“We shall see who wins.”
Cal stood in the grass near people, lots of people, other runners in Balboa Park. The participants in the 26.2-mile race would pass through residential, city, and parts of the area where he warmed up, winding down to the finish line at the parade deck of the Marine Corps Recruit Depot.
Originally, Cal had moved to this beautiful city in Southern California for a job and maybe a woman. Now, almost four years later, he’d grown fond of San Diego, its unique places, museums, parks, and people. He liked where he stood now, stretching, and he liked the running. He’d finally done enough training to do a full marathon.
Despite being surrounded by dozens of other people, Cal suddenly felt someone staring at him — like a gentle prick to the skin, a jellyfish rubbing up against his shin — a woman. Several feet away, a leg bent backward, a foot pressed against her ass.
Whenever their eyes met, she would turn her head in the opposite direction.
Eventually, Cal moved closer, needing to ascertain the precise color of her eyes — while also intending to appear detached and indifferent. And Cal Prescott excelled at feigning disinterest.
He was interested, though.
He already knew he wanted to fuck her.
“You know this”—she gestured between them the second he approached—“is never going to work, don’t you?”
Cal dived into the woman’s eyes — and they were brown, almost green, but definitely brown ... and deep — but he didn’t speak.
“Two runners?” she continued.
“I’ve never had any trouble with runners.” He stretched his left leg out and bent his knee, his torso following the motion.
“I’m sure you haven’t.” She leaned forward too, a slight strain in her voice. “Did you ever fall for one?”
“Fall?” He switched legs.
“Yes, fall.” She met him again in full lunge. “You know, in love with one?”
“No.” Biting back a laugh, Cal stood tall, lifted his arms, and twisted side to side. “I have not.”
The woman stepped into his space, smelling of sweat and freshly cut roses.
“My point exactly. This”—she glanced up at him, a hand on her hip, a gleam in her eye—“will never work.”
Cal opened his mouth to make a reply, but she had already moved closer to the starting line. He followed, mentally noting her features.
Tight abs.
Ample bottom.
Toned arms and calves.
“Who says we have to fall?” he asked as he took his place beside her. “Maybe we should just—”
“Uh-huh…” She rolled her eyes and grinned, and something in his stomach flipped. “But I don’t just fuck anybody.”
“Anybody?” He fought a grin and raised his brows. “Ever?”
“No.” That adorable smile grew wider, stretching across her face. “Not ever. But not... Not you.”
So...
This runner wanted to knock him down a peg, and it took a lot for Cal to fall — down a peg or in love.
“I’m not your type?” Cal cleared his throat.
“It’s because you’re a runner. I told you it would never work.”
“Maybe it never works because you talk too much.”
“I don’t talk when I run.”
The announcement was being made. The race was about to start. She began to walk away again.
“What about during sex?” he called out.
“I guess you’ll never know.” She glanced over her shoulder, her brown eyes twinkling in the sun.
* * *
The breeze was good. The sun was bright. The earth under Cal’s feet, grounded him.
He’d lost track of the woman. She was ahead, but he didn’t know how far.
After about five miles or so of steady jogging, Cal noticed her. Typically, the man noticed everything. And this girl was difficult to miss — a great ass, tight abs, calves he could sharpen his teeth on.
He slowed as he approached, catching his breath. Or holding it in.
“I guess you fell today after all.” Cal huffed and puffed as he stepped off the course, his stare intense, his smile wide. He was pretty fucking confident it was happening tonight despite her sitting slumped off to the side with an apparent injury, a grimace on her face.
“You’ll be disqualified.” She kept a hand over an ankle. “Don’t stop.”
“I only stopped”—his lungs worked hard as he spoke—“because I wanted to find out if you talk during sex.”
He grinned. The woman did not. Maybe he was losing his charm.
“Come on.” He extended a palm. “Can you stand?”
“I don’t know,” she strained.
Cal leaned closer, but the moment their fingers made contact, she let go and said, “Don’t,” followed by, “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. It’s your right foot?”
