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

17. Adam

I am an idiot. A huge asshole.

She’s here. Paige is here. Working here.

Fuck.

Why did I do that? Out of all the ways I could have reacted, pretending to forget her was probably the worst. I have never felt this awful about an interaction with a woman. Worse than last night, when I accidentally thought the woman at the club was Paige and then slept with her anyway.

My stomach sinks at the thought of Grace. Hooking up has never been my thing. I feel so guilty afterwards and can’t seem to make a clean break. Even last night, I knew Grace wasn’t expecting anything from me, yet I got her number and texted her this morning. We’re going out for drinks tonight.

Mateo laughs. “Dude.”

I bury my face in my hands. “I know.” My voice comes out muffled. “I panicked. ”

“Panicking would be not saying anything or spitting out that you’re madly in love with her or admitting to stalking. Not this. You fucked up.”

“I know,” I repeat.

“Like, hard-to-come-back-from fucked up.”

“You are absolutely no help.”

“I could’ve helped if I was there, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do now.”

I chuck a pillow at him, but he catches it, tossing it onto the navy couch without a care.

After Maxim took Paige and the other massage therapist recruits away, I texted Mateo. He came immediately, already laughing his head off when he walked into the lounge.

“You pretended to forget her name. In this, the twenty-first century of our lord and social media.”

I actually hate myself.

“What do I do?” The feelings of complete despair and regret are suffocating me. The shock of seeing her mixes in, creating a cocktail that has my stomach in knots.

“I don’t know, Adam, I’ve never put myself in this stupid of a situation.”

“Do I tell her I panicked?”

“Probably.”

I know he’s right. “And then what? Ask her how the last two years have been?”

“You could tell her you’ve stalked her almost every day online. Tell her you love her. Propose? ”

“You’re an asshole.”

“What am I supposed to do here? I remember her. Am I supposed to pretend that I don’t? Because no way am I doing that,” Mateo says.

I lean back into the couch, the knots in my stomach twisting tighter every time her shocked face flashes in my mind. What the hell do I do?

“She clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me. Maybe this is for the best.”

Mateo throws the pillow back at me. “You had a hard enough time forgetting her when she was just a picture on a screen and lived in a different country. Do you really think you can get over her while she’s working here?”

“Maybe she’s not as perfect as I remember. It was probably just the race adrenaline anyway.”

“I guess we’ll see how she treats you.”

She’s all I can think about all day. I catch glimpses of her here and there, but I largely stay out of her way. It’s a cowardly move, even if I tell myself it’s for her benefit and not mine.

I’m halfway through a text to cancel with Grace tonight when I change my mind. I may have acted like a dick to Paige, but I can’t cancel a date I just set up this morning. I was going to miss the mixer no matter what, no sense in changing my mind.

I sneak out of the arena early to avoid any more awkward encounters. I have way too much energy before meeting with Grace so as soon as I get home, I change quickly and head out for a run. It’s drizzly, and a touch of autumn’s chill has entered the air. My favourite running weather has come at the right time, so I pound the trail hard, blasting my music to drown out thoughts of Paige. Thoughts of last night. Thoughts of what an asshole I am.

It doesn’t work, though—every song on my playlist reminds me of her in some way. I skip track after track.

Is there anything on here that isn’t about love? It’s no use. I give up entirely and answer Taylor’s question. Am I ready for it?

No, I am not.

It was even worse than I could have imagined. I was expecting Paige to give me the cold shoulder at best, maybe yell and cuss me out at worst. Though I knew that wasn’t probable since she wants to keep her job.

Instead, she was normal. She made the same kind of small talk with me as she did with everyone. She laughed and was friendly. I tried to decipher whether her laughs and smiles felt forced, but they seemed genuine.

She didn’t ignore me, she was just ... there. I was like everyone else to her. I didn’t think that would be worse, but it was. Was I hoping she would be bothered?

It started the next morning. We arrived at the arena at the same time, and she greeted me in the parking lot with a smile. My heart leapt. Maybe without all the people around she would try to talk to me. Maybe even yell at me .

I should be concerned that the thought made my cock twitch. At least yelling at me would mean she cared that I pretended to forget her. But that’s not what happened.

“Good morning, Adam,” she said, cheerful even as rain drizzled on her umbrella.

“M-morning,” I stuttered.

She was wearing the same thing as the day before, only with a blue Whales jacket like all of us instead of her black one. And those leggings. Fuck me, her ass is amazing. I am not too proud to admit that I checked her out as I held the door open for her.

She beamed at me. “Thanks, Adam,” she said pleasantly.

“You’re welcome,” I replied a little too late. I watched her walk down the hallway and greet three other people the same way.

Maybe I should have gone to the mixer. I could have talked to her outside of work. Maybe I would have made it worse. Drinks with Grace was a disaster. I tried to give her my full attention, I really did. But I couldn’t and had to be honest with her.

I told her about Paige and how she showed up literally the day after I convinced myself I was finally ready to let her go. Grace seemed sympathetic and gave me some good advice. She told me to grow some ovaries and talk to Paige.

