Page 26 of See You at the Finish Line

“I am going to kiss you,” I tell her firmly. Her eyes widen and her lips part. I slam my mouth onto hers and kiss her salty lips. God, they’re soft.

An ultra-race is not the time for making out so I make it quick and hard, pouring everything I can into the simple gesture. It doesn’t feel simple—it feels like my life is changing in an instant with one kiss. The adrenaline courses through my body, my cock swelling at the feel of her lips on mine combined with the near-death experience.

I wrench my face away before I do anything more reckless tonight. Like, I don’t know, throw this woman—who I’ve known for less than two days—on the ground and bury myself inside her in the middle of the fucking desert.

Her breathing is fast as she looks at me, eyes wild like she’s having the same thoughts I am. But she blinks, closing herself off, turning to face the night.

“Do you think it’s safe?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

“No, I don’t,” I tell her honestly.

The mountain lion could still be out there, could bring back friends, but that’s not why I don’t feel safe. She nods like she agrees and bends down to pick up my stuff. I take my pack from her and place it on my back.

We keep hiking into the night by the light of the moon and our headlamps, running in the flat areas and slowing down when the ground becomes uneven, awareness keen as we make our way deeper into the desert.

I’m free falling, and it’s scary as hell.

I hope she catches me.

Indian Creek67.8 mi/ 109.2 km

That kiss.

I never knew a one-second, closed-mouth kiss could turn my world upside down. There was more passion in that one kiss than I have experienced in my entire life.

I knew I was tripping more through the night before the kiss, but now I really can’t see straight. I can only see that fire in his eyes when he pulled away, and my mouth is still tingling from the pressure.

We shuffle through the night, neither of us willing to speak more than a couple words to each other. I’m getting more and more anxious.

Does he regret kissing me?

Are there other mountain lions out there ready to eat us?

These seem like two very real possibilities, though I know only a delusional person would be worrying about the kiss more than the actual lion stalking around somewhere. But I only have control over one of those situations. I want to be able to tell my therapist I didn’t spiral.

Well, mostly.

I clear my throat. “Adam?” His name comes out like a question.

“Yeah?” He turns, finding me farther behind him than he realized, forcing him to jog back to me. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands but his eyes scan over me, looking for a problem.

“No, it’s not that ...” I let my voice trail off and his eyes return to my face. I take a deep breath. “We can just pretend it didn’t happen if you want. I don’t want you to regret anything. It was a good kiss, great even, but I don’t expect more, and I don’t think it was bad, I just—”

“Paige.” He cuts off my rambling, a genuine smile crossing his face. “I don’t regret kissing you. All I can think about is kissing you again, but I was worried I overstepped.”

That small reassurance propels me forward. “You didn’t overstep,” I confirm.

“Okay, good,” he says, still smiling.

“Good.”

I expect him to kiss me again—I desperately want him to kiss me again—but he pulls back. I furrow my brows. The hurt must show on my face because he quickly comes to stand right in front of me, so close our bodies are almost flush.

“Paige, I don’t regret kissing you.” He closes his eyes like he needs to collect himself. I know the feeling. When he opens them again, that fire is blazing in those blue eyes, my headlight illuminating his striking features. I’m tingling all over.

“But if I kiss you again, Iwillregret it because I won’t be able to stop.” He steps closer, his hands coming to cup my neck, tilting my face up with his thumbs. “I won’t be able to stop at only tasting your mouth. I’ll want to taste every part of you.” He leans in, the phantom touch of his lips making mine ache for contact. “And you deserve more than a dusty trail in the middle of nowhere, rocks digging into your back, scared that we might get attacked by a mountain lion.”

He lets the words settle, almost like he’s trying to convince himself as well. “The stars are romantic, but so is the ceiling in my hotel room.” His gaze flicks to my lips before he drops his hands, backing away. I just stand there, fairly certain I’m about to die of a heart attack. What kind of woman wrote this man?

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