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I pause. My calves cramp. It would be good to go for a run. I need fresh air, and Vince doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who would try to gossip and run simultaneously.
“Sure. Meet me in the lobby in half an hour,” I suggest.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Vince says. He smiles in my direction, and I can’t help but smile back.
Once I’m inside my room, I dig through my suitcase to find my running clothes. I settle on a sports bra and track shorts. It’salmost eighty degrees outside, and I can’t fathom wearing any extra fabric.
For a moment, I wonder if it’s too sexy, but then I stop myself. Vince and I are still friends. If he’s too “tempted” by my torso, that’s his problem.
We meet in the lobby, and Vince grins when he sees me. I blush as I pull my hair into a ponytail.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Sure thing.”
He matches my stride with ease as we walk out onto the bustling Atlanta streets.
“Is that a tattoo?” he asks, pointing to my thigh as we wait for the light to change. I can see the green expanse of the park across the street.
“Yeah, it’s the outline of the lake where I grew up. I know it’s cheesy. Al did it with a tattoo gun,” I explain.
“Oh, so it’s a meaningful oval,” Vince jokes.
I laugh. “Yeah. It’s … the reason why Allison didn’t go into tattooing.”
“I’ve got you beat,” Vince says; he lifts his ponytail and cranes his neck forward. Three black bars cover the back of his neck.
“The Black Flag logo? For real?” I start to chuckle. Every punk dude is the same, no matter how famous they get.
“Hey! When I got it, this was the pinnacle of counterculture! None of the repurposed hipster crap it is today!”
I roll my eyes as we cross the street and stand at the park’s entrance. I start to stretch my calves and try not to focus on how I can feel Vince staring at my ass. I’m staring at his, too.
We’re sizing each other up as we stretch, rolling our shoulders and wondering who will be the first to cave and address the sexual tension between us.
Instead, Vince grins as we set off into an easy jog. I up my pace for a bit, needing to work the tension out of my muscles andfeel the fresh air burn in my lungs. Vince matches me stride for stride.
Unlike Allison or my mom, he doesn't try to get me to talk. We listen to the steady thud of our footfalls, and I watch people mill around the park. The anonymity of the park is a welcome change to the sometimes-claustrophobic sense of recognition that follows the band around the venue every night.
I see a slight incline ahead, "Mind if I pick up the pace a bit for this hill?" I ask.
Vince nods, and I lengthen my strides until I reach the top. My lungs burn. It feels good. I pause at the top, and Vince pants as he catches up with me.
"How'd you get to be so fast?!" he huffs.
I shrug. "I was captain of the track team in high school." I unsheathe my water bottle from the slim pocket on my thigh and drain it in one gulp.
"Wanna take a breather over there?" Vince points to a nearby bench, and I nod.
"Oh, you need a 'breather'?" I tease as I sit down.
"I didn't expect you to fucking bolt!" Vince says, "I didn't know I was running with a track star."
"Former track star. I stopped running when I got to college. What about you? Did you ever run in high school?"
"Nah. I didn't have time for anything like that," Vince said. "Before the boys and I met Priya, we were in a ska-fusion three-piece called the Tossers. It was terrible and time-consuming."
I looked at him skeptically. "No amount of rehearsing could have made you a functioning band?"
