior features will heal the lick of betrayal.”
“You checkin’ for my girl, McNabb?”
I spit out air. “Hardly. She’s cute and all, but—”
“But what?” He stood to his feet, a sneer I’d seen on him loosening his face.
“She’s not my type.”
“What’s your type?”
“A real athlete, that’s for sure.”
He laughed. When I thought he’d curse me out for dissing his girl, Ashton Spencer laughed. I watched him catch his breath and drink water.
“I don’t have a problem with my girlfriend. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You were slow today. Crazy slow.”
The smile fell from his face, and the sadness immediately darkening him was so obvious.
“Shit happens,” he mumbled.
“Not to ‘Spence,’ from what I hear around here.”
He shrugged with his head, eyes cast out into the distance. “Yeah. So I’ve been told.”
Suddenly, the words in his note that was delivered with the sneakers yesterday came to mind. “Is it your family?” Without looking at me, he nodded, lips hiked. “Wanna—” I swallowed unexpectedly, not believing how naturally the words came to mind. I didn’t comfort humans; I steered clear of them. And in this case, it was extra corny and awkward because here was a cool kid. The most popular on campus. I licked my lips and forged ahead against my better judgment. “Wanna…uhhh…talk about it?”
He scoffed, suspicious regard on me. “Why would I want to do that?” His eyes rolled down to my feet, then back up to my face. “Because I bought you kicks? Is this your way of saying thanks?”
That nipped me.
“No.” My lips pouted and brows pinched. “The fact that you randomly bought the ‘dog’ sneakers is what made me believe you do shit like this to randoms you fuck, too. That’s how I advise you to handle your girlfriend. But now that you bring it up, I guess I should say thanks for the sneakers. You never gave me a chance to with how cold you were before we started the run.”
“Again, I don’t cheat on my girl,” he pushed out through gritted teeth, intimidating the fuck out of me.
“And I don’t usually give two shits about obviously wounded people when I come across them, but I thought we were both Panthers and could, at least, treat each other with kindness for that reason alone.”
Ashton’s gaze was so hard on me, it damn near burned my face. But I wouldn’t back down. I hated bullying. Win, lose, or draw, sometimes I forced myself to fight back. He was rude. Mean and moody. Manipulative, using occasional kindness in a gesture to lower my defenses, all to be cold to me all over again.
“No one’s asked,” he whispered as though in the middle of a revelation.
What?
“Asked you what?”
“Asked me about what’s really been going on with me. Or how I’ve been feeling about what’s happening to my family. Weeks back on campus and no one’s fuckin’ asked.”
“Well, I just tried to.” Confused human. With wide eyes, I swiped my head left and right. “What’s going on with your family, bruh? With you?”
Ashton lifted one brow. “Why are you asking?”
I crossed my arms and widened my stance. “You really wanna go back there?”
I couldn’t give a shit about Ashton Spencer. I didn’t even know him. His cousin could have lost the family house that big momma left behind and I wouldn’t lose a night of sleep over it. The cousin’s house could have burned down and they lost all their memorabilia—something that had happened to me—and I wouldn’t think of it past lunchtime. I didn’t give two rats’ ass—
“I heard you were from Jersey, too. I don’t know if you knew, but I’m from Essex County.” He scratched his head, beginning what felt like a long ass story. “I’ve got a bunch of family in Newark. You know anything about Newark?”