“Yes. My right ankle, okay?”
“Stand up,” he commanded. “I already know you’re a tough piece of shit. Now, get up and put your weight on me.”
Cal walked her to first aid while listening to her prattle on at breakneck speed about how long she’d been a runner (almost forever), where she liked to run (everywhere), how often she liked to do it (daily), and how she’d never, ever fallen.
But she’d neglected to share her name.
Once they reached their destination, Cal found her a seat, propped her foot up, then left to find some ice. Upon returning, and after informing her someone would be bringing it shortly, he lowered to his haunches and rested a hand on the arm of her chair.
She fingered the paper pinned to his shirt. “What’s your name, number 8448?”
“Cal.”
“Cal…” She stretched the word out while staring at his clothing. “Hmm ... I don’t think I’ve ever known a Cal. Do people call you Calvin?”
“No, they do not.”
“People call me Sam, but my name is—” She paused because Cal had begun to slowly slide the headband from her hair. “B-but … my name is Samantha.”
Cal eyed her jaw, her nose, her wavy, light-brown locks. The strands were short, near her face and neck, and messy. He ran his fingers through the disorder, untangling it some.
“Do you have someone who can help you today?” He placed the headband on her lap.
“Yes,” she whispered, her cheeks turning brighter, her smile growing wider.
Cal grinned. “I didn’t know you could be so quiet.”
Samantha sat forward, but her smile faded. Her soft features twisted into knots again.
“Are you okay?” Cal stood, looked around, pinched his neck. “Where are they with the goddamn ice?”
“Do you have a mobile phone on you?” She fingered her hair while shifting her gaze again. “I… I left mine in the car. I need to call my boyfriend.”
Of course.
She had a boyfriend.
The flirt with the candy-brown eyes, the adorable runner, the woman who seemed to have trouble looking him directly in the eye, had a fucking boyfriend.
“Do you live with him?” He lowered to his haunches again.
“No.”
“Tell him you have a ride home.” Cal glanced at her skin. Her neck. Her lips. Her eyes.
“I can’t.”
“Yes … you can.”
“I can’t.”
Cal stood, inhaled, and looked over the sky. A few clouds took shape. A zebra with a wandering eye. Or maybe it was a donkey.
“Are you in love with him?” Cal glared at her, his gaze sharp, his tone sharper.
“Who do you think you are, asking me all these personal questions?”
“Do you love him?”
“So, if I don’t love him, it’s okay for me to be with you? Is that it?”
This time, she didn’t break eye contact. Green to brown, brown to green. Runner to runner. Less than two hours since they’d met, and they were already fighting.
“Do you want a girl who’s ready to be with anybody? Someone with no sense of loyalty?”
Cal moved to squat again. “Do you love him?” He brushed hair from her forehead and stared into her eyes.
Samantha grabbed his wrist, seeming as though she meant to shove him. But instead, she held his arm and his gaze.
Something passed between them.
Cal didn’t want to consider what it was. But an energy, a vibration, raced through him head to foot.
“I don’t,” she finally said. “I don’t love him.”
Cal slipped his fingers through Sam’s — choosing to believe what she’d said or ignoring the consequences — and pulled her from the chair. He smoothed a palm up her spine toward her neck.
“What are you doing?” she uttered. “People will see us.”
“What will they see, Samantha?”
One of his hands tugged at her hair while the other bent her left arm behind her back. Then his lips trailed across her face, her cheeks, her mouth, over soft skin, nibbling and pressing as he held her weight, careful not to disturb her ankle.
“I have some ice for you, miss,” a woman interrupted.
“Oh.” Sam flattened her palms against his chest, then Cal helped her take a seat. “Thank you.”
Cal grabbed the ice and adjusted his shorts. “I’m going to drive you to the ER.” He placed the cold bag over her ankle.
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“It has to be examined.”
“No.”
“Yes. You told me this is your livelihood. You can’t let something like this go.”
“I’ve already ruined your morning. I don’t need you to drive me—”
“Are you going to drive yourself?”
“I’m going to call my boyfriend.”
