He also doesn’t know I’m here.
I was supposed to have violin, but convincing Mom to let me skip this week’s lesson to support him was entirely too easy. She has to be onto us. The other day, we were in my room waiting for her to go into her office so we could make out but she talked our ears off. When she finally left, she made sure the door stayed open. I’m dreading the day she asks if we’re together. Or worse, tries to give me the safe sex talk.
I’ll. Die.
Suppressing a shudder, I glance up the steep stands. Scattered parents and friends stick to one side while track team members congregate on the opposite around duffle bags, snacks and an absurd amount of shoes. (Why the fuck do they need three pairs of sneakers each?) My eyes snag on a familiar bright blue bag with RS printed in white on the side.
But the boy it belongs to isn’t beside it.
I hesitate at the railing, sneakers screeching as I twist to face the track. Remy mentioned it would be a few hours into the meet before the mile race. Not wanting to throw off his pre-run ritual, I've shown up right before his scheduled event.
Did I miss it?
Panic strangles my lungs as I frantically scan the football field in the center of the track where huddles of athletes warm up. The announcer calls out a five minute warning for the next race butmy ears are ringing and my eyes are blurring from the needling drizzle—
My heart fucking skips (more like seizes) in relief when I find him. Ankle in hand, Remy stretches a quad clad in black spandex beneath his flimsy track uniform. Saliva fills my mouth as he switches legs, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Jesus Christ, I can’t pop a boner right now, butfuckhe looks good.
He freezes the moment he spots me, jaw going slack.
Then a giant smile overtakes his face.
Instantly, we’re moving: him jogging across the track, barely dodging a cluster of guys doing kinesthetic exercises, and me rushing down dangerously slick stairs, skidding through a puddle until we meet at the waist high fence. The chain link rattles as we both grasp the freezing metal bar. His thumb bumps my pinky, hazel eyes shimmering.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks breathlessly.
Just being close to him thaws the chill. I nudge his thumb back, grinning like a fool.
“I think it’s pretty obvious.”
He shakes his head, cheeks flushed and dewy.
“You hate these things.”
“Yeah, but I likeyou.” My shaking hand pulls the candy out of my pocket. “And I thought you might need some sugary motivation.”
A pained look crosses his features, throat bobbing. “Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad right now,” he whispers.
I’m going into cardiac arrest. Goddamn him for making me actually consider devouring his perfect mouth in front of everyone. Instead, I suggest something equally idiotic.
“We could go under the bleachers.”
Black pupils swallow all hazel.
A grating crackle shrieks over the loud speakers.
“One minute call for the mile!”
Remy’s head drops back. “Ugh! I wanted a good luck kiss.”
My cheeks heat as I glance around. Athletes jog toward the starting line, taking the attention to the far end of the track. No one is even within earshot.
So I make yet another impulsive fucking decision.
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
His adorably upset pout vanishes.
