Do you happen to know where Declan is?
Celine has stopped by twice asking me.
I’m not his keeper.
I pull my lips tight together and turn the screen for Declan to see it. He gives a grunt and releases his arms from my waist.
I tap out a response:
Charlie Ross
I can neither confirm nor deny
that he is here checking on me.
I put my phone face down on the coffee table and look over at Declan. I want to resume the exact moment we were just sharing. His arms on me. Our bodies close. I realize what I’ve told him about my condition is the ultimate test. We aren’t a couple. We aren’t dating – Declan doesn’t do that. We kissed. It was fantastic. But if he can hear all this and still think he would want to kiss me again, then maybe my crush isn’t hopeless. I chide myself for allowing any glimmer of optimism. Who would want to be with me? Who would want to sign on for this?
“Well, I guess I need to get back,” he says. The disappointment in his voice has me thinking wildly optimistic thoughts. “Or –” his tone turns mischievous – “I can pull up the live feed for the Tour and I can stay to help you and watch for a bit?”
This is a surprising, if not unwelcome, suggestion. Declan, being a cyclist nerd, is clearly eager to watch the Tour. But he has two monitors in his office; he could watch it while working at his desk. My foolish longings are going to read too much into this. “Is it to help me or to watch the Tour?”
“Can it be both?” He stands to take off his blazer and then sits back down, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling them up.
“Mr. Work and Responsibility slacking off to hang?” I ask playfully.
“Don’t tell anyone and ruin my street cred,” he says with a twitch of his eyebrow.
“I wouldn’t dare. Now I have leverage over you. Isn’t that what spies do?” I turn back to my phone.
I have a new message from Ana. It is a long string of exclamation points and question marks.
I send Ana back the shrugging-shoulders emoji. I’ll have to fill her in on everything soon. I didn’t know how to tell her about the kiss with Declan without disclosing the mission. But the kiss and then this impromptu house call and hangout session issomething.Right?I need some girl talk to sort it all out.
Declan stands and finds his way into the kitchen before returning with two ice waters and snacks. I set up the livestream of the Tour to play on my TV. After a few moments of quiet snacking, Declan glances over at me.
“Is it hard to watch this? Or to think about watching the World Games?” He is very insightful.
I consider his question. The answer used to be a clear yes. I didn’t want to watch any endurance sports. But it’s faded over time. “Not so much anymore,” I tell him.
And it’s true. The year I had to give up my spot at the World Games, I couldn’t watch. When the day came to make the announcement, I was numb emotionally. All those hours in the hospital describing my symptoms didn’t prepare me for emotionally dissociating from the call. My dad dialed; I was on speaker. Talking to the head of the US track and field committee for the World Games. Saying the necessary words in order to quit and give my spot to the next runner in line. My dad took over the logistics. And then it was done. A lifetime striving for a dream, a magnificent record-setting race to earn it, and one call to end it.
“The pain was worth it,” I say. Something I’ve always known deep down. I turn and look at Declan, his deep chocolate eyes meeting mine. “It was worth all of it.”
“Glory always is,” Declan adds. And I know he gets it. He gets why I kept pushing, why I ignored the warnings from my body, why I was willing to risk it again. Because he’s an athlete too.
“So you know you’re probably not supposed to run, but you did it anyways?” Declan asks, recalling the morning run I mentioned last week.
“Yeah,” I admit sheepishly.
“That’s a good kind of stubborn, though, right?” Declan asks.
I smile at him, a man who knows a thing or two about being stubborn.
My brain is spinning up a fantasy that he will lean in and kiss me, giving me more of what we sampled on Saturday. Giving me a rush of endorphins and the touch I so desperately need right now. “Yeah,” I say with a nod, and we both turn our attention back to the screen.
After thirty minutes of watching lean men in a tight peloton race through the hills of France, Declan gets a call from Oliver.
“Time to go back in, I guess.” He stands to leave. “Can I heat you up anything to eat before I go?”
