Page 1 of Fake Dates and Home Plates
Chapter One
Henley
Gravel crunches below my shoes, one step after another.
My need to run until my lungs and limbs burn has never been for pleasure. It’s the only survival tool that allows me to drown out the rest of the world.
I don’t shy away from crowds or parties; I thrive in them. The beat of the music playing through a loud club until I can’t hear what the person next to me is saying electrifies me. I’ll go shot-for-shot just for the buzz of competition.
Skirting the limits of inappropriate behavior gives me a thrill.
It’s not that I’m out to break the law or end up on a reality show. No, I just enjoy a good time.I’ve always been that way. Maybe it’s obnoxious or annoying, but people seem to like it that way.
But even in the middle of chaos, I’m performing.
Running is the only time I feel safe being alone. It recharges the internal batteries I need to bethat girl.
The life of the party. The fun one.
Many people would say running is hard or boring, and I get what they mean. The first time my dad suggested I take a run with him, back in middle school, I thought he was crazy. I lovedteam sports like volleyball and basketball, so why would I do something all alone? And who runs for fun?
Halfway through the first mile, something clicked.
My heart rate rose a little, and my breath started to fade into pants, but my soul lit up.
Eventually, it became the only thing that truly felt like me.
The crunching of my footsteps even out as I finish the hiking path and step back onto the concrete. My apartment is about a mile away, so I make the decision to head in that direction and finish with a solid five-mile run total today. It’s lighter than my usual routes, but I have plans this evening that I have to start getting ready for.
I’ve only competed in one half-marathon, and I loved it. My goal is to complete a full marathon next summer after I graduate. Until then, I’ll be training as captain of the women’s cross country team at Shoreline University. Our races are just under the four-mile mark, though we usually run with the men’s team, whose race is almost double ours.
Which means my more extensive marathon training takes a backseat once our season starts, so I don’t overexert my body. I’ll only have a few short months to prepare after graduation.
Another song from my favorite running playlist blares through my open-ear headphones as I round the last block of my run. They were a present from my mom. She said they would be safer to run outdoors with.
“It’ll help you hear any predators or perverts,” she insisted.
They work well. I can actually hear my footsteps and the people around me, and I do feel safer.
I speed up into a full sprint, wanting to feel the burn in my legs and lungs intensify, before slowing down to a walk as I come to a stop outside the apartment I share with one of my teammates.
Raising my arms until my hands rest on the back of my head, I stretch my neck until I’m facing the sky. I inhale and exhale before smiling into the sunshine.
I feel powerful and proud of myself every time I finish a race, but it’s different when I’m on my own. There’s no crowd, no coach, no medal at the end of this finish line.
It’s just me. Just my body doing what I ask of it.
If only I didn’t have to ruin the post-run high by getting ready for an event I do not want to attend.
As much as I love a good time, being arm candy for my boyfriend isn’t my idea of a party. But I already promised to be Dakota’s date, and I can’t exactly cancel on him.
We hooked up at a party last spring, and it was fine. I happened to see him at a party the next weekend, and when he mentioned our hookup and suggested a repeat, I told him I rated the experience a five out of ten—decent with room for improvement. He thought I was kidding.
I wasn’t.
He’s the catcher for our school’s baseball team, and one thing about athletes…we tend to be competitive.
So when he challenged me to a game of flip cup for a date, I took a chance.
