Page 29 of Ugly Duckling
Webber left with Lottie, but only after Lottie got a bunch of hugs and kisses, one even from me.
When the door closed behind Webber’s back, I looked over at Gunner and said, “How do you always end up with such awesome kids?”
His smile was soft, but sad.
“Lottie is much more outgoing than Jett ever was. I remember walking into the stadium once, and there was a new trainer there, and swear to God, he screamed his little head off. Lost his ever-loving mind because there was a new person in there. Lottie, however? She loves everyone. Has never met a stranger. It slightly terrifies me because I don’t think she’d even cry if someone came up and took her.”
“Surely she would.” I frowned. “You’re going to have to teach her about stranger danger.” I hesitated. “Just sayin’, but maybe she just trusts y’all implicitly. You wouldn’t let me close if you didn’t know me.”
“That’s true.” He nodded his head. “But still.”
I slipped off the stool to take my plate to the sink and groaned as my body nearly gave out. The only thing that saved me was the counter that I clutched on to.
“I’m going to be so damn sore tomorrow.” I groaned.
“I think you’ll live.” He smirked. “Webber asked me if we were going to run Boston…are you?”
“It’s one of my goals,” I said. “I might apply for it. But I’m not really sure how it’ll be affected with my training schedule for the Olympics. Running twenty-six miles and running fifteen hundred meters isn’t really the same thing. The training is completely different.”
“Run it,” he suggested. “You said you weren’t sure about the Olympics anyway.”
“The Olympics is a young person sport. I’m not all that young anymore,” I admitted. “At least not where I was for the first two.”
“I think you should still try out. But I wouldn’t put your life on hold for an almost mile if that’s not where your heart lies anymore.” He studied my face for a second before he said, “You could always start training to run the marathon.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’d need someone to train with me to do that.”
His eyes were intense when he said, “Then move in here, and we’ll start training.”
“You literally just said that you don’t run marathons,” I said. “And I swear I heard you tell the lady behind you at the start line that you had no plans to ever run one again.”
“Plans change.” He chuckled. “Now, would you like to go look around the house?”
I glanced up at the stairs and said with complete conviction, “I don’t want to climb those stairs right now.”
His eyes were twinkling when he said, “Your room would be downstairs anyway. The entire upstairs is just one big loft area that I took over as the master suite.”
Oh, to have that kind of money.
I finally had the strength to walk my plate to the sink, and once there I washed it before setting it face down in the dish rack.
Gunner walked around me to my other side and bumped me over with his hip, taking over the sink as he washed and dried the rest of his dishes.
I couldn’t help but give him a once over.
He was in gray sweatpants that said “Oilers” on the hip, a black t-shirt that said “Hostel” on it, and black socks that had Under Armour over the toe.
I was dressed much the same as him, fucking freezing my ass off in his house.
I didn’t know if that was because it was cold outside, and he had yet to turn the heat on. Or if it was because my body was in shock.
Whatever the reason, I’d dressed in my warmest clothes.
A pair of black leggings, fluffy black socks, a t-shirt that read LSU on it, and a slouchy sweatshirt that said “Hostel High” on it.
He looked over when I was in the midst of examining my own clothes and said, “I can’t believe you still have your warm-up sweatshirt. Didn’t I cut the neck out for you?”
I grinned. “Yeah. With a pocketknife. That’s why it’s so jagged.”
