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

28. Adam

Paige narrows her eyes. “About what?” she asks.

“Do you want to get dressed first?”

I do not want her to get dressed. I want to rip that comfortable-looking robe off her, sling her over my shoulder, and take her to bed. But that reality can only exist in my fantasies. Especially now.

“Is it going to take that long?”

“I’m not sure.”

She raises her eyebrows and without another word, turns on her heel and walks back towards her bedroom. I am a teenage boy again because I cannot help the way my body reacts to the knowledge that she’s naked behind that door. I have to consciously tell my legs not to move.

Instead, I plop myself down on the couch to wait. Q comes over, the orca firmly in her jaws, and I’m glad I brought it for her. She really is a gorgeous dog. I bet she loves it here with her big thick coat of fur. I wonder if Paige has ever taken her swimming in the bay. She would love it .

“Making yourself at home?” Paige asks from behind me. I’m startled because I didn’t hear her come back into the room. I blurt the first thing that comes to my brain. Like an idiot.

“Not as much as you’ll make yourself at home when you come over to my house.” Does that even make sense? Why would I say that?

“And who said I’m going to your house?” she asks, crossing her arms. I’ve never seen her in anything except black leggings and the shorts she wore to the ultra. Now she’s wearing baggy ripped jeans that sit high on her waist, revealing a sliver of skin where her white top barely hits the waistline of her pants. Her black bra is visible beneath the white fabric and instead of her signature ponytail, her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, face completely clean of makeup.

I can’t speak. She’s stunning.

She sits in the armchair across from me, sinking into the plush cream fabric. I wish she would sit on the couch with me like last time. Q abandons me for Paige and goes over to show her the new toy.

“Look at this whale, Q! Did your new friend Adam bring you a toy?” Q is vibrating with joy and Paige grins with delight. I can’t help but stare, mesmerised by her. “Did he bring you this so he could wriggle his way in the door?”

No. Yes.

Q takes the orca and leaves the room. I watch her trot off and see through the cutout in the wall that she goes to sit in the patch of sun in the kitchen. Inca used to do that, and the memory makes me a little sad.

“What do you need to talk to me about, Adam?” Paige asks, jolting me out of my thoughts.

I clear my throat. Now that I’m here and she’s sitting in front of me, I think I may have overreacted. I definitely didn’t think this through. When it comes to this woman, I either overthink or underthink everything. There is no in-between.

“The race is tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“How are you feeling about it?” I’m stalling because I’ve realized this is a stupid idea. I need to stop listening to Mateo. I should’ve run this by Isabel.

“I’m feeling great.” Her voice carries a note of suspicion.

“Good, good. That’s good to hear.”

She knows I’m stalling. She leans back in the chair and crosses her arms, no longer willing to humour my small talk.

“You know, the polite response would be to ask how I’m feeling about the race,” I goad.

That gets a raise of her eyebrows. “Oh really? Are we being polite now?”

“Being polite is always good.”

“Not always.”

“Tell me when being polite is not good,” I demand, thinking maybe I’ve distracted her .

“If I’m getting mugged, I will not be polite. If a stranger comes to my house and demands entry, even with bribes for my dog, and I do not know his intentions, I don’t have to be polite.”

Stranger . That stings.

“I’m not a stranger,” I say almost to myself, but she hears it.

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Could have fooled me.” She sighs. “What do you want, Adam?”

There’s no way around it. I have to tell her what I came here for, even though I’m regretting it with every fibre of my being. Why do I feel like I’m treading in shark-infested water?

“They’re changing the fraternization rules at work.”

That catches her off guard and the tension in her face eases. “What?”

“The dating rules between coworkers, staff, and players. It’s changing.”

“Okay.” She’s recovered from the unexpected topic and is now more suspicious than before. I should have made something up.

“Staff are no longer allowed to date each other or the players.”

“Massage therapists are technically not staff. Wonder Hands is a subcontracted company that’s affiliated with the team but not under the banner of the Whales.”

“That’s true, but the bylaws will include subcontractors as well.”

She’s silent, processing as I prepare for her next question. One I don’t have an answer for.

“And you had to come to my apartment to tell me this today, why? ”

There it is. I don’t know why. She could have found out on Monday like everyone else, but this morning when Whyatt informed us at our coaching meeting, it seemed so important that she know before tomorrow’s race. I fumble for an answer, any answer.

“I thought that since the entire company is going to be at the race tomorrow, including HR, you may want to be careful. I know you’ve spent time with some of the players and staff.”

