Running Back to You (The Running Series, #1) (8 page)

“I need to get some fishnet stockings for roller derby, maybe a new thong
and a push-up bra.  I need all the help I can get.  I’m not as lucky as you in
the boob department.”  She grabs her boobs and pushes them together, trying to
give herself cleavage.  We both burst out laughing.  She has no filter
sometimes.

“What are you going to get?”  Emmy wants to know.

I see a cute pair of sweatpants with the word PINK written down one leg. 
I hold them up for inspection.  “These are cute, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t.”  She takes them and puts them back on the rack.  No
discussion.  “You need something that will make you feel pretty.  These will
make you feel lazy.” 

She grabs me by the wrist and drags me over to the undergarments.  I’ve bought
thongs before, and frankly, I don’t see the allure.  It’s like having a string
up your butt all day.  Emmy picks up a pair of lacey hip-hugger panties that
are actually quite pretty.  I could see how wearing these would make a girl
feel sexy without the discomfort of a thong.  I pick out a few and we head to
the check out.

After a few more stops, we’re on our way home.  I’m glad Emmy called.  My
mind is clear.  Although I haven’t made up my mind about Evan, I decide to keep
an open mind.  Life can be messy, confusing, and imperfect, and it’s rarely
without conflict.  It’s how we handle the conflict that determines the
direction our life takes.  I’m going to trust myself and to accept the path
that life leads me down.

I
am thankful for the large crowd filling the bar tonight.  The in-house
DJ is playing more great music.  It’s Emmy’s night off, so Derek and I are
manning the bar alone.  We are so busy that I barely have time to think about
Evan.  For some reason I can’t explain, I just know he isn’t going to just show
up here out of the blue. 

I slide a bottle of Bud to one of my customers when Derek points over to
the other side of the bar.  “That guy’s been asking about you, Jette.  What
should I tell him?”  I search the bar and spot a well-dressed young man around
my age talking to a group of guys. 

“I dunno.  Tell him whatever you want.  Not interested.”  I return to the
crowd of customers lining my bar waiting for their drinks.  The male customers
are easy to handle, most want a beer or a shooter.  The women, on the other
hand, usually want a mixed drink.  Personally, I’ll take an ice-cold beer any
night of the week.

With the crowd growing, the head bartender joins us, Marcus.  His looks
are intimidating to anyone who doesn’t know him.  He has the body and presence
of a lacrosse player, someone you just don’t mess with.  But the moment you
look into his eyes, almond shaped with the most captivating shade of amber, you
sense he’s more of a teddy bear. 

Marcus knows his way around a bar and with his help, the crowd becomes
more manageable.  The guys obviously know each other well and are exchanging
jokes and insults all night long.  Soon enough, I join in on the banter and
find myself really having fun.

“Tell you what, Jette,” Marcus shouts.  “I catch this cocktail behind my
back and you go out to dinner with me.”  The crowd’s watching the spectacle and
they’re really enjoying the show.

“No way!”  Marcus has great reflexes and he knows it.  I wave him off and
continue to work the bar.  Marcus, being the expert showman that he is, feigns
a broken heart and goes back to flirting with the ladies.

Derek whisks me up in his arms, spins me around, and dips me so low, I
can practically touch the ground.  “Keep your filthy paws off her, Marcus.  She’s
all mine!”  Derek kisses my hand and I fan myself with my free hand.

“You know I only have eyes for you, Derek!” and I bat my eyelashes in my
best Scarlet O’Hara southern belle impersonation.

As I make my way down the line, the guy that Derek pointed out appears
with an empty glass.  “What can I get you tonight?” I ask while mentally
calculating the number of customers waiting to be served.

“Whatever’s on tap ... and your number.”  He looks sweet and hopeful.  I
have to let him down easy.

“Sorry, it’s really very sweet of you to ask, but I have a boyfriend.”  I
slip the cash from his hand and he sulks away.  I don’t have time to worry
about his hurt feelings, and I instead concentrate on making mojitos, cosmos,
and martinis.

Derek grins and winks at me.  “You know it, babe!” and he smacks me on
the ass.  I shoot him a look of disapproval and I hope he gets the message. 
Flirting is one thing, but ass grabbing and slapping crosses a line.

The rest of the night continues with the boys acting like fools and the
customers eating it up.  The tip jar is overflowing and the time flies by.

It’s close to closing time and the crowd has thinned out considerably. 
There are a few stray customers sitting at the bar.  One guy’s been sitting
here a while.  I vaguely remember serving him a few beers throughout the
night.  Marcus busies himself cleaning up the bar and I walk around wiping down
the counter and asking everyone for their final drink orders.

When I approach the guy sitting alone, something inside me doesn’t feel
right.  Call it intuition, but I have this feeling that there’s going to be a
problem.  It’s the way he’s sitting there, alone, watching my every move. 
“Last call, what’ll it be?”

He grabs the hand I’m using to wipe down the counter with.  “How about we
get out of here and grab something to eat at the diner, sweetheart?”  He grabs
my hand in both of his, petting my knuckles.

