Page 2 of Emily's Escape

“Can I think about it?” she asks. “Since it’s not for another six months?”

“Of course.” I kiss her cheek. “And it’s fine if you don’t want to. I just thought, since you seemed to enjoy this one, you might like a longer race, too.”

Honestly, I was surprised the first time Emily asked about running a 5K with me. We’d been dating for a few months, and up to that point, she’d never shown much enthusiasm for running. Swimming is her thing—that’s actually how we met, doing laps at the YMCA—and I would have been completely fine if she never came running with me.

But she knew important it used to be to me, and how hard I’d been working to make it a part of my life again. So when I mentioned a 5K I’d recently done, she asked if she could run the next one with me. “It’s for charity, after all,” she explained. “And I know how much you love it. So I thought it might be fun to see what it’s all about.”

So we started training, and a month later, we ran a 5K together. Since then, we’ve done three more 5Ks, but this one is the longest race Em’s ever done. If she said this was too much, or even that she didn’t want to run with me anymore, I’d be fine with it. After all, she’s my girlfriend, not my running partner. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t nice having her here.

As we’re both surveying the crowd, two young women pass in front of us. One of them sees me and stops so quickly, her friend nearly runs her over. The one who stopped says something to her friend, and seconds later, their eyes move to my prosthetic. They don’t give it a subtle glance that just as quickly skitters away, like many people do when they see me in shorts. No, they stare boldly at it, like it’s an exhibit in a museum instead of an extension of my leg.

A niggle of discomfort pokes at me. Though I’ve spent the last two years training myself not to be ashamed of my prosthetic, reminding myself that it’s okay to wear shorts in the summer like a regular person instead of covering myself, I can’t help wishing, just for a second, that I’d chosen to wear sweatpants instead.

That would be incredibly stupid, given the weather. And I know better than to let some random strangers’ stares bother me. But?—

Beside me, Emily stiffens. Her chin lifts. Her expression turns fierce as she glares at the two women. Fire sparks from her eyes.

A beat later, Em moves so she’s in front of me. Then she frames my face with her hands and kisses me hard. Her tongueplunges into my mouth, tangling with mine. Her breasts press temptingly against my chest, and through her sports bra and tank, I can feel her nipples pebbling into hard peaks. Though we’re smack in the middle of an enormous crowd, I can’t stop my body from reacting.

All too soon—or maybe just in time, considering my erection jutting hard against her belly—Em ends the kiss and flashes the two women a challenging look. But they’re already scurrying away, pink-faced, with sheepish expressions. Emily glares at their retreating backs for another few seconds before turning back to me. “Anyway,” she says brightly, “we can talk about the half marathon once we’re back home. Maybe try a few practice runs to see how it feels.”

Though part of me feels weird about Em trying to defend me—because that’s what she was doing, no doubt—there’s a bigger part that’s touched that she wanted to do it.

“That’s fine,” I reply. Taking her hand, I wrap my fingers around it. “It’s just a thought.” Angling my chin to the right, I add, “That tent has sunglasses and hats for sale. So they might have lotion with SPF, too. Want to go check it out?”

“Sure.” Em flashes me a quick smile. “As long as we can find something to eat, too. I think I’m getting kind of hungry.”

“We can definitely find some food.” Keeping her close, I start navigating a trail through the crowd. “Anything in particular you’re in the mood for? Donuts? Soft pretzels? Or do you want an actual meal?”

“Hmm.” Her gaze lands on a food truck advertising breakfast sandwiches and burritos. “Maybe an egg and cheese burrito.”

My stomach gives an eager rumble. “Egg and cheese burrito sounds good. With bacon.”

“Of course.” Em chuckles. “Everything is better with bacon.”

I give her hand a little squeeze. “You read my mind.”

We hit the sunglasses tent first, which does indeed sell small bottles of organic sunscreen. Bottle of coconut lemongrass scented sunscreen in hand, we step aside so I can smooth the fragrant cream across Em’s shoulders and arms.

From there, we work our way to the food truck, which already has a line of twenty or so people ahead of us. “It’s fine,” Emily replies when I suggest going someplace else. “I’m all sunscreened up. And it’s such a nice day, I don’t mind waiting.”

And if Em doesn’t mind waiting, neither do I. Because, really, my priority is making her happy. It has been ever since we first met, and I justknewthere was something special about her.

It wasn’t just how pretty Em was, with her long, red-gold hair and bright blue eyes and adorable freckles everywhere. It wasn’t just how great she looked in a swimsuit, with her small but perfect curves and limbs toned from four-times-weekly swim sessions. It was the way she looked at me, not as an amputee, but as a man she was attracted to. It was her enthusiasm as she talked about her job as a daycare teacher, and how much she clearly loved what she did.

I wasn’t sure if she’d go out with me when I asked. After all, she was so sweet and pretty and perfect, and then there was me—a medically retired veteran missing half his leg. But after spending several weeks talking to her by the pool while I worked up my nerve, I finally bit the bullet and asked. And much to my relief, she said yes.

“I was hoping you’d ask me out,” she confided. “I thought about asking you, but I was scared you’d say no.”

Imagine that. She thoughtI’dsay no.

And now we’ve been dating for almost a year. Two months ago, when Em’s lease on her apartment in Bethesda was up, she moved in with me. We’ve even been looking into renting a house with a small yard, so we can adopt a dog together.

It’s hard to believe, thinking back to that evening when I first asked Emily out, my stomach twisted with nerves and braced for rejection, that I’d ever end up here.

As the line edges forward, Emily rises onto her toes so she can look at the menu posted on the side of the truck. I circle her waist with my hands and lift her up so she can see better, and she lets out a happy giggle. “Better?” I ask.

“Much,” she agrees. Once I set her back on her feet, she turns to face me. “My hero.”