Page 108 of Jonesing for a Spy

I never stopped running after high school. Once I learned to overpower my desire to quit with another ten strides, and another and another, it really came down to who would win in a war—my body or my brain. They both win when I run, even if I loathe most of my time doing it.

My lungs burn. My thighs are rubber. My feet numb out. But I keep going.

Mind over matter.

My feet slap in time with Jamie’s, our breaths not showing for the other the strain to which we’re pushing our bodies.

“I regret the chicken fried steak.” I wipe my brow with my arm only to discover that both are still wet.

“Puking in the bushes was enough for me to get that,” he deadpans.

“Do I want to know how you keep down the He-Man-sized breakfast you hoovered through?”

“Conditioning.”

My watch vibrates letting me know we crossed another mile. The celebration ding for the ten-mile mark was way too long ago.

“So, this run… Are we going until we die?” I ask.

“Until you give up.”

“So this is basically a dare until I cramp or dehydrate?”

“If that’s how you see it.”

Fuck that. “This is the worst kind of dick-measuring I’ve ever been a part of.”

“You do that often?”

I bark a laugh only to stumble in my stride.

“Do you haze all of Mirren’s men like this?” The words are sour in my throat, but I can’t help but hope Jamie scared them away with his glower and running shoes.

“Mirren doesn’t have men. She’s never had men. You’re the first.”

“I feel special that you saved this just for me then.”

At that, Jamie releases a puff of laughter. He tips his head to the clearing along the path on the Bay, the SUV in the parking lot, and the gorgeous blonde leaning on its hood. “Your escape route if you’re tapping out.”

“You mean choose between you and the woman I love? You have to know I won’t choose you.”

I move right when the path veers. Jamie stays left. “Scoot,” he shouts and waves as he continues his ridiculous pace for mile fifteen.

I stop right in front of Mirren, looking down into her upturned face. Her smile is wide. Her freckles dance across her nose, and her eyes are alight.

I slide both hands along her jaw, and drop my lips to her cheek, trailing my lips to her ear. “Hi, baby.”

I want to drink her in, take from her, own her, but I can’t breathe. And, of course, there’s the whole puke thing. “I’m sorry. I smell. I’ll make it up to you after I shower.”

Mirren’s hand cups my dick. “How about you make it up to me in the shower?”

I slide away, give her a tap on the ass, and plant my bum in the driver’s seat. “Get in, Freckles.”

Before she can open her door, I have the windows down and her seat warmer on. I’d do some pit move to get us there faster, but everything I need is in this car, so I extend my hand, taking hers and bringing it to my lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “Missed you. How was Peoria?”

She studies me. “Good. Productive. Your mom and dad are amazing. Strider?”

Turning my head from the road to her, my brows drop. “Yeah?”