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“Standing onstage, with people looking at me?” She cut her gaze to him. “Never going to happen.”
Keeping his pace matched to hers, he glanced at her. “You don’t like things that make people look at you, do you, McKenzie?”
“Nope.”
“Because of your parents?”
“I may not have mentioned this before, but I don’t like talking while I run. I’m a silent runner.”
He chuckled. “That a hint for me to be quiet?”
“You catch on quick.”
They kept up the more intense pace until they crossed the finish line. The last few minutes of the race Lance debated on whether or not to let McKenzie cross the finish line first. Ultimately, he decided she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d appreciate a man letting her win.
In the last stretch he increased his speed. So did McKenzie. If he hadn’t been a bit winded, he’d have laughed at her competitive spirit. Instead, he ran.
So did she.
They crossed the finish line together. The judge declared Lance the winner by a fraction of a second, but Lance would have just as easily have believed that McKenzie had crossed first.
She was doubled over, gasping for air. His own lungs couldn’t suck in enough air either. He walked around, slowly catching his breath. When he turned back, she was glaring.
“You were holding out on me,” she accused breathlessly, her eyes narrowed.
“Huh?”
“You were considering letting me win.” Her words came out a little choppy between gasps for air.
“In case you didn’t notice...” he sucked in a deep gulp of air “...I was trying to cross that finish line first.”
“You were sandbagging.”
He laughed. “Sandbagging?”
“How long have you been running?”
“Since high school.” Not that he wanted to talk about it. He didn’t. Talking about this particular subject might lead to questions he didn’t want to answer.
“You competed?”
He nodded.
“Me, too.” She straightened, fully expanding her lungs with air. “I did my undergraduate studies on a track scholarship.”
Despite the memories assailing him, the corners of Lance’s mouth tugged upward. “Something else we have in common.”
McKenzie just looked at him, then rolled her eyes. “We don’t have that much in common.”
“More than you seem to want to acknowledge.”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “Let’s go congratulate the guy who beat us both. He lives about thirty minutes from here. His time is usually about twenty to thirty seconds better than mine. He usually only competes in the five-kilometer races, though. Nothing shorter, nothing longer.”
They congratulated the winner, hung out around the tent, rehydrating, got their second and third place medals, then headed toward McKenzie’s house.
They showered together then, a long time later, got ready to go and eat.
* * *
