His warning rolled right off my back. I’d been dealing with overly sensitive male egos since I’d picked up my first pair of sticks. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Inclining my head in acknowledgement, I stuck my hand out in his direction. “I’m Reese.”
“I think we all know your name after this morning.” He shook my hand without hesitation, his palm swallowing mine. “And I’m Smith. Smith Whitmore. Need a running buddy this morning?”
Trying to feel out the sincerity of his offer, I searched his face. Smith was just a smidgeon taller than me, with close-cropped dark hair and a smile that radiated nothing but honesty. My stomach was calm, his presence not setting off any ripples of unease, and if there was one thing I’d learned to trust over the years, it was my gut. Smith was one of the good guys.
I leaned closer as if divulging a secret. “Think you can keep up?”
“With you? Girl, you’re out of my league, there’s no denying that. But you could take pity on me anyway.”
“Damn, I’m fresh out of pity this morning.” I held up my empty palms as evidence. “The only thing I brought with me today was some attitude and a metric fuckton of badassness.” My wide eyes and the innocent tone of my voice earned me another one of his fabulous laughs.
“Alright, alright. I see how it is. But you’re talking a big game, so if you can’t back it up when the time comes, this is gonna have a really bad ending.”
I flipped my sunglasses on top of my head and cocked my hip. “Are you doubting me, Smith?”
“Just don’t make me look like a fool. That’s all I’m asking.” His inflection was light, almost mocking, but the slight tensing of his jaw hinted at a seriousness to the request. He glanced around at the noticeable distance the rest of the guys were giving us.
I softened. He was the first one to seem genuinely willing to give me a chance, to literally stand by me, and, Lord knows, I needed an ally. “Trust me.” I nodded. “I’ve got this.”
He rocked on the balls of his feet as he studied me, then a half smile cracked his face when he registered my candor. “You set the pace, and I’ll stick with you. But you better know how to use those long ass legs of yours.” Smith held his fist up between us and I tapped it with my own.
“You have no idea.” I winked.
I turned toward the starting line, where the nervous prattle of the others was getting louder, and found my nose two inches from Laird’s chin, the bookbag strapped to my chest digging into his solid abdomen. Sucking in a surprised breath while I regained my balance did nothing but bring his scent—peppermint gum and something woodsy—deep into my lungs, where I held it close for a few pounding heartbeats, unwilling to release it so easily. But when I flicked my gaze a bit higher to his eyes, I let it all out in a whoosh.
His eyes.
Dear sweet little baby Jesus, they were beautiful. His irises were a green so pure, it made me picture a field of shamrocks. In Ireland. On St. Patrick’s Day. Tiny flecks of gold were sprinkled near the center, adding a depth and richness, and his lashes rivaled mine, although I used Benefit’s mascara for assistance. The strong slash of his eyebrows made me itch to trace their shape with my finger, just to see if the line would bend, to discover if they felt soft or rough against my skin.
I licked my dry lips, swaying slightly as I fell further into my inspection. High cheekbones rose above a chiseled jawline tempered only by a day’s worth of stubble. I bet it would be scratchy in the best way when it rubbed against a girl’s neck. Or her inner thighs. I swallowed. His full mouth parted and his chest rose from a sharp inhale. I found myself wanting to lean forward, to let him hold my weight and not flinch from the extra burden. His nostrils flared and the heat from his fingers seared my hips as he reached out to steady me.
My eyelids drooped at the contact and I fought the instinct to rub against him and purr my pleasure. Mark him as mine. It was like his pheromones were custom designed to have the impact of a sucker-punch, stealing my breath and turning me into a junkie after just one hit.
Until he opened his mouth and ruined it.
“You sure you can handle this? Five miles?” The concern in his voice snapped my spine straight. His arms dropped back to his sides. “There’s no shame in quitting now. No sense in putting yourself through it for no reason.”
“Do you ask the guys that question too?” I squinted at him.
“No.” He locked eyes with me, not shying away from the question. “Just you.”
I stretched one calf and then the other, ignoring the way his gaze drifted over my face, lingering on my pursed lips. The heat that settled low in my belly, it was irritation. Definitely not some stupid, misplaced attraction. I reminded myself that some chocolates looked perfect on the outside too, all shiny and glossy and flawless—until you took a bite and realized it was the nasty raspberry one. I smiled, a brittle, superficial smile that I hoped he recognized for what it was.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout little ol’ me,” I cooed around a clenched jaw. “I’ll see you at the finish line. But that guy over there looks like he might need your help.” I nodded at a pale kid on the edge of the track, sucking desperately on an inhaler. Whether or not he caught my emphasis on the word guy was hard to tell.
With a muttered curse and one last lingering look that promised this conversation wasn’t over, he turned and left, off to play hero to someone who actually needed it.
But he’d distracted me. When the air horn blast threatened to burst my eardrums a few minutes later, I was still bent over on the track, retying my shoes. The rest of the guys shot off, leaving Smith and me behind. Marco joined the two of us as we trailed the pack around the first bend. He was both shirtless and unencumbered by a backpack.
“Reese. Not surprised at all to find you in the back. But, Smith, I expected more from you.” He jogged so close to me his elbow jabbed me with every swing of his arm. A real fucking gentleman.
Smith smiled widely, but didn’t change his pace. “You been thinking about me, Marco?”
“What? No!” Marco’s step faltered next to me, and I capitalized on his distraction by surging forward, eager to escape his unwelcome company. Smith followed me easily and we passed three guys who were already gasping for breath at the end of the first straightaway.
“Do you know him?” I regulated my breathing, settling into a tempo I knew I could maintain over the distance. Inhale for two steps, exhale for one.
“Marco? Kinda. I know of him more than I know him. We went to the same high school, but just like now, he was a senior when I was a freshman.” He laughed softly. “He was a pretty big deal there, but not as big as he thought he was. Looks like some things haven’t changed.”
“You mean he’s always been this much of an asshole casserole? Today isn’t a special occasion or something?”
Smith looked at me reproachfully. “Asshole or not, he’s the lieutenant and he can still make our lives miserable if we piss him off. Or, hell, even keep us from making the line.”
My lip curled. “He had it out for me before he knew a thing about me except that I had tits instead of a dick.”
Smith sighed. “You always this prickly? There a cactus somewhere in your family tree?”
It took half a dozen steps for me to process his dig. “Smith, we’re gonna get along just fine, me and you. And because I like you, I’ll even try to tone it down around Marco.” I smiled slowly. “Unless he starts it. Then all bets are off. If he can’t take it, he better be smart enough not serve it up in the first place.”
Smith grunted and we switched over to comparing our upcoming class schedules. Turns out we had the same evil eight AM biology class.
By the end of the third mile, four guys had dropped out, their bookbags abandoned by the starting line. Smith and I had lapsed into a comfortable silence, and, because we were drummers, our steps pounded out a matching rhythm as we circled the track. We were solidly in the middle of the remaining pack at this point, with runners spread out pretty evenly around the oval, most in pairs or small groups.
Footsteps thudded behind us, signaling someone’s approach.