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Me: Run? Meet me at the park across from the hotel in fifteen?
Though he lives in New York, he seems to spend more time in Denver than he does at home. He agrees to meet me, so I quickly change into sweatpants, a tank top, and tennis shoes. I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror and run my hands through my short, sandy blond hair, and then grab my keys and go.
I’m running at a decent pace with my good friend Jay-Z pumping through my headphones as the cold air hits the back of my neck. My heart belts in my chest and there’s sweat dripping down my back, which is the only way to know that you’re getting a good workout.
We’re nearing the six-mile finish mark, and I look back. Danny has all of sudden disappeared. Running back in the direction I came from, I see him bent over in the garden, looking as if he’s about to hurl.
“What the hell’s that speed? You could have warned me you wanted to train for the fucking Olympics, dickhead,” he wheezes, standing up to punch me.
Catching my breath, I chuckle and look down at my watch. Holy shit. That’s the fastest time I’ve ever clocked. Only a portion of the pent up anger I was harboring dissipated with the run.
At least that was an hour that I didn’t think of her.
“What’s going on with you?” Danny eyes me.
“Work and family issues, Dan, you know how it is,” I respond, hoping he won’t ask any further questions. It is the truth, but Danny always has questions.
“Like what? That high school chick you’re banging?” He laughs. “She won’t do her homework or something, huh?”
I glower at him, which only makes him laugh harder. I’m regretting telling him anything.
“Dude, I’m just messing with you. I’m always here if you wanna . . . you know . . .” He shrugs awkwardly. “Talk and shit.”
I laugh and start jogging again. That’s deep for him. He might as well have said his shoulder is there to cry on if I need it. He falls into line and we continue the rest of the way, not talking. He doesn’t know it, but just by being out of the house and away from her—it’s helping. Out here, I feel like I can think. I’m not drowning in her, struggling to breathe.
I’m still no closer to figuring this out, but at least I’ve managed to burn some of this energy.
Chapter Two
Jill
I reach for my phone on the off chance that I missed an alert to a new message. I haven’t. Sighing, I toss it on the floor and resume lying down on the bed with my laptop. I’m going through my emails from when we first started getting to know each other.
I’ve really fucked this up, and I have no idea whether I can fix it. I thought we had finally moved past the fact that I had lied, but that is the only thing that gives even a tiny bit of reasoning to his behavior.
To end things seconds after his cock was inside me? He’s supposed to be the mature one.
I hadn’t meant to hurt him. When he contacted me after I’d set up the profile, I couldn’t not reply. He was funny, nice, and cute. I didn’t expect things to go as far as they did, but one thing led to another and soon we were emailing each other every day.
It was so easy to forget that I’d lied to him about my age. We had so much other shit in common, and right from the start there was something there. Whether that was the beginnings of a friendship or something else, I didn’t know, but I didn’t want to ruin whatever it was. I couldn’t see the harm in a few tiny lies. The thing is, lies never stay hidden, and once you’ve started, it’s impossible to backtrack from it.
I’ve learned that the hard way.
My phone rings and I lunge for it, sure that it’s him and he’s calling to fix this mess. My heart drops when I see Alice’s name on the screen.
“Well it’s great to hear your voice, too,” she says, her tone sarcastic.
“I’m sorry. I was hoping you were him.”
“You guys are still fighting?” She sounds surprised.
“I lied to him, Alice.”
“So?” she snorts. “Chicks lie about their age all the fucking time. He’ll get over it, and if he doesn’t then he’s a waste of time anyway.”
“It’s a little more serious than that.” I laugh in spite of my foul mood. “It’s not like I said I was a year older, or something. We have an eight-year age gap. He could lose his job because of me. It’s illegal, in some states.”
“Right, but not there,” she argues. “Besides, he’s a fucking substitute. In a few weeks he won’t even be your teacher, and he’ll realize what a dick he’s been and be begging you to take him back.”
