Page 89 of See You at the Finish Line

Looking in the mirror, it’s clear the crappy hotel lighting is not doing my skin any favours. At least that’s what I tell myself. I’m pale, looking like I’ve just consumed a mountain of candy and then gone on a twirling rollercoaster ride. That’s about as accurate as I can get.

I take a big breath in and hold it before exhaling. The motion eases some of the tension in my shoulders. Would it be too much toask Adam for a massage? I shake my head at that thought and try not tounderthinkthings. If that’s not a real word, it should be.

Leah is going to be okay. The doctors are hopeful. That’s a good thing.

I’m exhausted, though I’ve been sleeping on and off for the last ten hours. I’m going to try to take some of the driving off of Adam’s hands tomorrow, but something tells me I won’t be successful. Sighing, I flick off the lights and peek out the door. The last thing I want is to walk in on him changing.

Adam is in bed already, and the soft glow of the bedside lamp on my side—I guess I have a side of the bed—casts a shadow over his tired face. His very handsome, tired face. There’s scruff on his jaw and I realize I haven’t seen him anything but completely clean-shaven since I moved to Vancouver.

I try to summon my memories from the ultra but the more I attempt to drag his face from two years ago to the forefront of my mind, the less I can remember it. All I see is how he’s looking at me right now as he rakes his eyes over my body. When I took my ponytail out in the bathroom, there was a giant kink in my hair, so I ran some water through it to calm it down. It hangs loosely against my shoulders, dishevelled and a little damp.

His eyes catch on his shirt hitting my thighs and I see his chest go still, like his breathing stopped. If nothing else, that reaction really boosts a girl’s ego when she probably looks like she just stepped out of a horror movie. His gaze continues to drag down my legs and then back up to my face. Electric blue eyes lock onto mine. I have to break this tension somehow.

“How quickly does muscle mass disappear? If you weren’t so jacked, we would fit just fine.” My pitiful attempt at humour does nothing to lessen the heat I feel crawling up my legs.

“Oh, we’ll make it fit.”

Fuck me, his voice is low and husky. I stand on my side of the bed, trying to figure out the best way to do this. He takes up the whole damned thing.

“Move over,” I tell him.

He raises his eyebrows. “I thought you said you didn’t want me sleeping on the floor?”

I laugh nervously and pull the covers back, taking in the small sliver of space. I’m not a big girl—I’m taller than average at 5’10”, but it’s not the height I’m worried about. I may be a lean runner, but I’ve got some junk in the trunk, and there is no room for my butt in this bed. I think Adam sees my dilemma as I stare at the tiny strip of mattress.

“Do you want me to face you or away from you?”

“You’re asking if I want to be the big spoon or little spoon?”

He doesn’t say anything, waiting for my answer. I sigh. There’s no way my being the big spoon will be comfortable for either of us, but the other way around feels too similar to the very dirty dreams I’ve had. Too intimate.

“I’ll be the big spoon,” I say, resigned to my fate.

He rolls over without a word, facing away from me. I breathe out and get into the already warm bed. Damn, he’s like a furnace. I position myself as far away as possible, not wanting to crowd himmore than I have to. With my back halfway off the bed, I definitely won’t be getting any sleep but hopefully he will.

“Get closer, Paige, there’s no way you’re fully on.”

How the hell does he know that?

When I don’t move, he sighs. “Paige, if I know you’re uncomfortable, I’m not going to sleep.”

And if he’s not sleeping, I’m not sleeping, so I shimmy forward. There’s no helping it, I’m pulled in by the dip of the bed under his weight, flattening against his broad back.

I am so uncomfortable—I feel like I’m being suffocated by muscles. My body does not fit against him this way and I can tell he’s not comfortable either. After a few minutes of both of us lying there like stone, I sigh.

“This isn’t going to work,” I mumble into his back.

“Turn over,” he whispers, and a shiver runs down my spine at the order in that low voice. Women everywhere would be eating popcorn while watching this play out.

Resigned, I flip over onto my other side and feel him lift his body off the mattress. When he settles, I fall back into the weight of him as his body curls around me. Every dip and bend of my back is flush against his body, my ass seated in his lap, his knees coming up behind mine.

He’s everywhere.

I silently thank the universe for the tiny bed because damn. Damn. I instinctively sink back, fitting myself against him. His breath hitches as my heart rate skyrockets. Who needs running forcardio when there are panic attacks and irresistible men to get your heart racing?

My body has a mind of its own as it melts, unbidden, into him. He coughs a little before I feel his hips move back. Coming to my senses, I squirm, trying to shift away when a solid hand lands on my hips. The heat of it burns through the thin shirt.

“Stop moving,” he says, his voice strained.

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