Page 59 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

“You are the most incorrigible flirt that ever?—”

“That ever took you running on a bad day?” I cut her off. “That ever agreed to play the part of your humble chauffeur?”

She snorts at this—possibly at the wordhumble—but from the corner of my eye, I see her sit up a little straighter. “If I’m really in charge, you should probably also have some snacks in here for me, right?”

Ah. Dang it.

“I’m kidding,” she says, probably at the look on my face. A brief twitch of her lips lightens her features as she glances over at me. “I just want to go running. Let’s do it.”

I head toward her place, and when we get there, she darts in for tennis shoes; she’s back in less than two minutes. I pull away from in front of her house as she fastens her seatbelt and start for our next destination.

I guess I’ll end up at the rec center today after all, even if not to lift weights.

It’s a nice building, one a lot of money was poured into, based on all the things it offers. There’s a pool and a basketball court, and around the top of the basketball court is a track.

“I’ve never come running here before,” India says as we exit the stairwell and emerge onto the track, the spongy red surface springy beneath our feet.

“Be free,” I say, gesturing at the stretch of track ahead of us. “Go.”

And I feel like a complete idiot then, because it only takes thirty seconds of watching her to realize that this girl is a runner—not like me, someone who runs from relationships when they start looking serious, but an actual literalrunner.Her strides are long and sure, her pace is great, and—more than either of those things—her face and body visibly relax the further she goes; I can see it even from where I stand.

I give her a little salute as she passes, but she either doesn’t see or doesn’t want to respond, and I’m actually glad. I’m glad she’s absorbed in what she’s doing rather than dwelling on her worries. She goes for twenty minutes at an impressive pace I definitely couldn’t keep before she finally slows to a walk when she rounds the track and reaches me. I’ve been taking a leisurely stroll, and when she joins me, it isn’t long before she adapts. She walks with her hands clasped behind her head, her chest heaving, her face red.

“You let me lecture you about the benefits of running,” I say, shooting her a grin. “You should’ve told me you’re a runner.”

The corners of her lips lift, an easy expression that doesn’t seem quite as forced or tight.

“You’re feeling better,” I go on. It’s not a question.

“Yeah,” she says, still short of breath. “I needed this. Thanks, Felicia.”

“Mind feeling calm?”

“Calmer,” she says. “I didn’t kill that guy, and he’s not pressing charges. I was really freaked out.”

“So was I,” I admit. “Youscreamed.”

“And you came running—aww,” she says, drawing the word out, her hands still clasped behind her head as we walk. “Felix, you were worried about me!”

“Only because you made a sound like a banshee,” I say with a snort, but I can’t keep a smile from curling across my face. “You would have come running too if you heard a noise like that.”

“And you wanted to make sure I was okay,” she coos, reaching over to pinch my cheek. “You were soworried?—”

“All right,” I say, swatting her hand away. She’s half-pretending, I can tell, acting like everything is okay, but I play along, because I don’t know what else to do.

“You thought you might never see the most handsome woman of your acquaintanceever again?—”

“Little hooligan,” I mutter, knocking her arm out of the way with my elbow. I rub my hand over my mouth so she won’t see my smile.

But she laughs, finally giving up on her attempts to pinch my cheek. She lets both arms drop to her sides and resumes walking normally. “Thanks for caring, Felicia.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just shrug. “Where to now?” I say. “Are you done running?”

“I am,” she says. “Areyoudone running?”

And it feels like she’s suddenly talking about something besides physical exercise. I look over at her, but her expression is simply curious, inquisitive. There’s nothing knowing or accusatory there.

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing. “I’m done”—I gesture at the track and clarify—“here. I’m done here. We can go.”

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