“Cruel.”
“And a public location.”
“Of course.”
“Tomorrow evening.”
“You’ll be sore.”
“I can sit.”
Dani kissed my forehead. Level Two. No classification needed anymore.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
I closed my eyes. The middle of the race had belonged to me. The finish had too. But the moment after, when I chose her without an audience demanding proof, belonged to both of us.
Part Three
The Wall
Chapter Eighteen
New Rules
Dani
On Sunday, July twenty-seventh, real dating was more difficult than fake dating because Amy had no form for it. She tried to make one. The morning after the half marathon, I woke to find her sitting against the headboard with a hotel notepad balanced on one knee. Her hair was messy. Her legs were hidden beneath the duvet. She wore my old race shirt because her pajamas had disappeared beneath the bed during the night. The sight made me grip the duvet.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Thinking.”
“With headings?”
She covered the notepad. I sat up.
“Let me see.”
“No.”
“We’re real now. No hiding material information.”
“That applies to material information.”
“Your document looks material.”
I reached. Amy moved it away and winced.
“Legs?”
“Sore. Knee fine.”
I took the answer. “Categories?”
“Professional boundaries. Competition boundaries. Physical boundaries. Communication expectations.”
“Romance.”
