Holy shit, I think I’m going to have a stroke.
Leaning over, bracing my hands on my knees I try to catch my breath. Running is no joke. My legs feel like jelly, and I’m pretty sure I’ve developed a severe case of the shin splints. Maybe I should buy a rowing machine or a stationary bike instead. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. I’m sweating in places I have no business sweating in. My lady parts are the wettest they’ve been in I didn’t know how long. I’m huffing, praying that someone finds my body once I keel over because I’d never want my kids to think that I up and left them.
The toes of two running shoes appear on the ground in front of me, and I close my eyes because I know who those feet belong to. It’s like we’ve had a magnetic pull lately. We see each other on base, at the grocery store. He was even at the gas pump next to mine yesterday morning. I’ve lived in this town all of my life, and I don’t think I’ve ever run into one person more.
“You know,” he says, “You need to stand, put your hands on your head, and continue to walk until you catch your breath. Being hunched over doesn’t help bring oxygen into your diaphragm.”
I stand, chest heaving. “And you’re the expert on the respiratory system?” I gasp between breaths.
“It’s common knowledge to stretch to allow as much air to enter the body. If a hose has a kink, the water doesn’t come out, but once it’s straight, it totally flows, right?” Okay, so he has a point. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth,” he continues to instruct me.
“What are you, Dr. House or something?”
He laughs. “Or something. I studied medicine in college. Didn’t finish, but did enough to qualify for the officer program.”
“Wow, I didn’t know.” I continue to take deep breaths, finally feeling some relief in my lungs. They aren’t burning nearly as much as they were.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Yeah, thanks.” Bending over, I rub the front of my shins. He squats next to me reaching for my legs, which haven’t been shaved in I don’t know how long. I smack his hand away before he can touch my skin, or feel the hair. “What are you doing?”
He looks up. “Checking for shin splints.” He reaches again, causing me to smack his hand away for the second time.
“Stop doing that,” I clip.
“Okay,” he says as he stands, hands raised in the air. “I was trying to help.”
“I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary.” I rub up and down my legs, trying to ease the ache. “I haven’t shaved my legs…” Christ, I can’t believe I said that.
“That’s it?” he says as he drops back down, taking my leg in his hand before I have a chance to smack him away again. “Remember, Whitney,” he looks up at me, squinting a bit from the sun, “I’ve been married. I get that you don’t always have time to shave your legs. It doesn’t bother me.” He rubs his thumb over the front of my leg, making me wince in pain. “Yeah, it seems that you got a pretty bad case.” He picks my leg up higher, inspecting my shoes. “How long have you had these shoes?” he asks as he turns my foot back and forth.
I grab onto his shoulder for balance. “I don’t know. A couple of years or so.”
“You can’t run in old shoes. Shin splints are the least of your worries if you continue to do that. You’re going to ruin your knees and your lower back. There isn’t enough support. If you decide to continue this type of exercise, you need to invest in a decent pair of shoes, and you need to make certain to replace them at least every six months.” He drops my foot, and then stands up.
“Hey, you completely shaved your beard off.”
“Yeah…” He rubs his hand up and down the side of his face. “I think Talia’s finally getting used to me, so I felt it was time.”
I try to hold back a laugh, but I can’t. “You know that you have a bad case of the farmers tan on your face?” The golden skin that adorns most of his body, well, the parts I can see, is totally lacking where his beard used to be.
“Yeah, I know. I think I’ll buy some of that self-tanning lotion until my skin evens out. I’ve gotten hell from the guys in my squadron.”
“Make sure you get the right shade. You don’t want to turn your face into the color of an Oompa Loompa. I’m sure the guys will have a field day with that one. No matter how attractive you are, no one can pull off an orange face. Just ask Trump.”
He takes the hem of his shirt and wipes his forehead. His stomach, like I suspected, is golden brown, and tight with muscle. He has a soft splattering of hair that thickens slightly the further south it goes. He drops his shirt, cutting off the peepshow and looks at me. “You think I’m attractive?” There’s a bit of vulnerability in his eyes that makes me want to reassure him about anything he’s ever doubted in life.
“Come on, now. Do you really need me to boost that ego of yours?” I ask, totally sidestepping the question. I’m not ready to enter that zone. I’d like to think the few encounters have been friendly ones, and I don’t want to make this awkward between us. Needing to end the situation, I look at my watch.
“Hey, I need to get going. I’ve got to get ready for class.”
“Sure.” He nods, stepping out of my way. “Have a good day, Whitney.”
I give him a smile. “You too, Liam.”
I step past him, deciding to walk the rest of the way home. Stupid unsupportive shoes.