They both stared at one another. Whatever sparked between them felt like a duel, a competition, a race. Cal could see the matchup and stakes all over her face.
“I’ll get my phone,” he finally conceded. “It’s in the car.”
“Get me some water too,” she yelled after him. “Please...”
Glancing back from several feet away, unable to mistake the pain in her eyes or the grin on her face, Cal smiled and said, “Samantha ... you haven’t ruined anything.”
* * *
Several hours later, Cal and Samantha left the emergency room and arrived at her apartment.
The studio looked clean but cluttered. A few blankets were draped over the back of a couch, another was stretched across a chair. Several picture frames lined a corner shelf, and unopened mail sat in piles on the kitchen counter. It was a neat kind of clutter, though, comfortable — the kind never allowed in Constance’s house.
As Cal continued surveying his surroundings, he started to wonder what the fuck he was doing here.
At 7 a.m., he’d only desired two things:
To cross the finish line.
And to have sex. With her.
The first goal was a missed opportunity, and the other … perhaps still had potential.
Fuck. What was wrong with him?
Wanting to fuck the poor girl while she was drugged and injured. Apparently, being a gentleman took second fiddle to his dick.
It was more than that, though.
Something sticky lodged in his throat.
Her eyes told a million stories, and her mouth told a million more, and he found he actually wanted to listen to them. He’d been enjoying her company. He wanted to get to know her better.
“Are you looking at my mess?” Sam interrupted Cal’s thoughts.
“It’s not a mess.”
“I’m sure your apartment is pristine.” The crutches held Sam’s weight.
“You think you’ve got me all figured out after only a few hours?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “You live alone.”
“I told you that.”
“But without even a pet or a fish or a plant.”
“A plant?”
“That’s right, a plant. You come home from work, whatever you do, and you have a drink ... maybe a beer — no, wine ... a glass or two. You like to... You like to read...” He’d told her that too. “And maybe you have another glass of wine; maybe you finish the bottle. Someone else cleans for you, of course, I think, but your apartment is clean — shiny, sparkly, pristine.”
“I live in a clean house.” He didn’t know why he was being such an asshole. Perhaps because it felt good. “And you think I’m always alone … when I do all this drinking and reading?”
“You fuck”—she eyeballed him—“but you are alone.”
Cal’s eyelashes now had a light dusting of snow on them as he peered at her, not too coolly. After all, the poor thing was injured.
Still, what she’d said was true.
All of it.
He was alone.
He hadn’t had a girlfriend in months — actually, it had been over a year. Work was his friend, his mistress, the one keeping him busy day and night, supplying him a temporary relief from The Lonely. Work kept him busy, but it hadn’t stopped him from looking for a quick fix, and mistakenly, he’d thought this girl — the runner with the adorable molasses eyes — was it.
Cal’s quiet filled the room. And it pleased him that Sam appeared to have bitten off more than she could chew.
“What do you do anyway? For work? I told you all about me.”
“You don’t have that part figured out as well?”
“I don’t know.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Give me time.”
Cal grinned. “Sit down, clairvoyant Samantha. Give me the crutches.”
Turning, Sam plopped onto the dark-green couch with the hints of brown, the color of her eyes backward.
He propped her leg on a throw pillow. “Do you want a glass of water or anything?”
“No.” She eyed him again, the same way as when they’d first met, cautiously yet seeming to want more. “Where are you from?” She pulled a blanket down over her legs.
Cal had gone to the kitchen to find a glass to fill it with water anyway. “California.” He closed the fridge.
“Where? Here?”
“No.” His lack of explanation seemed to intrigue her the way his silence had in the hospital.
“I was born here … in San Diego. My sister’s here. My nieces.”
After placing the water on the table, he sat in the dark-purple chair across from her.
“What city?” She smiled, and it warmed him. “Where were you born?”
“Los Angeles.”
“You were raised there?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“Ojai.”
“Oh.” She scrubbed a finger beneath her nose.
“Have you been?”
“No. I’ve heard it’s beautiful though.”
