Beautiful Player
Page 18
Will laughed, drawing an arc with his hand as if the answer were suspended in the air around us. “This isn’t really running for me, Ziggs.”
“Well, of course not; we’re barely jogging.”
“No, I mean I’m supposed to be training.”
I looked at our feet and up at his face, my eyes full of meaning. “And this isn’t training?”
He laughed again. “I’m doing the Ashland Sprint this spring. It’ll take more than a mile-and-a-half run a few days a week to get me ready.”
“What’s the Ashland Sprint?” I asked.
“A triathlon just outside Boston.”
“Oh.” The rhythm of our steps echoed in my head and I felt my limbs warm, could almost feel the blood pumping through my body. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “So I’ll just do that with you.”
He looked down at me, eyes narrowed and a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Do you even know what a triathlon is?”
“Of course I do. It’s the swim, run, shoot a bear thing.”
“Good guess,” he deadpanned.
“Okay, so enlighten me, Player. Exactly how long is this triathlon of manliness?”
“Depends. There’s sprint distance, intermediate, long course, and ultra-distance. And no bears, dumbass. Swim, run, bike.”
I shrugged, ignoring the steady burn in my calves as we reached an incline. “So which one are you doing?”
“Intermediate.”
“Okay,” I said. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“That means you swim about a mile, bike for twenty-five, and then run the last six.”
The petals of my blooming confidence wilted a little. “Oh.”
“And that’s why I can’t stay over here on the bunny trail with you.”
“Hey!” I said, shoving him hard enough that he stumbled slightly.
He laughed, steadying himself before grinning over at me. “Has it always been this easy to get you worked up?”
I raised my brows and his eyes widened.
“Never mind,” he groaned.The sun finally broke through the gloom by the time we slowed to a walk. Will’s cheeks were pink from the cold, the ends of his hair curling up from beneath his beanie. A hint of a beard covered his jaw and I found myself studying him, trying to reconcile the person in front of me with the guy I thought I remembered so well. He was such a man now. I bet he could shave twice a day and still have a five o’clock shadow. I looked up in time to catch him staring at my chest.
I ducked to catch his gaze but he ignored my attempt to redirect his attention. “I hate to ask the obvious, but what are you looking at?”
He tilted his head, studying me from a different angle. “Your boobs look different.”
“Don’t they look awesome?” I took one in each hand. “As you know, Chloe and Sara helped me pick out new bras. Boobs have always been sort of a problem for me.”
Will’s eyes widened. “Boobs are never a problem for anyone. Ever.”
“Says the man without a pair. Boobs are functional. That’s it.”
He looked at me with genuine fire in his eyes. “Fucking right they are. They get the job done.”
I laughed, groaning. “They aren’t functional for you, frat boy.”
“Wanna bet?”
“See, the problem with boobs is if you have big ones, you can never look thin. You get these burns on your shoulders from bra straps, and your back hurts. And unless you’re using them for their intended purpose, they’re always in the way.”
“In the way of what? My hands? My face? Don’t you blaspheme in here.” He looked up to the sky. “She didn’t mean it, Lord. Promise.”
Ignoring him, I said, “That’s why I had a reduction when I was twenty-one,” which is when his expression morphed into one of horror.
You’d have thought I told him I made an amazing stew from tiny babies and puppy tongues.
“Why on earth would you do that? That’s like God giving you a beautiful gift and you kicking him in the nuts.”
I laughed. “God? I thought you were agnostic, Professor.”
“I am. But if I could motorboat perfect tits like yours I might be able to find Jesus.”
I felt my blush warm my cheeks. “Because Jesus totally lives in my cle**age?”
“Not anymore he doesn’t. Your boobs are now too small for him to be comfortable in there.” He shook his head, and I couldn’t stop laughing. “So selfish, Ziggs,” he said, grinning so widely that I actually stumbled a little.
“Well, of course not; we’re barely jogging.”
“No, I mean I’m supposed to be training.”
I looked at our feet and up at his face, my eyes full of meaning. “And this isn’t training?”
He laughed again. “I’m doing the Ashland Sprint this spring. It’ll take more than a mile-and-a-half run a few days a week to get me ready.”
“What’s the Ashland Sprint?” I asked.
“A triathlon just outside Boston.”
“Oh.” The rhythm of our steps echoed in my head and I felt my limbs warm, could almost feel the blood pumping through my body. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “So I’ll just do that with you.”
He looked down at me, eyes narrowed and a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Do you even know what a triathlon is?”
“Of course I do. It’s the swim, run, shoot a bear thing.”
“Good guess,” he deadpanned.
“Okay, so enlighten me, Player. Exactly how long is this triathlon of manliness?”
“Depends. There’s sprint distance, intermediate, long course, and ultra-distance. And no bears, dumbass. Swim, run, bike.”
I shrugged, ignoring the steady burn in my calves as we reached an incline. “So which one are you doing?”
“Intermediate.”
“Okay,” I said. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“That means you swim about a mile, bike for twenty-five, and then run the last six.”
The petals of my blooming confidence wilted a little. “Oh.”
“And that’s why I can’t stay over here on the bunny trail with you.”
“Hey!” I said, shoving him hard enough that he stumbled slightly.
He laughed, steadying himself before grinning over at me. “Has it always been this easy to get you worked up?”
I raised my brows and his eyes widened.
“Never mind,” he groaned.The sun finally broke through the gloom by the time we slowed to a walk. Will’s cheeks were pink from the cold, the ends of his hair curling up from beneath his beanie. A hint of a beard covered his jaw and I found myself studying him, trying to reconcile the person in front of me with the guy I thought I remembered so well. He was such a man now. I bet he could shave twice a day and still have a five o’clock shadow. I looked up in time to catch him staring at my chest.
I ducked to catch his gaze but he ignored my attempt to redirect his attention. “I hate to ask the obvious, but what are you looking at?”
He tilted his head, studying me from a different angle. “Your boobs look different.”
“Don’t they look awesome?” I took one in each hand. “As you know, Chloe and Sara helped me pick out new bras. Boobs have always been sort of a problem for me.”
Will’s eyes widened. “Boobs are never a problem for anyone. Ever.”
“Says the man without a pair. Boobs are functional. That’s it.”
He looked at me with genuine fire in his eyes. “Fucking right they are. They get the job done.”
I laughed, groaning. “They aren’t functional for you, frat boy.”
“Wanna bet?”
“See, the problem with boobs is if you have big ones, you can never look thin. You get these burns on your shoulders from bra straps, and your back hurts. And unless you’re using them for their intended purpose, they’re always in the way.”
“In the way of what? My hands? My face? Don’t you blaspheme in here.” He looked up to the sky. “She didn’t mean it, Lord. Promise.”
Ignoring him, I said, “That’s why I had a reduction when I was twenty-one,” which is when his expression morphed into one of horror.
You’d have thought I told him I made an amazing stew from tiny babies and puppy tongues.
“Why on earth would you do that? That’s like God giving you a beautiful gift and you kicking him in the nuts.”
I laughed. “God? I thought you were agnostic, Professor.”
“I am. But if I could motorboat perfect tits like yours I might be able to find Jesus.”
I felt my blush warm my cheeks. “Because Jesus totally lives in my cle**age?”
“Not anymore he doesn’t. Your boobs are now too small for him to be comfortable in there.” He shook his head, and I couldn’t stop laughing. “So selfish, Ziggs,” he said, grinning so widely that I actually stumbled a little.