Good advice that, as a grown ass man, I should’ve taken to heart. Instead, I cowered behind my sensitive balls and pretended everything was fine, ignoring the awkward situation and trying to move on like nothing happened .

It’s been a couple of weeks, and we’ve settled in with the recruits. We’ve been down a few positions, so the therapists we had were working overtime before they hired three new people.

They’re currently drawing names from a helmet to see who the new recruits get to work on next—Maxim said it was a fun way to play Russian roulette without dying. I don’t think Maxim has ever been to Russia, and I’m almost positive his accent is an act.

I watch from my little corner as Julien, our goalie, draws a name. He turns towards Paige, flashing the little slip of paper with her name on it. The small smile he levels as he inspects her brings a slight blush to her cheeks.

She hasn’t been here that long but knows that making Julien smile is a big deal. The statue of a man rarely shows any kind of emotion. I’ve worked overtime to become friends with him, drawn to his quiet nature.

Fuck. Julien is the best-looking guy here with his flawless light brown skin, square jawline, and broody dark eyes, not to mention the French-Canadian accent women seem to adore. When I first met him, I’m not going to lie, I was scared shitless of him. Still am. He’s a brick wall on and off the ice. No one can get through to him.

He smiled at her. Ugh, she’s going to have her hands all over him.

I need to pull it together. I should know better than this—to be jealous of her doing her job. I’ve had massages. The touching may not be sexual, but it sure as hell can get a guy excited, even by accident .

We’re not so evolved from cavemen. We get erections in our sleep. When she’s doing her job, she’ll have her hands all over every member of the staff.

She’ll have her hands on me. Unless I opt out. Demitri did say that if anyone was uncomfortable, we could choose to decline, much to the disapproval of Maxim. I’ll probably have to—conflict of interest and all that.

But if I only turn down her massage, would that hurt her chances of surviving the probationary period? I don’t want to mess with her career, no matter how uncomfortable I am.

I am so screwed.

Paige sits beside Julien, and I try not to eavesdrop on their conversation.

I fail.

“Do you have any points of concern in your body you’d like me to be aware of?” Paige asks him.

“My hips and hamstrings are always sore,” Julien admits, his accented voice deep and quiet. Paige nods and makes a note on her tablet.

“Is that because you favour your lower body over your upper body?”

I bristle. Yeah, yeah, Julien’s a beefcake.

He rubs the back of his neck, his bicep flexing. “Is it that obvious?”

“If I’m being honest, no, not really.” She scans his body again and heat flares in my face. “Though it’s common enough that I always ask when clients, especially goalies, speak about leg tightness. ”

“It’s the extra running we’ve been doing since this guy started working here.” Julien, traitor that he is, jabs a thumb at me, and I have to try to look like I’m not paying attention to them. I see Paige glance at me from the corner of her eye, and something about her posture changes. I don’t know if anyone else noticed.

“I’m glad to hear he’s still running,” she says with a smile. Odd, why would she say that?

“Oh right, you did that ultramarathon together.”

Fuck Julien. I never liked him.

Paige’s laugh is a little hollow. “We only met there, we didn’t do it together,” she corrects, not bothering to add anything about us getting disqualified together. The memory of that moment makes my insides hurt.

“So you like to run?”

“I used to.”

I can’t help it. I’m so surprised I whip my head towards her. She looks like she’s very much trying not to look in my direction.

“You don’t anymore?” he asks.

“Not so much.”

“Why?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug. “Life.”

Not a good enough answer, not at all. I silently urge Julien to ask her more, but because he’s a nice guy and can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it, he falls silent.

What an asshole. I hate that he’s a nice guy.

Pulling myself out of their conversation, I turn back to Connor, who’s giving me a strange look. He must have asked me a question .

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I ask, like the tool I am.

“I was wondering if you’ve had your turn drawing a name?” he asks hesitantly.

“No, I’m um, I’m not going to be participating.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “I don’t really like massages. No offence,” I add. “Massage therapists are great but, um, I’m ticklish.” What the hell is coming out of my mouth?

Connor laughs. A pity laugh. “Alright, no offence taken. It’s not for everyone.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go remind Demitri that I’ve opted out,” I say as normally as I can, escaping the conversation. I leave the room and let myself peek back as I exit through the doorway. My stomach drops when I don’t catch Paige looking at me.

I’m hopeless.

My thoughts wander as I look for Demitri, hoping I don’t run into Maxim instead.

Paige doesn’t run anymore. Is that because of me? Because of whatever reason she took a break from social media? Is Q okay? God, I want to ask her about Q. There are so many things I want to ask her.

I know how much she loved running, and how important it was to her. Maybe that’s how I can make it up to her. I can get her back into running and that will get us on more than small-talking terms. Maybe she’ll open up to me like she did during the ultra .

There’s a whole lot of maybes in there, but I have to try. Mateo is right. With her here, there’s no way I’m going to be able to get her out of my head—might as well lean right into my obsession.