“Sorry, I don’t date customers.  How about you let go of my hand, and
I’ll get you another beer?”  I struggle to free my hand, but he’s not letting
up. 

“Aw, come on.  I saw you flirting with those guys all night.  You like to
have fun, I can tell.  Let’s have some fun together.  I promise I’ll show you a
good time.”  He grins at me, but his eyes remain steely.

“How about you give me some cash, and I’ll give you a beer.  That sounds
like a good time, don’t you think?”  I look over to Derek for a little
assistance, but it’s Marcus who shows up behind the jackass.

“Let the lady go, sir, NOW!”  Marcus is a very intimidating man.  If he
wasn’t a bartender, he’d make one heck of a bouncer.

The jackass immediately releases me, throws a few dollars on the counter
and calls back, “Slut!” as he exits the bar. 

Immediately, Marcus joins me behind the bar to check to see if I’m okay. 
He hold my shoulders and looks me directly in the eyes, “Jette, hon, how ‘ya
doin’?”

“Thanks, Marcus.  I’m fine, really.”  I lie.  I’m actually a little
shaken up by the whole situation, but no one needs to know that.  “Let’s finish
cleaning up and go home.  It’s been a long night.”

Derek sees Marcus holding me in place, then comes over and asks, “What
happened?”

“Jette just got a little manhandled at the bar.  I had to step in before
things got out of hand,” Marcus explains.

“Guys, I’m fine.  Let’s not make a big deal out of this.  No harm done.” 
I turn away and start wiping down the bar with my wet bar rag while my hands
are shaking, probably from the adrenaline raging through my veins. 

I start to feel better with each minute that passes.  By the time we lock
up and head to our cars, I’m feeling much better.  Marcus and Derek insist on
walking me to my car, just in case the jackass hasn’t left.  Truth be told, I’m
glad to have them hovering.

Once I get home and crawl into bed, exhaustion overtakes me and I’m
asleep before my head hits the pillow.

Chasing
Rainbows

I
skipped my run yesterday, so staying home again today is out of the
question.  I look out the window to check on the weather, and I’m greeted by
gray skies.  The skies reflect my mood.  I’m still feeling a little off after
last night’s exchange.  I’d love to be able to be lazy and head to the beach a
little later, but the weather seems to be conspiring against me.

I put my iPhone music on shuffle as I get ready to go and Adele’s “Skyfall”
starts playing.  It’s a beautiful song, but the tone is so solemn, I’m finding
it hard to get motivated. 

Trudging to the bathroom, I try to wash away my somber state.  I turn on
the faucet and splash some cold water onto my face.  Scrutinizing myself in the
mirror, I attempt to see what Emmy sees.  Could this face be enough to capture
the interest of someone like Evan?  When I examine individual features, it’s
hard to find fault.  My teeth are white and straight thanks to years of braces
and orthodontic work.  My eyes are bright and alert, a shade of green that
dramatically contrasts with my brown hair.  There are no blemishes on my skin,
but a few freckles dot my shoulders.  My eyebrows are appropriately manicured
and my ears are not too large.  Collectively, I suppose one might consider me
attractive, but it’s hard to see in yourself what others claim to see.

Maddy and I head to the beach and I park in my usual spot.  There are a
few cars here today, but a lot less than previously, surely due to the dreary
weather.  I don’t bother trying to guess which car, if any, belongs to Evan.  I
imagine his car is safely tucked away in his attached garage.

Maddy and I walk down to the beach and warm up.  I sit on the ground and
start to stretch my ankles with an alphabet stretch.  It’s a warm-up exercise I
learned in soccer.  Normally, you’re supposed to point your toes into the air
and spell out the alphabet one letter at a time and in the process, help
relieve the residual ankle pain from my recent sprain.  My mood dictates my
decisions, and I start spelling E-V-A-N, then M-A-Y-B-E, and finally H-O-P-E. 

Before starting my run, I check the horizon and there are no other
joggers in sight.  Now that I know exactly where Evan’s house is, I purposely
jog in that direction hoping to give fate another chance to intervene.  In no
time at all, I’m running right past his home, but there’s no sign of life.  The
doors and windows are all closed and I can’t tell if there are any lights on
inside.  I don’t let my eyes linger too long; I have to keep an eye on the
terrain this time.

The prudent thing to do would be to make today’s run a short one. 
There’s no sense in pushing myself and chancing another injury.  The next one
might not heal as quickly.  After only fifteen minutes, I decide it’s time for
a break.  Maddy and I play a little fetch; I stretch my muscles and joints, and
again scan my surroundings.  No signs of life other than a few men with fishing
rods and some scavenging dirty seabirds.

Disappointment settles in, and I resume my jog, heading back towards the
car.  Every few minutes, I peer towards Evan’s house and the closer I get the
more certain I am that someone is out on the deck.  At first, I can barely make
out the figure, but little by little, I begin to recognize the familiar
physique of Evan.  He even seems to be scanning the beach looking for
something, or someone.

My mind is reeling.  Thoughts start filling my head.  What should I say
if he approaches me?  Suppose he invites me back in?  What if he asks for my
number?  What if he asks me on a date?  Then, it occurs to me ... what if he
doesn’t?