See You at the Finish Line (Run, Love, Repeat #1)

15. Adam

“Are you sure about this?” I ask Mateo for the thirtieth time.

“Yes, stop asking me questions and focus on yours,” he says, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

I stare at the cursor on my screen and begin filling out the information.

Name: Adam Ashford

Age: 32

Occupation: sports

Mateo looks over at my computer and snorts.

“What?” I take in the unfinished form.

“Sports? Really? Way to be as vague as possible.”

I shrug. I can’t explain it. I’ve worked my ass off the last two years to get my dream job. Okay, I lied. I can explain it. My dad is, once again, disappointed in me and that has chipped away at the pride I feel in my work. I banish the thought of my overly critical dad. I don’t know why I still feel like I need his approval. I’m thirty-two for fuck’s sake.

I turn my focus back to my screen.

Likes: running

Dislikes: people who turn out to be shitty friends. People who don’t post on social media, making it hard to stalk them.

Mateo shakes his head, watching me fill out the profile questions.

“Still?” he asks.

“Caleb ruined my life,” I say dramatically, knowing full well it wasn’t entirely his fault. He didn’t have to be a rat, though. When I finally got back to Vancouver, we had it out. The last words he spoke to me were, “If I had known you were such a pussy, I never would have stayed friends with you.” And that was it. Finally recognizing Caleb as the asshole he is was the only good thing that came out of being disqualified.

I did look up Paige, but I never got up the nerve to contact her. I was upset at first, not with her exactly, but with the whole situation. Caleb betrayed me, and I wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with it all.

The more time that passed the harder it was to reach out to her. So I didn’t. I settled for silently stalking her online. Every day I would tell myself that it was time to either message her or stop pining. She stopped posting over a year ago, dropping off the face of the earth. Her last post said she was taking time away for her mental health.

She’s never posted again .

I was irrationally irritated at that, but it set me free. I had let checking her profiles become an addiction—not a good look for me. So while I still wonder about her, she doesn’t haunt me like she used to.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I erase my answer to the last question.

Dislikes: people who don’t like animals.

There, that’s better. It shows I like animals and hides my baggage.

“Pathetic,” Mateo mutters.

“What?”

“People are going to think you’re a serial killer.”

“Why?” I skim my profile. Everything looks normal to me, not that I’ve ever signed up for online dating before.

“Women want to see that you actually care.” He turns his screen towards me. There’s so much writing that it takes me a few minutes to read everything.

Name: Mateo Ruiz

Age: 36

Occupation: physical therapist for professional athletes—yes I can get you tickets to Whales games

Likes: a woman who is not scared to speak her mind, who is competitive and thrives on being challenged. Bubble baths, and Taylor Swift. Reality dating shows and snuggling up with my Weimaraner. Watching sports for the funny moments in between, especially hockey players and their goalies.

Dislikes: women who don’t know their own worth. Not being able to go outside when it’s raining. When I open my cupboards for the tenth time and none of my favourite snacks have magically appeared. Going anywhere without my emotional support water bottle. People leaving their dogs in the car. Reels that don’t have captions.

I look at him, trying to contain my laughter.

“What?” It’s his turn to ask.

“You sound like a walking cliche. I’m surprised you didn’t say you love long walks on the beach.”

He looks like he’s considering adding that when he realizes I’m joking. “Too cheesy?”

“Too serial killer-y—in a different way than mine.”

He genuinely looks offended. “But all of this is true.”

“Yeah, I know, but it makes you sound like you searched ‘What do women want in a man?’ and copied the answers.”

Furious, he turns back to the screen, rereading his answers. I can see when the realization clicks in his brain.

“I do sound like a cliche. My mom would be so proud.” He doesn’t change a word before hitting save. I roll my eyes and click the button to publish my own profile. Almost immediately Mateo’s phone pings. And for the next several hours his phone continues to alert him to the fact that women like him more than me .

My phone stays quiet. I swear it’s the most judgemental silence I’ve ever heard. Except for maybe my dad’s.

While Mateo checks out his latest match, I take a sip from my beer and look around the club. We got here twenty minutes ago. It’s a relatively crowded place. I don’t like it much, but Mateo insisted on picking our spot for the night since he’s clearly the superior male. Can’t argue there.

There are people grinding on each other and girls dancing with their drinks over their heads, shouting out the words to the songs. It’s throwback night to the early 2000s and that’s the only good thing about this club. I automatically scan the crowd, not really sure what I’m looking for.

