Page 14 of My First Time Fling

“But if you were running in the Olympics, you’d obviously be in prime shape,” Mark said. “Not that you were in that bad shape to start with, I mean.”

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, except getting me to run this hill faster.”

“I mean it.” Mark nodded. “It’s been a few weeks now and I can already see the difference.”

I flushed. To be honest, I’d been seeing the same thing myself. I’d told myself that it was just wishful thinking, but when I’d caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror getting dressed today, I’d noticed my calf muscles in a new way, and it felt like there was a bit more definition in my core than there had been before. It was nice to know it wasn’t all in my head.

“I’m still not ripped like you are,” I said, making a face.

“That’s because cardio’s different from strength training and weights.”

“You and your gym terms. Why are you so buff, if it’s not from running? Did you used to be a personal trainer or something?”

A strange look flashed across his face. Had I asked something inappropriate? Why would he be uncomfortable talking about something like that? I thought straight guys were supposed to love talking about the gym—though to be fair, I didn’t actually know.

“No, nothing like that,” Mark said, finally. “For a while, I was just spending a lot of time with some guys who were real gym rats. I don’t see them much anymore, but I guess the habit kind of stuck.”

“Well, if it makes you look like you do, it’s a good habit to have,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re too hard on yourself. Everybody—everybody, I guess—is different, but none of them is better or worse than any others. Besides, I think you look good.”

There it was again. Every now and then, Mark would say something like that—something I would have interpreted as just friendly encouragement, but then he’d go and blush, just like he was doing now, and leave me all confused.

Was he flirting with me? He’d never said anything to indicate he liked men. Of course, he’d never said anything to indicate he didn’t, either. But statistically speaking, it was safer to assume he probably didn’t. Right?

The whole thing was stupid, because I shouldn’t have been crushing on him anyway. I was still hurting from the Tanner breakup, and while it was a classic Jesse move to try to use one guy to get over another, I knew it was a bad idea. Then again, since I’d started hanging out with Mark, I realized I had been thinking about Tanner a little less.

Dammit, I didn’t know what to do, and this stupid hill was making thinking straight—or rather, thinking gay—even harder.

I put my head down and tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of another. That was one trick Mark had taught me about hills. It could get disheartening to look up at how much I had left to run, and how high it was. But if I narrowed my scope, just concentrating on keeping my stride right and watching the ground in front of me, it seemed like the distance went by faster, and the hill wasn’t quite so steep.

“There it is,” Mark said, and I looked up. We were just cresting the top of the hill, and he’d turned back around to run next to me. He was pointing to an old stone tower at the far end of the park. Whatever it had been built for, it was mostly falling apart now, but it was the end point of the run. “Race you there?”

I looked at him, astonished. “Are you crazy? I can barely breathe.”

“You’re tougher than you look,” Mark said. “Come on, don’t let me beat you now.”

I could tell he was picking up the pace a little, and I had to push myself to keep up. “You said we were just running this hill today,” I complained. “I never agreed to sprinting at the end. I’d probably die if I even tried.”

“Come on. If you don't try, you’ll never know what you’re made of.”

“Maybe I’m okay with that.”

“Fine. I’m going to have to break out the big guns, I see.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously. He moved in closer to me and gave me an earnest glance.

“Did you know that bulldogs have the most airline deaths of any dog, due to their respiratory problems?”

“What? Why would you tell me that?” I glared at him. It was hard enough just trying to finish this run without having to think about canine tragedy.

“And that most of them have to be born via cesarean section because their heads are too big for natural birth?”

“Oh God, I didn’t need to know that.”

“I’ll stop if you run faster. Did you know that there was a bulldog on the Titanic who passengers remember seeing drifting out to sea after the ship went down?”

“This isn’t fair,” I gasped, picking up the pace some more. “You didn’t mention that torture was part of the package when I agreed to train with you. I want my money back. A full refund, please.”

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