“What’s that?”
“Five minutes of fast running.”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on. Five-minute sprint. Here we go.”
His hand reappeared on my lower back, pushing me, as he started to run. I had no choice but to run with him. I was fine for the first thirty seconds.
After that, everything went to hell.
My legs yelled at me, my lungs screamed at me, and my brain told me that if I continued, I would either drop dead from exertion or stumble over a rock and plummet to my death off the side of the mountain. It turned out that my brain was right about the second option. I was hyper-ventilating through minute three of our sprint when the tip of my shoe caught on a rock, and I went flying forward.
I was sure that I was going to fall on my face and skid down the path. Instead of winning Steve back, I would need skin grafts. I would be a monster with a skinless face. I wasn’t a genius, but I knew Steve wouldn’t come back to me if I didn’t have skin.
But miracles do happen. I didn’t fall. While I flew through the air, Hudson grabbed the back of me, as if I weighed nothing at all, and steadied me on my feet without pausing in his run.
“Two more minutes!” he shouted, continuing to push me.
“Are you kidding? I’ll be dead in two minutes!” I shouted back, but I didn’t say another word because all of my powers to take in oxygen had left me. I was Jacques Cousteau without an oxygen tank. I was an astronaut without a suit. I was being murdered—suffocated to death—in broad daylight by a gorgeous man bent on my destruction by sprinting.
I hated protein. Hudson could go straight to hell with his egg whites.
My chest felt like it was going to explode, and my legs felt like they were going to collapse. I was sure I was never going to make it to five minutes. Then suddenly, Hudson grabbed me by the back of my shirt and slowed to a walk.
“Excellent job,” he said, happy as a clam. “I knew you could do it.”
I gasped and sputtered. Hudson took my water bottle, opened it, and gave it back to me. I tried to take a sip, but I gagged and spit it out.
“What do you mean?” I demanded when I finally regained the ability to speak. “I almost died.”
“Ready? Here we go again.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”
He grabbed the bottle, put the cap back on, and started pushing me again. This time, I tried to slap his hand off my back, but he was crazy strong and kept his hand splayed flat on my lower back, pushing me along as he ran. “Son of a bitch!” I yelled, as my legs propelled me forward, breaking all laws of physics. I was sure my heart was going to explode out of my chest. There was no way I was going to make it for another five minutes. I struggled against Hudson, but it was no use. We ran past other runners, as if they were standing still.
It went on forever, while I focused on trying to get him to stop. Just as I thought I was doomed to run forever, Hudson slowed to a walk, again, pulling me to his side. He gave me the bottle of water, and I gulped down half of it. “What’re you doing?” I demanded after I swallowed and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I was drenched in sweat, and my legs were wobbly. So, this was the way I was going to die. I thought it was going to be cancer from secondhand smoke in college, but nope, I was going to die from exercise.
“Please, no. Please, no,” I gasped. “No more. I can’t. Don’t do it to me, anymore. Please.”
“Are you sure? You’re doing great.”
I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and stepped in front of him. I stumbled, and he held me up against him. I put my hands on his chest. It was wide and hard, like an exercise model or a cautionary tale against steroids. It distracted me. “What was I going to say?” I asked, running my hands up and down his chest.
“Something about running, I’m assuming.”
I dropped my hands to my hips. “Oh, that’s right. Listen, I can’t run anymore. Or exercise. And I probably need physical therapy. And a defibrillator.”
Hudson put his arm around my shoulders and turned me around. “All right, Eliza. I’m proud of you. You did good. Let’s walk back to the car and do ab work.”
I didn’t know whatab workmeant, but I nodded. I figured at least we were walking in the right direction, now. “If you’re good, I’ll give you a massage after,” he promised.
He had to be teasing… right?
Hudson found a flat, open area near his car while I stood doubled over and gasped for air. He pulled a yoga mat from the backseat and laid it down on the ground. “All right, Eliza. Lay down over here.”
“I can get down, but there’s no guarantee I can get up, again.” My legs were Jell-O, and my muscles were barking.
