Manic

"What are you up to?"

"Just pick, up or down."

"Down," I say, "because climbing stairs is not my idea of fun right now and I'm already pissed off about climbing the last set."

He stifles a chuckle and leads the way down the stairs, then we get to another landing and he pushes through a set of double doors and we're in the stands, about midway up.

"Cool," I say, still not sure what the hell is going on. He walks over to the railing and looks out. I follow of course. There are a few other people here, all running up and down the stairs spread out across the seats across from us. "I sincerely hope"—I stop to snort here—"that you do not expect me to run, Ford. Especially up and down stairs. Because I'm not a runner. I'm a slow walker at best, possibly a shuffler, or an aimless wanderer, but never a runner."

He's just smiling.

"I'm serious."

"I can tell, but so am I. So I'll make you a deal, OK? You run stadiums with me every morning and I'll let you shower at Ronin's any time you want. As long"—he stops to give me a stern look—"as you don't take advantage and start spending all your free time in the shower."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me to run these steps with you? There's a reason, you're just not telling me, so maybe I'll agree, but I wanna know the real reason you want me to do this with you. Are you coming on to me? Trying to piss off Ronin? What?"

His smile falters for half a moment, then it's back, brighter than ever. "Are you sure you want the real reason? Because most people prefer white lies to truth."

I roll my eyes. "Just tell me. There's no need for drama, Ford."

"Fine." He shrugs. "I want you to run with me in the morning because you're too young to take this job and maybe I don't know your whole story, but I'm perceptive enough to see that there's something wrong with you. I'm not sure what it is, I don't even want to know what it is, but this job will change your life. So instead of letting you dwell on how much it sucks and how big a mistake you really made when you took this contract, or beating the shit out of Spencer for letting you, or belittling Ronin for not being able to control you better—I'm just gonna take it upon myself to help you." He stops to pan his arms wide at the empty stadium. "With exercise. Because it will make a difference, take my word on that."

"That is the dumbest shit I've ever heard."

He busts out a laugh. "You're a fighter, that's for sure. And I'm not gonna ask, Rook, so don't wait for that moment. I do not care why you come off as broken, I really don't. I'm just not gonna be the guy responsible for making it worse."

"Well, I'm not gonna exert myself, Ford. I'll walk up the stairs."

He turns his back and starts running up the steps. "Fine with me, just don't stop climbing until I do. That's the deal."

I huff out some air and drag my feet up the steps. When I look up to see where he is, he's already finished this set and is running down the middle landing to the next set. He descends those stairs with just as much enthusiasm. I trudge my way up to the landing, then find him again. That ass**le is like four sets of stairs away from me now.

It's like reverse psychology or something, right? He thinks he can shame me into putting in more effort, but he's wrong. I'm naturally lazy when it comes to athletic pursuits. I like sitting in the stands at the baseball game, not playing. Or running stadiums, for God's sake. I reach the bottom of my second set and then walk over to the next one. When I look up to find Ford, he's like a million miles away now.

We do this for a good while before I notice him starting to make his way back towards me. My legs are a little sore, but I do exactly what I said I would. I practically mope up these steps. I only cover a few aisles, that's how much I mope, but Ford, he does almost half the stadium, at a f**king run, before he turns back towards me.

I wait for him on the landing as he bursts up the last set of stairs and then stops to breathe hard, bending over a little in the process.

Damn, the guy really made an effort, he's dripping sweat, and I'm still fresh as can be. Not even thirsty. "I thought you said we were gonna eat, Ford?" He laughs, but he's still very much out of breath. "Shit, dude, you really take this stuff seriously, don't you?"

"Feels good, Rook. It feels good to run it off every morning."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "Mornings are for sleeping in and eating breakfast. Speaking of which, I'm starving, where's my food?"

He waves a hand at me to enter the stadium doors, not the way we came, but the way you go to get snacks during a game. We both go inside and Ford whips his shirt off and starts dabbing it across his wet body.

I steal a look. I'm a girl, I can't help it, he's not bad-looking. His hair is lighter than Ronin's, but not blondish like Spencer's. He's got a bit of scruff on his chin left over from yesterday. But I bet he shaves it when he gets home because he's more of a clean-cut kinda guy. The complete opposite of Spencer, who is one hundred percent biker, and Ronin, who comes off as hip and edgy.

Ford's look says goal-oriented or I come from a long line of bankers. I tuck down a laugh at those thoughts and sneak a look at his body. It's very nice. Maybe not Top Model Ronin nice, but still nice. He obviously takes very good care of himself.