Page 71 of Racing Hearts

My fingertips start shaking slightly and I squeeze them against the armrests. I’m not sure why I’m nervous. If he says no, then I’m free to move on with my summer, unencumbered by this thing that’s grown between us.

“I would like this to be casual,” I say. “It can only last for the next month and a half—until I leave for Pan Ams. After that, I’ll hopefully get my spot back in Southern California and you’ll either stay here or take the junior development job in Florida—”

“I’m not getting that job,” Adrian says.

I have no idea why he believes that, nor why he seems to equate not getting the job with not wanting the job, but I guess this isn’t the time for a debate.

“Right,” I say. “Well, either way, we’ll be far apart. I can’t do long-distance.”

Adrian has his arms crossed against his body and his face frozen somewhere between a smile and a frown.

“That’s a lot to take in,” he says.

“I know,” I say. It’s a lot for me to take in, even though I’m the one saying it. “Look, I want you to know that this would be new for me, too. For me it’s always been…a serious relationship or nothing. And for a long time, it was nothing. I never wanted to take a chance with dating because I knew it would just distract me from training. And then I tried something serious, but look how well that turned out. With you and me, I’m wondering if an in-between could work. Casual.”

Adrian’s eyes are dark and expressionless as his finger taps against his elbow. My chair creaks under my shifting weight. The wall clock ticks, counting down the seconds until his verdict. He considers for so long that I convince myself he’s going to say no. He’s going to turn me down and I’m going to deserve it. I have no right to ask this of him and it’s unfair to both of—

Adrian’s expression shifts. He pushes out of his chair, rounding the desk until he’s standing in front of me. I have to crane my head back to look him in the eye.

He leans one hand against the armrest of my chair. “Tell me. What exactly do you mean by casual?”

My brain momentarily freezes before I can make out some words. “I just think that since there can’t be anything long term between us, we should be up front about it.” I try to remember what my mom said about being centered, finding focus. Something about a yoga mat? It’s hard to remember with him this close. “I want to be present for this—this summer. The now.”

Adrian lowers his other hand to the other armrest, cocooning me in citrus. His pupils are so big they’ve nearly swallowed his irises, and he holds my gaze for long enough that I feel a flush rising across my cheeks. He lowers his face until it’s nearly level with mine, burning through the space left between us. That familiar desire for him edges back into my body like a ship gliding into its home port.

“I can agree to the terms of your contract,” he says.

Anticipation flutters through me, like a little breathless bird.

“But before you start outlining a calendar,” he adds, voice low, “I have one amendment.”

“An amendment?”

“Mm-hmm.” His breath traces a warm path down my neck. My eyes close. “There will be no schedule.”

And then his mouth is taking mine and my hands are pressing into his pecs and he’s lifting me out of the chair and my legs are wrapped around his torso. Heat vacuums through my body as I grab hold of his neck, push my fingers into his hair. Adrian spins us until my butt lands on his desk, sending a scatter of papers and books off the edge.

I try to drag him closer, to pull his weight on top of me as I lie back, but he pushes a hand to my collarbone and holds himself upright.

“I have something for you,” he says.

Despite the fluttering in my chest, I raise an eyebrow.

He laughs in a low rumble. “No, not that. Well, yes, that. But also this.”

He reaches into a drawer by my hip and hands me a folded paper. Propped on one elbow and still lying almost prone on his desk—which is not the least awkward position I’ve ever been in—I unfold it.

It’s Adrian’s recent health records.

Above me, his green eyes catch mine. That familiar electric crackle erupts through my middle, shuddering down my spine in rippling waves.

“I thought you’d want it in black and white,” he says. “In case you decided there would be a next time.”

Something unlocks deep inside my chest. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this accepted, this well understood. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this safe.

I want to say thank you. Or to pull up my last tests on my phone. Or to tell him I’m as religious about my birth control as I am about my sleep logs. Or to find some other—better—way to express my gratitude, but there are too many thoughts jostling through my mind.

What falls out of my mouth is “How do you know me so well?”