“How thoughtful of you,” she says, an edge of anger in her voice. I hear how that sounded. Shit.

“Not saying that you’re dating a bunch of people, just that—”

“Just that what?”

“I want to keep you off HR’s radar.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t get in trouble?”

“Why?” she says more forcefully.

“I want you to keep your job,” I blurt out. I can only hold her gaze for a few seconds before I have to look away.

We’re almost at the end of the three-month probationary period, and Maxim has fired one of the therapists. I feel a twinge of guilt that I never learned his name. Paige and Connor are both great, from what I hear, so I don’t want anything negative to affect her job.

I pretend I’m a man and not a scared little boy and look her in the eye. She stares back with a contemplative look on her face that I can’t decipher. At least the cloud of anger seems to have dissipated.

She uncrosses her arms and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. The new glint in her eye tells me I’ve made a terrible mistake. Again .

“So you felt the need to come all this way to tell me to stop dating people at work?”

Shit.

She continues. “Tell me, Adam, am I allowed to date other people, or are you only concerned about me ‘fraternizing’ in front of you ?”

“No, that’s not what I—”

“What is it you want me to say?” She gets to her feet and I match her stance, preparing for battle. Defensive, she takes a step towards me. “You expect me to believe you came here to tell me to stop dating people at work so I don’t get in trouble?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Out of the goodness of your heart. No other reason?” The words are right, but her voice is dangerously close to rage.

“Yes?” It comes out like a question. I clear my throat to say again, “Yes.”

“Well, I guess I have some phone calls to make.”

That takes me aback “What?”

“I have to call all the people I’m screwing to tell them we have to stop because HR won’t allow it. Or I guess I could call HR and ask them if they have some forms I can sign.”

This is a trap. I know it. Everyone knows it.

I still fall for it.

“Who are you screwing?”

A cold smile touches her lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I do. I don’t, but I do. I want to know who I’m up against, because if there’s one thing I’ve figured out during this last month of silence between us, it’s that I want her and I don’t want anyone else to have her. And I plan to fight for her.

I steel myself and take a step to close the distance between us, showing that I will not back down.

“You bet your ass I want to know.”

The glint in her eyes sparks and my body ignites with it, with her.

“My ass is none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business.”

“Is that so?”

God, I want to kiss her. “Yes.”

“Hmm ...” She makes a low humming sound in the back of her throat, and I can taste it. I want that sound on my tongue, and I inch my face closer to hers, breathing her in.

“You know,” she whispers, leaning into me. Our noses are almost touching. “I might believe that, if only you hadn’t remembered my dog’s name and not mine.” She rips herself away from me and stomps to the door, stumbling a bit as she trips over the carpet. She wrenches it open.

“Get out.”

My jaw drops.

“Paige . . .”

“Glad you remembered this time. Now get out.”

I walk like a robot, and as soon as I’m over the threshold, she slams it shut. I hear the sound of the lock and the deadbolt clicking into place and rest my forehead against the door.

Ugh .

“Paige,” I say in a loud voice, hoping she’s still there. “Damn it, Paige, I’m sorry.” Silence greets me. So I talk to the door instead. If anything, it’s good practice for whenever I finally get up the nerve to be honest. I take a deep breath.

“I panicked. That day you showed up. I panicked. You were the last person I expected to see, and my brain completely shut off. I was an asshole. I didn’t forget your name. I never could. It doesn’t matter that it’s been two years—it could be ten years or twenty years, and I would still be able to remember everything about you and that race. I’ll be ninety-five years old, living in a nursing home, and I’ll still remember you.”

The answering silence feels loaded. I can sense her there, so I keep going. “I’ve been looking for you. Everywhere I go, I look for your face in the crowd, hoping to catch just one more glimpse so I know you’re real—that I didn’t imagine you. I’ve spent two years looking for you.” I inhale all the regret and exhale the words I should have said three months ago. Hell, what I should have said two years ago. “I’m so sorry, Paige,” I whisper, waiting a few more seconds before turning to walk down her hallway.

I freeze at the sound of the door unlocking and the deadbolt sliding. When she opens the door, I turn to face her, not daring to breathe in even an ounce of hope.

She steps out and leans on the doorframe, arms folded again, a hint of vulnerability back on her face. She takes my breath away. Some things about her are still different, but that sliver of openness, the way she’s looking at me, it’s like no time has passed since we met.

“Took you long enough.”