Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
They turn towards a beachfront building and pause at the door. One guy—definitely a fighter—takes off his shirt and tucks it into his shorts. He says something to the guy he’s with, then the fighter turns towards the sand at a jog while the other guy turns and walks back the other way.
I have to duck behind a tree so he doesn’t see me.
When he’s gone, I follow the fighter out onto the sand.
The sun set hours ago. But the moon is full enough to throw some light, so it’s not dark on the beach. His lope becomes more of a run when he hits the wet sand and if I want to keep this up, I have to run too.
I decide I do want to keep this up, so I slip into a jog. I have not been training at all, so I don’t even try to match his pace. He can’t get far, though. South Beach is pretty small. He will run out of room to run when he gets to the pier and then he’ll turn back around and run right towards me.
Except that’s not what he does. He’s only about thirty meters from the pier when he stops, bends over like he’s catching his breath—liar—and plants his hands on his hips.
There is no way he’s winded, let alone out of breath. It was like half a mile.
I’m coming up behind him, so I have to make a decision. Keep going and let him see me? Or turn around and run back the way I came?
He sits down in the sand when I’m about ten meters away. I decide to keep going. Go walk on the pier. There are lot of people over there, it’s a logical destination. No reason for him to be suspicious.
I keep going, not changing my pace at all, but just as I come upon him, he stands up. I try not to look, but he’s shirtless, and kind of handsome, and the moonlight is catching his eyes in such a way that for a moment, he looks like Cort. It’s that same icy gray color.
I do a double-take.
And in that moment, he speaks. “Are you following me?”
The accent throws me for a moment. Irish, maybe? Which makes me stumble. But I don’t stop and I don’t look at him again.
He starts running with me, falling into my much slower pace. “I asked ya a question. Are you followin’ me?”
“Buddy”—I really like this American expression. Buddy. It’s so condescending, yet friendly at the same time—“you wish I was following you.”
“Ya always run this time of night, then, do ya? A young girl like you, all alone in the dark?”
I scoff and stop running. He stops with me.
I’m breathing a little heavy, which is unfortunate, but I’m not ready to double over or anything. I look him right in the eyes.
They’re green, not icy gray like Cort’s. That was just a trick of the moonlight.
His hair is not black, probably light brown, but it’s hard to tell at night. Not very long or styled in any kind of way, but it looks good on him.
He’s got a little bit of a beard on his chin. Not a lot, but enough to make him look older than he probably is.
And he’s grinning like an asshole. “Well? Ya gonna say something, girl? Or we’re just gonna stand here and stare at each other?”
“If you’re worried about my safety, it’s unnecessary. Do you need something from me? Or… what is this?”
“I asked you a question.”
“So what? Doesn’t mean I have to answer you.”
He chuckles, takes a breath, smiles. And for a moment I get lost in him. The eyes, the dark hair, the muscles on his chest and arms. I already know he’s a fighter, and I’ve seen lots of bodies this nice. But none of them looked at me the way he’s looking at me.
I can make out tattoos on his stomach and chest, but there’s not enough light to really see what they are.
“I know who you are.”
This makes me laugh. And everything about me relaxes. Not that I was worried he was going to attack me or anything, but his arrogance is laughable.
“Don’t believe me?”
I shrug. “Why would I?”
“Because you followed me home from the gym. I was waitin’ there for you. You never showed. At least”—he grins again, his eyes bright with moonlight and mischief—“you never came in. Were you drinking up there on the roof?”
“Well, well, well.” I cross my arms and tilt my head a little. “Someone was paying attention.”
“Were ya drinking?”
“I had something to drink, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Were. You. Drinking?”
“No. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“So you’re sober right now?”
I nod.
And just as I do that, his fist is comin’ at me. I jump back, trip in the sand, fall on my ass, and then he’s looming over me.