I’m bullshitting myself. I know exactly what I’m looking for. Or more accurately, who I’m looking for.

Searching for her face has become a habit. It started when I stayed in Utah for a few days longer than I originally planned. Moab is a small town, so I thought I might run into her.

Then it sort of became something I did without thinking whenever I was somewhere new. Like if I looked for her hard enough, she’d magically appear.

Pathetic, I know.

I sigh and take another sip of my drink as a flash of brown hair catches my peripheral vision. Doing a double take, I stand abruptly as the long ponytail swishes back and forth.

“Where are you going?” Mateo asks, not looking up from his phone .

“Bathroom,” I answer as I put my beer on the table. I fight my way over to the woman with brown hair. Her chocolate brown hair.

It can’t be her, logically I know that. But my heart doesn’t always listen to logic so I’m not giving up the chance in case it is. The friend she’s with sees me coming and raises her eyebrows. I take a deep breath and tap her on the shoulder.

She twists around expectantly like the eyebrow raise was code for something I’m not privy to. She beams, taking me in from head to toe.

“Hello,” she says, her voice sultry.

My stomach plummets and I try not to let the disappointment show. Her smile widens as she finishes perusing my body and returns her eyes to my face, so I must have done a good job hiding the letdown.

It’s not her .

Stupid of me to get my hopes up.

“Hey,” I say, letting the word hang in the air. I’m not sure what to do now. I know what she wants me to do, and I feel like I can’t let her down since I’m the one who approached her.

She’s pretty—her green eyes are full of mischief and her overly plump lips are an unnatural shade of pink. I might as well dance with her. Mateo would be proud of me.

“I’m Adam,” I say, holding out a hand. She looks down at it, confused, and then slings her arm around my neck. A feat that would have been more difficult were she not wearing six-inch heels.

“I’m Grace,” she yells back. She’s steady on her feet so I assume she’s not too drunk.

“Do you want to dance?” I ask over the sound of the pounding music.

Defying everything I know about what the human body is capable of, her smile pulls wider.

“Is that really what you want?” She’s already moving to the beat.

No, I don’t want to dance with her. I want her to be someone else.

“Yeah, I want to dance.”

“Okay.” She hands her drink to her friend and grabs my wrist, leading me deeper into the club. She throws her arms up and begins to sway to the sound of everyone bringing sexy back. I bob my head, trying to enjoy myself.

I have to let Paige go.

“You call that dancing?” Grace yells.

I smile, trying to banish the thoughts of a different brunette. Adding a few arm movements to my head bobs, I lift my expression into a bit of a self-deprecating smile. Grace throws her head back and laughs fully, completely unaware of my disinterest.

She takes my hands and places them on her hips, throwing her arms around my shoulders. I’m tense and I know it. Hopefully she thinks I’m shy and not wishing she was someone else. Eventually, JT’s voice warms me up a bit and I get into the beat of the pulsating music.

“That’s it,” she whispers in my ear. I swallow at the husky sound of her voice and the way her body moves against mine .

God, how long has it been? It’s not like yearning after Paige has kept me celibate, but I honestly can’t remember the last time I had sex or who it was with. I’m a dick.

I clear my throat. “In full disclosure, I thought you were someone else,” I tell her as the music transitions to something slower. My fingers loosen reflexively on her waist ready to let her go and not feeling an ounce of disappointment. But instead of backing away like I expect, she steps closer.

“Is that so?” She eyes me with what looks like amusement.

I only nod.

“Hm. Someone who broke your heart?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, Adam, I appreciate the honesty.”

“You do?” My eyebrows rise as high as they can go and she laughs again, showcasing the long column of her throat.

“I do. And even though I’m not who you wanted me to be, I really don’t care.”

This time it’s my turn to laugh, relief hitting me, easing the guilt. “I thought you were going to say something like, ‘I’ll be whoever you want me to be, baby,’” I joke, and she laughs again.

“Too cliche for me, unfortunately, but I do want to know just one thing.”

“Sure,” I say, curious as she shifts to place one of my thighs between her legs so she’s straddling me.

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be whoever you want me to be,” she whispers, bringing her face close to mine. She’s pausing, letting me decide if I want this. I push the image of blue shorts on a red-dirt trail out of my head and press my lips against Grace’s. A chaste kiss. When I pull away, she smiles deviously.

“A bed or the bathroom?” she asks boldly.

My eyebrows are permanently fixed to my hairline. I look over her shoulder at Mateo still sitting at the bar scrolling on his phone. I’m not going to ditch him.

“Bathroom.”