Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"Yes, ma'am," I say again, the same thing I've said every morning since I moved into the building a few years ago. Like Miss Hazel, most of my neighbors are elderly. They've been here for decades. I love them so much. It's like I have an entire building full of grandparents. They always want to feed me. My belly appreciates it. My ass does not. Hence my morning runs.
Miss Hazel likes to keep an on eye on me. She watches too many true crime shows, though. She's convinced I'm going to be kidnapped or worse while I'm out running. She tried to give me a gun once, but I refused. I'd probably only end up accidentally shooting myself with it.
She beams at me before her attention drifts back to her dog.
I slip my earbuds in and crank up the music before jogging out onto the sidewalk. Tech N9ne's Riotmaker blares as I run through another quick set of stretches. I focus on the beat and start out easy, jogging to the stop sign at the end of the block before hooking a right. Riotmaker ends and Beast comes on. My pace increases, my bright orange Asics striking the ground in solid measures. I control my breathing, pumping my arms.
People like to assume curvy girls are lazy, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I've been running for most of my life. San Francisco is the perfect place for it. The weather is balmy, rarely reaching the scorching temperatures in the desert, and the hills and valleys offer plenty of challenges and scenery options.
My neighborhood is a little rundown, but even it has its charm. Everyone rubs elbows here, from doctors to businessmen to those who retired years ago, like Miss Hazel. The architecture is diverse, with newer buildings situated right beside elegant homes that survived the various disasters that have shaken the city over the years.
The song changes again and I push harder, racing past the market on the corner.
"Hi, Miss Kendall!" Treyvon, one of my students, waves wildly from the parking lot. The comic book in his hand flaps back and forth.
"Hi, sweetie," I call, giving him and his mom a little wave. I don't stop though. They don't expect me to. I pass them every morning. Kim brings Trey to work with her at the market where he catches the bus to the school. On weekends, he hangs out for an hour or so before his grandmother picks him up for the day.
Kim smiles and waves back at me.
I run harder, pushing myself to my limits to make up for the run I missed yesterday. And for the copious amounts of vodka I imbibed the night before. As I race through the neighborhood, following the same path I take every morning, my mind drifts to Tall, Dark, and Brooding.
Why has he been at two of my shows in a row? Is he a fan? I immediately reject the idea. He looked a little too surprised when I started my set at Mitch's, as if he had no idea I could sing. Last night, I kind of hoped he'd finally approach me. Instead, he stared from afar and then left after the first song.
I sang Creep, hoping to get under his skin. Instead, he laughed.
Turning the corner near the gas station, I push myself up the steep hill and then hook another right, heading back toward my building. I'm already a mile and a half in. By the time I finish my usual circuit, I'll have finished my three miles, with the last mile and a half consisting of several large hills. I propel myself up the next one, my chest burning. My heart pounds, thumping evenly.
Tech N9ne gives way to Eminem. I lose myself in the music, and before I know it, my building looms into view down the street. Slowing to a jog, I gulp a lungful of air and then another. Miss Hazel is nowhere in sight, having long since gone inside to catch up on the local gossip with Judy and Sarah, spinster sisters who live a floor above us.
My stride slows and then halts altogether when I approach my building and see two men standing outside. I narrow my eyes on the familiar figure leaning casually against the railing in jeans and a blue button down. It can't be―
My heart leaps.
It is him. Tall, Dark, and Brooding.
Why is he standing outside my building? Is he stalking me?
Holy crap. He is stalking me.
Wariness shoots through me. I suddenly wish I had accepted Miss Hazel's gun last time she offered it. I have a stalker. A gorgeous, cocky stalker. Disappointment filters through me at the realization. I push it down, refusing to dwell on the feeling. It's not like I knew him, anyway.
I take a step backward, determined to slip away and call the police. Before I can make a run for safety, though, he turns his head in my direction. Our eyes meet.