Page 12 of Light Me Up

I don't realize that I'm running at full speed, nearly sprinting, until my lungs are burning. I'm sure the smoke inhalation from last night isn't helping that, either. I'm so annoyed at myself, so intent on outrunning my own bullshit, that I keep going. I push myself harder and faster, punishing myself for every flash of memory from last night.

I let him put his tongue in my ass. And I liked it. A lot.

God, the mere thought of it makes me clench, and I stumble.

Sharp pain shoots up the back of my right thigh. I nearly fall, limping over to the side of the street. I have to roll over on my hands and knees to catch my breath before I can sit in the grass, hissing through the throbbing pain as I rub my hamstring.

I don't think it's anything serious, but I definitely pulled a muscle at the very least.

After taking a few minutes to compose myself, I stand up and take in my surroundings. I wasn't even paying attention to where I was running, although I have a pretty specific routine that I usually take to take advantage of the hills in the neighborhood. I'm about three streets away from my house, on the opposite side of my subdivision that backs up to the golf course. With a steeling breath, I slowly hobble down the street. I can't even bother to be embarrassed when one of my elderly neighbors pulls up beside me in a golf cart.

"You alright there, Henry?"

"Oh hey, Mr. Peterson. I seem to have pulled a muscle. You wouldn't mind giving me a ride to my house on your way to the golf course, would you? If it's not too far out of your way?"

"Of course not. Climb in here, son."

We make awkward small talk as the golf cart drives agonizingly slowly through the streets of our neighborhood. I probably could have hobbled faster, but this certainly hurts a lot less.

"Thanks for the ride."

"Lucky we happened to be out at the same time. Don't I normally see you out much earlier?" He's usually sitting out on his front porch drinking his coffee when I run by, always with a wave and a friendly greeting. I don't think I've ever stopped to talk to him,but I know him from the Home Owners Association meetings, and he and his wife come into the restaurant on occasion.

"I'm a little off my routine today," I admit as he pulls into my driveway, getting me as close to the front door as possible. "I really appreciate you taking me home. I hope the detour across the neighborhood doesn't make you late for your tee time."

He waves me off. "A little advice for ya—it's okay to break your routine once in a while. Live a little. You're not getting any younger."

"I seem to be getting reminded of that a lot lately. Thanks Mr. Peterson."

"See you around," he says, and backs haphazardly down the driveway, nearly taking out the mailbox on the way out.

I chuckle and wave, waiting until he's turned around and headed off before hobbling up the front steps to my door. By the time I get inside, all I can do is collapse on the couch and pant. I stare at the stairs up to my room with longing. I just want to take a hot shower and lay down with a heating pad until I can walk again. I consider the hot tub, but I just poured a bunch of chemicals in there to disinfect all the cum that got pumped into the water last night.

Pulling a throw pillow down on my face, I muffle a frustrated yell before taking my phone out of my arm band and calling the restaurant. Looks like I'll be taking a day off whether I like it or not.

"Mr. B? …Henry?"

Footsteps thud up the stairs, but I don't bother to move from my position in the center of the bed. It's not until Ian barges into my room that I wish I'd considered putting a shirt on, but getting a pair of boxer shorts on was my only priority once I'd forced myself through a shower.

Ian's eyes rake over me, more with concern than interest, although I notice his gaze linger on my chest before trailing down to the leg I have propped up on a pillow, wrapped in a heating pad.

"What areyoudoing here?" I ask.

"Uh, good to see you too," Ian snarks. "Michael said you hurt yourself. We both thought it best that I come check on you."

"Why you?"

He looks at me like it's obvious. "I'm an athlete. I know a bit about sports injuries."

"Does swimming count as a sport these days?"

Ian lifts his shirt, showing off his washboard stomach. "What do you think?"

I roll my eyes at his ridiculous eyebrow waggle and consider smothering myself with a pillow. Because, as if this day couldn't get any worse, I'm now stuck in close quarters with the most beautiful man alive.

"Why are you so fucking pretty?" I grouse.

His grin spreads across his face, dark blue eyes flashing as he pushes his dark hair off his forehead. "You think I'm pretty, do you?"

---