“We moved there when I was five.”
Sam pulled the blanket to her chin and turned onto her side, seeming to try very hard not to close her eyes but failing.
“I’m so sorry.” Cal cleared his throat and smiled. “Am I boring you, Samantha?”
“What?” Opening her eyes wide, she sighed. “It’s the medicine.” She yawned. “It’s making me so sleepy.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have taken two.”
She smacked her lips together and blinked. “Why are you staring at me, number 8448?”
Cal exhaled. “It’s been a long time.” Sitting forward, he ran a palm across his chin.
“Since what?”
“Since I’ve been able to talk … like this ... with a woman.” One he wanted to fuck. Badly.
“Yeah.” She stirred some at his words. “I bet. Sounds like a line.”
Cal stood, forced a smile, and pulled keys from his pocket. “No. I think it means we’re friends.”
“You want to be friends?”
“I can be your friend.” Cal smirked.
Samantha only stared up at him, blinking, her mouth parting some.
“Get some sleep.” Cal leaned over and kissed her forehead, causing her to release a loud breath.
He laughed quietly, brushed hair from her eyes, then turned to leave.
“I can’t be yours,” Sam uttered the moment he reached the front door.
Cal slipped the keys into his pocket, turned, and took six big steps toward the sofa. Her smile grew wider and wider as he approached.
“He’ll be here any minute,” she said and giggled as Cal came to a stop inches from her, still unsure what to make of this runner. This tease. The woman he wanted to position on all fours. Now. The ache in his balls was painful.
“Go.” She waved her hand toward the door, still laughing a little. “Go back to your clean house, Cal.”
“Give me your number.”
“I told you before ... I can’t.”
So. That was it, then.
Samantha was going to be the I can’t girl. The indecisive but ultimately knew what she wanted girl. He could take anything from her, almost anything, but he couldn’t take any more of the repeated fucking I can’ts.
She could do anything. Even with the ridiculous boot. Look at her. Beautiful. Muddled. Adorable. A runner. Jesus Christ… A runner. He didn’t need a complication with a runner — she’d been right. And this was already a mess of complications. But those eyes, and the way looking into them made him feel, already had Cal’s orderly life knotting up into tangles.
What was he getting himself into?
Nothing, apparently ... because she couldn’t stop uttering, “I can’t.”
“What can you do, Samantha?”
“Not much...” She sighed and glanced at the boot.
Tears welled in her eyes, and he felt like a heel for thinking less and less of her injured ankle and too much about his need to bury himself inside her cunt.
He lowered himself to his haunches, placed a hand on her waist, and stared into her eyes. “When you’re done healing—”
“How long will that be?” She shifted her gaze. “This is how I make a living.”
“You’ll train people again.” He palmed her cheek, pulling her eyes toward his. “And when you do”—he smirked—“I’ll let you race me.”
“Oh ... you’ll let me race you?”
“Yes.” He stood, adjusting the waist of his shorts as he went. “We shall see who wins.”
Except…
Samantha had already won.
Cal knew he would chase this runner until she overtook him.
It had been too long since he’d wanted something this sweet and kind, since he’d found someone who desired something from him beyond a good, hard fuck — a woman who didn’t care about his money.
“Do you want me to stay?” Cal glanced at her, tucking the blanket under her chin. “Until he arrives?”
“No,” she whispered, but her eyes twinkled, and she blinked. Twice.
Cal smiled, shook his head, then he took a business card from his wallet. After putting it on the table, he leaned down and kissed her forehead again.
“I do want a girl,” he began, his lips oddly tingling. He peered at her mouth, then into her eyes. “I do want someone...” The words puffed out. “With loyalty.”
“Then go,” she replied, an adorable smile across her face, the brown of her eyes seeming to take on some of the green of the couch.
The race he’d started this morning had only just begun.
Now.
As he left her studio.
Cal was sure he was stepping onto a twenty-six-mile stretch of something full of possibilities.
And he hoped…
He hoped when he crossed the finish line, the water he’d been searching for would rise to meet him.