“Baby, maybe you should sit this one out,” Sloane says, draping her arms over my shoulders and kissing my head.
“I’m fine. I’ll drink my body weight in coffee, and I’ll be on top form.”
“Sounds healthy.” She giggles.
“Are you bitches ready?” Bella hollers through the apartment. She looks as tired as me, so I’m guessing she was up late coding, or whatever it is she does.
“Give me ten.” I yawn, dragging my arse from the chair to the shower. The water helps wake me up a little, and by the time I’m dressed in another set of neon running shorts and tank top I can almost convince myself I’m going to finish the race on a high.
We’ve only got twenty minutes to travel to get to the race, so there’s a positive. It’s about the only one I can come up with, because the closer we get, the more I realise how badly I do not want to see Alex.
It’s not that she slept with Sloane. That’s over and done with, and Sloane will only ever be smushing sexy bits with me from now on. It’s the gall of the woman. I mean, surely she knows how she behaved when Sloane and I were still together in college was bang out of order. She showed absolutely no respect for me or my place in Sloane’s life. And now, after all that, she still wants to see Sloane, knowing I’ll be there too.
Well, I’m not going to stand back this time. There’s no doubt in my mind Alex wants to meet up with Sloane in a bid to get with her again. Sloane Bishop isn’t someone you simply let go of. I’ve always prided myself on not being a jealous person. I’d never dream of telling Sloane who she could or couldn’t be friends with, and I won’t start now. However, I also have no issue telling Alex to sling her hook.
Alex picked the wrong time to reappear. I’ll concede that most of what I’m feeling right now has nothing to do with Alex and our history and everything to do with frustration at the world in general. Unfortunately for Alex,she’s the one who will get the brunt of it if she tries to pull any shit at the race.
On the drive over, Bella blasts incoherent noise, which is something coming from a lover of heavy metal. This shit is completely nuts, though. I’m not even sure what language it’s in! Bella knows though, because that girl is screeching the lyrics out the window at 8 a.m. traffic.
Sloane sits shotgun, scrolling through her phone and flinching every time the GPS lady tries to override the music, which in turns causes Bella to glare but continue bellowing the words sans backup noise. Becca looks up from her knitting—yes, she knits in the car, it’s her latest thing apparently—only to grumble she forgot her morning Doritos for the millionth time. I watch all of it with a jittery, wide awake, yet completely fatigued curiosity. Today is going to be interesting, I can feel it in my water.
The park is already a carnival of Lycra, race numbers, and ugly custom team t-shirts. Every fifth person is filming a sodding TikTok. I’d rather carve my eyeballs out than do that, just fyi. Our charity team shirts are slightly less hideousthan most, thanks to Bella’s design, which features a baby Meena in Ray-Bans and a diaper sprinting through a field of flamingos. I’m not sure what the flamingos have to do with supporting LGBTQ+ charities, but nobody questions Bella’s branding decisions. Her mind terrifies me, to be honest.
We pile out and immediately get herded through registration by volunteers in oversized yellow vests and black leggings. Sloane collects the numbers and pins mine on for me, her fingers grazing my ribcage just enough times to make me think she’s messing with me on purpose. I hold her face and kiss her quick, because she’s mine and I can. Also, because when she touches any part of me, even innocently, I have to touch her back. Sickening really.
Alex’s team is already loitering near the starting pen, all six feet of Alex resplendent in a crop top and spandex shorts the colour of sunstroke. She sees us, holds up both hands, then drops them immediately when it registers that Sloane is holding my hand. I can’t help but feel a little vindicated. Her little entourage, which consists of two women I vaguely recognise from Sloane’s college, both named Jess I think, starts whispering, but I ignore them and focus on the pure rage ball in my gut pretending to be butterflies.
My tiredness and pent-up anger at the world are trying hard to projectile vomit out of my mouth and right onto Alex. I manage to keep myself in check though, because at the end of the day, Sloane is here with me and the last thing I want to do is hurt her by being a dick to Alex, who is by all accounts her old friend.
“Ready to burn some rubber?” Bella bellows, landing between me and Sloane, nearly separating our still-clasped hands.
“Let’s just make it to the finish line,” says Becca, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly loses her contact lens. I love her.
We shuffle into position near the middle of the pack. There’s a DJ on a folding table spinning remixes of nineties hits, and an emcee in a banana suit yelling at everyone to stretch their—groins. Umm, groins? Nope. Sloane and I do a gentle warm-up jog, which mainly consists of me pulling down my shorts and pretending to moon her until she smacks my ass.
I have zero recollection of the emcee’s speech, the gun going off, or even the first full kilometre. All I know is suddenly we’re running. A sea of bodies, sweaty and a little feral. I swear it happens anytime a bunch of queers get together and dress up.
My legs feel like concrete, and I wish with all my heart I was curled up in a ball in my bed, sleeping. Sloane is perfectly in step with me, shortening her stride to match mine even though I’m taller than her. Every other block, a volunteer lobs a cup of water in my direction, and I spill it all over my chest, managing to hydrate my running top and nothing else.
There’s a weird euphoria to the whole thing. Somewhere around kilometre four, the ache in my thighs merges with the ache in my chest. I’m having a swell time of it so far. Sloane pushes ahead a little, then drops back to run beside me again. By the halfway point, the adrenaline peaks and I forget all about Alex and the impending emotional shitshow at the finish.
Which, of course, is when Alex reappears. She glances over her shoulder, sees us, then deliberately slows.
“Here we go,” I mutter.
“Let’s just…run,” says Sloane, low enough that only I can hear.
Alex jogs in place, exaggerating her stretch until we catch up. “Hey stranger,” she says to Sloane, her eyes flicking over me as if I’m a sweat-stained piece of sidewalk sludge.
“Hi,Alex,” says Sloane, polite, but her hand finds mine again, which is a little awkward considering we’re running.
Alex starts running backwards, effortlessly. I feel my eyes roll of their own volition. “I’m really pleased you guys worked it out. Honestly. I know that’s crazy, coming from me.” She flashes a wild-eyed smile at Sloane. “You good? After everything?”
“Yeah,” says Sloane. “I’m good.” She looks at me, and her smile is small but honest. “Better than good.”
Shit. That gets me. I squeeze her hand, and Sloane beams.
Alex turns back around and quickens her pace, jogging ahead and not looking back. Her shoulders are a little hunched. She’s not the villain in this story, even if I’d like her to be. I’m pretty surprised she didn’t make a play for Sloane, and that she seemed genuine with her happiness that we’re together again. Huh, maybe time has healed some old wounds for all of us.
