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Martina burst through the crowd of people huddled at the finish line, trying to squeeze her way to the front. He would finish the race any minute.
She managed to weasel her way to the railing. She hung over the edge watching, waiting, trying to distinguish between the runners. They all looked the same with their sunglasses, ball-hugging spandex and white numbers plastered across their chests. But she would know him a mile away. She would know as soon as Rob made his way around the corner.
It took death to bring her back. She was cheated. Her plans failed to follow their course. She planned on bypassing connections, refusing to form solid relationships with people.
But the death of one of her clients ripped her plans in two. She was supposed to go home and die. She was supposed to spend one month getting pampered and healed, renewing her spirit so she could go home and die in peace. But she didn’t make it home.
Instead, Martina watched as the paramedics wheeled the stretcher out of the ashram into the warm California sunlight. The strong rubber smell of the body bag would be with her forever.
No matter how hard she tried she would never be able to cheat death. Mac was right. She was always right. Life would be full of heartache and pain, and if Mac wasn’t there to get her through those tough times, who would?
Rob. He gave her what she wanted. That one time was all it took to free her from her own restraints. He pushed her through the void but she was too stubborn to notice.
Martina thought back to the last time they spent together. She could still smell the cinnamon, feel the leather under her skin, and taste the sweetness of his cock. She realized that her need for a sexual adventure was more than just experimentation. She needed to feel, something more than death and loneliness. When she was with Rob those things didn’t exist, just overwhelming sensation.
Rob was already “Mac approved.” All Martina had to do was prove herself to him. Beg. Plead. Anything. She would do anything to get him to forgive her. And wearing the lacy white lingerie beneath her coat was the first step in making him love her again.
* * * *
Rob saw the finish line in sight. The perfect end to a crisp, Canadian spring day. He woke up this morning, his head clear and pain-free, and now that he approached the end, not a sign of a migraine to come. If he kept on pace for the last half-mile he would achieve his personal best as an adult.
He’d put everything he had into training the last two months. He would do anything in order to stop thinking about Martina. Dreaming about Martina. Fantasizing about Martina.
Every time he saw a woman with auburn hair his heart would leap. Whenever he walked by a yoga studio he would look through the window to see if she was inside. He was hopeless. Pathetic.
Aleks had tried to get him back on the horse, introducing him to woman after woman with no luck. To be honest he didn’t even think he could get in up for another woman. Not while he was still in love with
Martina.
He’d given her what she wanted. He hoped that by doing so he opened her eyes to the truth she wasn’t willing to see. What she did with that truth was up to her.
His feet pounded on the pavement. The cheer of the crowd got louder the closer he got to the finish line. There would be no family or friends there to watch him. He showed up alone, and he left alone, the possibility of failure too hard to bear in front of an audience.
The sun broke through the clouds on his last hundred meters. He felt great. This was what life was supposed to be like. Even though he enjoyed the lack of pressure his hobby brought, deep down, he missed the stress, the need to compete. That’s what got his blood boiling. That, and Martina.
Ten feet from the finish line he scanned the crowd. He almost stumbled over his own feet when a familiar face came into view.
He righted himself just as the announcer’s voice echoed over the sound system, congratulating the racers who’d crossed the finish line. When he looked back the face was gone.
He was hopeless. Short of going to California and demanding it back, how was he ever going to get over the woman who stole his heart?
On the other side of the finish line he paced along the concrete, gearing down his body, taking long gulps of water. There were a couple of familiar faces in the crowd of racers who’d crossed the finish line. He received a few smacks on the back, and he gave a few fist bumps.
The flurry of people around him made it hard to concentrate. He was about to head right to pick up his bike when he heard a familiar voice, “Celebrating alone?”
He looked from left to right. The chaos made it difficult to figure out where the voice was coming from. He wasn’t even sure if he’d heard the voice. It sounded an awful lot like…
“Martina?”
The crowd seemed to part. She stood in front of him. He had stopped pacing, unable to move, unable to breath. People trying to make their way out bumped him forward then to the side.
“Hi.” She looked the same. Still beautiful. Still flawless. Still looking like forever.
“What are you doing here?”
She fidgeted, tightening the belt on her black trench coat. “I came to congratulate you on finishing the race.”
He was bumped one more time, this time with a hostile voice shooting off behind him. He stalked closer to her and grabbed her arm, pulling her off to the side away from the crowds.
