Twenty years, my ass. I’m already wishing I’d gone on the cruise.
•••
The next morning, I see him stretching next to the 0 mile marker.
Jeremiah.
He pulls his arm back behind his head and stretches his triceps, causing his T-shirt to ride up, revealing strong stomach muscles. Stubble covers his cheeks and jaw, and his light brown hair is a disaster. When he sees me, a grin breaks across his face, and after last night’s loneliness, I’m glad to see it. Really glad.
I adjust my CamelBak as I approach him. “How many miles you doing today?”
“It’s a big one,” he says. “We’re shooting for twenty. And Charlie, the guy I’m pacing, wants to finish in less than two and a half hours.”
“Good luck,” I say. “I bet I couldn’t even ride a bike twenty miles in that amount of time. I could drive it though.”
We laugh together and smile. I don’t look away from his pretty blue eyes.
“What?” he says, his mouth quirking up.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
And then my finger reaches without my permission and gently traces the long, white scar on his arm. Then I move to the mysterious circle tattoos on his forearm.
“What are these?”
“Crop circles. I saw the design and just went for it. You like them?”
Very much. “Yeah,” I say with a thick voice. He watches me touch his skin, and I see his Adam’s apple shift. He stops watching my finger and his light blue eyes move to my lips, then chest, then legs. And a queasy feeling rushes through me, sort of a mixture of excitement and feeling like I’m standing on a plank, fixing to tumble into crashing waves.
I stop touching his arm and look away.
“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “Have a good run today.” He meets up with a buff-looking guy, takes off on the trail, and disappears within seconds.
Matt gives our team instructions. We’re to run/walk ten miles, which means we run as much as we can and take walking breaks when we need to.
“None of you have the endurance yet to run a full ten miles,” Matt says to the group. “But I want you to get used to the long distances, so we’re going to walk a lot today. Don’t push yourself into running too much, okay?”
I’ve never gone that far before. What happens if I get stranded five miles out on the trail? Will Matt have to cart me back somehow? How embarrassing would that be?
Matt makes us warm up by doing this ridiculous move called “Ali jumps” where we jump around and pretend we’re boxing like Muhammad Ali, and then I jog out onto the trail, my sneakers smacking the dirt. Then it’s just me and ten miles.
What was I thinking, touching Jeremiah’s arm like that? He must think I’m a complete Creepy McCreeperson. On the other hand, he did patch up my blister and give me a Little Mermaid Band-Aid when we were complete strangers.
But isn’t that what we still are? Strangers? Sure, he gave me a ride to my car, and I know a few tidbits about him, like he’s twenty and only his grandparents call him by his full name, but I still don’t know anything real. Is he in college? I never see him with friends, but I did see his Delta Tau Kappa frat T-shirt. Is he a party animal or just addicted to running and working out? Why is Matt giving him a chance? A chance for what?
I take a sip of water and focus on my feet. Point my toes forward. Swing my arms like scissors. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Pray for the running to make me forget I skipped my senior cruise. I manage to run six miles, but then have to slow to a shuffle walk. I’m proud I made it this far.
Right about then, Jeremiah and his client flash by. I can’t believe they’re already on their way back in on a twenty-mile run! Damn, he’s fast.
I figure that’s the last I’ll see of him today, but at mile marker 2, I see his wicked smile approaching, his long hair bouncing all over the place. Again that urge to dig my fingers in it. When he rejoins me, he slows to a pace matching mine. He finished a twenty-mile run, then came back out to run with me? He must be certifiable.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, wheezing.
He takes a long sip from his water bottle, looking at me sideways. “I was thinking about you.”
I suck in a gasp, scramble for air. I was already panting in the humid morning, but now I can’t breathe at all.
His breathing slows to steady, because maintaining my pace is nothing for goddamned Superman, and when we reach the wooden footbridge that marks mile 1.5, Jeremiah gently takes my elbow and leads me off the path and way down to the stream. Wait, I shouldn’t leave the trail without Matt’s permission—and I haven’t finished my run yet. But the break sure is nice. Floppy willow tree branches cocoon us, offering much needed shade. Pink, yellow, purple, and blue flowers explode everywhere, like in a psychedelic dream—or Willy Wonka.