Page 33 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
Her words are spiteful, and I know that look only too well. I’ve been getting it for the past decade, so I’m used to it by now. Or I should be, since she leaves me feeling ashamed, like I should crawl into a small hole and die. Believe me, old lady, I tried—they didn’t let me.
“I know, because if I told you the truth, you would have said no. Please, be nice, ladies—he’s not who you remember,” Quinn explains, coming to my defense.
It leaves me feeling all warm inside, that she has my back against these total strangers.
“We’ll see about that,” another pipes up, cocking her head. “You think you can keep up, cowboy?”
I chuckle nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. “Ma’am, at this hour I can’t even keep up with myself.”
They cackle, and I swear it’s not kind laughter—it’s the knowing, we’ve-seen-it-all kind. As if they already know I’m gonna eat dirt by mile two.
“This feels similar to an ambush,” I mutter under my breath.
Quinn hears me. She smirks, wicked as the devil. “Welcome to the gauntlet.”
The pack takes off at an easy jog, and I do my best to blend in. Which lasts all of ten seconds.
My new running shoes, which have not been broken in yet, hit the pavement hard, my breath saws out of me too loud, too fast, and my arms—hell, I can’t even figure out what they’re doing. Too stiff, too loose.
“Relax your shoulders,” one of the ladies calls back kindly.
“Relax?” I wheeze. “Pretty sure if I relax any more, I’ll collapse.”
They all laugh, like I’m the entertainment of the morning.
Quinn’s grinning too, not even winded. “You’re doing great,” she says, voice full of sugar and smugness.
“I hate you,” I shoot back, half tripping over the curb.
Her laugh rings out, bright and sharp, and damn if it doesn’t hit me square in the chest. She’s enjoying this—my suffering, flailing, and making a fool of myself.
“This is actual hell,” I mutter loud enough for them all to hear.
One of them glances back, still jogging steady. “Careful, cowboy. We’ll lap you if you keep complaining.”
The rest hoot, and Quinn nearly doubles over from laughing. I push harder, pride pricking, but it only makes the wheezing louder.
Somewhere between mile one and me contemplating faking an ankle injury, something changes.
The cold eases, my lungs stop clawing for air, and my legs—hell, they actually remember what they’re supposed to do. The rhythm evens out. Step, step, breathe. Step, step, breathe.
One of the ladies falls in beside me. “Not bad, cowboy,” she says, like I’ve just passed some secret test.
I huff out a laugh. “You’re just saying that so I don’t quit.”
“Quitters don’t make it this far.” She winks before jogging back to her friends.
My mood shifts from frowning to grinning. The chatter around me shifts from background noise to something… easy. Funny, even. They’re gossiping about their grandkids, teasing Quinn about dragging me out, and I don’t feel left out anymore.
For the first time since this ungodly run started, I’m not counting the steps back home. I’m actually having fun.
Quinn catches my eye, and her smile falters just a bit, like she wasn’t expecting me to settle in. Like she doesn’t know what to do now that I’m not suffering.
Which makes me want to keep going. Just to see her squirm.
By the time the sun finally drags itself over the horizon, I’m sweating buckets. My hoodie’s plastered to me, heavy as sin, and every stride makes it worse.
“To hell with this,” I mutter, grabbing the hem and yanking it over my head. The cold morning air smacks my skin, but it feels damn good.
