Page 44 of The Backup Plan

“That’s ridiculous,” I say immediately. “You just finished.”

“And?” He shrugs. “Cool-down miles.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m a big girl despite what you’ve seen.”

He pauses and his expression changes. Not defensive. Not teasing.

“Well aware,” he says.

Something in my chest tightens. “I’m not a victim.”

His steady gaze holds mine. “Never crossed my mind that you were.”

The lack of pity is welcome.

He gestures toward the door. “New city. New places. Figured it might be nice to have a running partner.”

“But you already ran.”

“And now I’m choosing to run again.”

I study him for a beat, then shake my head. “Fine. But I’m warning you, I hate running.”

His grin widens. “Perfect. So do I.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Absolutely.”

We walk out of the complex gates, the morning air already warm and heavy. He waits while I stretch and mentally hype myself up, not watching, not commenting—just there.

“Okay,” I say. “But I’m not fast. I’m not chatty. And I—”

“You’re already out here, which is more than most people.” He nods and then starts jogging without another word.

I fall in step beside him, surprised to find his pace matched to mine. No showing off. No commentary. Just a steady presence.

My lungs protest and my legs follow as the city wakes up around us.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” I pant. “You can run ahead if you want.”

“I’m good.”

“I doubt this is your normal pace,” I say.

“My pace depends on who I’m running with.” He shrugs and turns so he’s jogging backward and facing me, cheeky grin in place.

I snort. “Now you’re just showing off.”

He laughs and turns forward again.

We fall into a rhythm. Footfalls. Breathing. And despite myself, it’s not awful.

My mind, however, is loud.

God, you’re already winded.

You look ridiculous. You’re not skinny enough to wear that outfit.