The age gap.
My issues.
Her issues.
We just weren’t ever going to be compatible.
“Yo.”
I looked away from my sorting to find Gunner pointing at Cutter.
I looked back down at my sorting.
“Listen up, motherfucker,” I heard Gunner say as he raised his voice at Cutter. “You have been putting this off for a long fuckin’ time. It’s time to grow a pair of balls and actually sign up for that fuckin’ marathon. You owe me!”
I had to hide my laugh behind my hand.
“You’re the only one who didn’t run it. And it’s happening. It’s not my fault that you’ve put it off until the end of the year. You promised you would get it done and it hasn’t happened yet. You literally have ten days left.”
Cutter sighed. “I’m not sure that this matters. It’s just a run. You’re making it a big deal.”
“You bet your bike, and if you renege, you’re going to give it to me.”
Cutter started to grumble, arguing, and I went back to my sorting.
A while ago, the entire club—sans just a few that were too old or too out of shape—had a pact that they would run a marathon. I wasn’t sure why or how, but they’d all agreed, and bet on it. If they didn’t, they would have to give up their bikes.
Everyone else had gotten theirs done in a timely manner.
Everyone but Cutter, who always had an excuse each time that they were supposed to run.
He’d run out of time, though.
He’d put it off too many times that they’d given him a timeline.
The end of this year, or they were taking his bike and auctioning it off to donate the proceeds to Gunner’s Angel charity.
Since it was Cutter’s baby, he’d agreed.
But Gunner was right.
Cutter had put it off way too many times, and was running out of time.
And I didn’t think the club would let him back out.
“I already signed you up for a race this weekend.” Gunner’s eyes gleamed.
Gunner walked out on that announcement, leaving the two of us alone in the room.
“What the fuck are you even doing?” Cutter grumbled.
“Sorting out potato chips,” I said. “What does it look like?”
He was silent for a long moment then said, “Want to run with me?”
“Sorry, no can do,” I said. “My body just isn’t limber like it used to be.”
“Oh, get the fuck out of here,” Cutter said. “You’re a goddamn athlete and you know it. And don’t give me any of that ‘I can’t cool off’ bullshit. We both know that you know the warning signs if you’re getting overheated. You’re running this with me.”
