Dead Running (11 page)

Nana grinned.

“But you didn’t finish your milk,” I said, hiding my own grin.

Tasha scowled at me.

“You need your calcium,” Nana said, gesturing with her hand. “Drink up.” She watched as Tasha lifted her glass and took a tentative sip.

Nana shook her head. “A bit more, sweetheart. We don’t want brittle bones.”

Tasha took another quick gulp. I watched a glop of mashed potatoes slide from the bottom of the glass into her mouth. She gagged. I pressed my lips together, my body shaking from withheld laughter. Tasha set the glass down, smacking her coral lips, as if she enjoyed potato-enriched milk, and eyeing Nana to see if she’d passed.

Nana nodded her approval. “Now that’s what I like. A woman who actually knows how to eat.” She glanced significantly at my plate covered with the mashed potatoes I’d been building sculptures out of and a hunk of untouched meatloaf. In my defense, I’d made short work of my peas and bread.

“Nana, you know I hate meatloaf.”

“You need protein for running,” Tasha said.

“Yes, eat a few bites,” Nana commanded.

It was my turn to scowl. I cut a tiny bite, shoved it in my mouth, and swallowed without chewing. A quick drink of milk and I could almost feel normal again.

“I thought you
loved
mashed potatoes,” Tasha said, not content with forcing me to choke down meat loaf. “I thought all of this running was going to make it so you could eat anything you love.”

“Hey, good point.” I scooped up a bite of potatoes and plopped them in my mouth. Whipped potatoes, loaded with butter. I thought I was too upset from this morning to enjoy food, but Nana’s potatoes proved me wrong. I closed my eyes to savor the taste. I opened them to see Nana beaming at me. That hadn’t happened in a while. I took another bite. “Do I look skinnier?” I asked Tasha.

She leaned around the table and gazed at my thighs. “Most definitely. Looks like it’s time to go shopping.”

I grinned. Eating Nana’s calorie bombs and skinny enough for new clothes? This running crap was definitely worth it.

“You are and always will be too skinny,” Nana said, flinging her hand at me. “Why, in my day men wanted a woman with some shape.” Using her hands, she demonstrated the curves a woman should have. “You have no fat on you. No fat means no chest.”

I glanced down. “I think we can blame the chest on mom’s genes.”

Nana smiled. “Oh, I can agree with that. I’ve always been well-endowed.”

“Has Damon called?” Tasha asked, saving me from commenting on my grandmother’s chest.

I shifted in my seat. “Not yet. I’m sure he’s still trying to schedule the training runs.” After watching Tasha and I fall off our treadmills last week, he may never call.

“I thought he might call for more than training runs.”

I let myself eat one more bite of potatoes. “I’m not running this marathon to get the attention of a man, so it really doesn’t matter.”

Tasha stood, lifting her plate from the table to the sink. “I’ve seen this Damon guy, remember?
I’d
run a marathon if it meant training with him.”

I helped clear the dishes, mulling it over in my mind. Maybe I’d started training to impress Damon but he hadn’t called and I was still running. Jesse didn’t seem to care whether I did the marathon or not, but I had seen him out on the road a couple of times so maybe in the back of my mind there was that possibility of furthering a relationship with him.

“So, if you aren’t doing this marathon for Damon?” Tasha’s booming voice cut into my thoughts.

“I’m doing it to better myself,” I said.
And to spite the two of you
.

Nana shoved meatloaf into a plastic container and turned to me with an arched brow. “Cassidy, are you feeling all right?”

I gulped and bent to pull the garbage from underneath the sink. “Fine.” Was she talking about my bettering myself or had she noticed something else? I’d tried not to stew about Muscle Man and Greasy Beanpole during dinner. I wished I could tell Nana, but I couldn’t worry her. I glanced up to see her still studying me.

“Did something happen at work today?” Nana asked.

“No. Works still boring and my boss is a jerk, but we closed a huge loan today and I’ll be getting a fat check next week.”

Nana arched an eyebrow, she didn’t care about money any more than my parents had. “Well,” she said, “‘bettering yourself’ is one thing, but you had better not be running this marathon to lose weight.”

“That’s just a side bonus,” I said. I looked from Tasha’s questioning gaze to Nana’s disbelieving stare. “Really. This isn’t for a man. This isn’t to get skinnier. I’m running a marathon because I want to do it. Because I want to prove I can do it.”

Nana and Tasha locked gazes. “Uh-huh,” Tasha muttered.

I hated when they did that, acted like I couldn't accomplish anything. I shoved my barely-touched meatloaf into the garbage, ignoring Nana’s gasp of outrage. “Plus, I didn’t tell you but I think I’ve found a gym that wants to partner with me on my small personal training groups.”

“That’s good,” Tasha said. “I wish you’d focus on that and forget about this marathon.”

“But the marathon is part of that.” The part where I believe in myself and accomplish my goals. “Remember Rocky?” I asked, wishing for their support though I probably wouldn’t get it. “Remember how cool it was to see him conquer himself? Push himself so hard you thought he was going to break?”

“Uh-huh,” Tasha said again, still sharing some sort of silent conversation with Nana.

I jabbed a finger to my chest. “I’m Rocky.”

I beamed at how well I’d put that. I was Rocky. I was going to triumph over myself and gain the confidence to start working as an exercise scientist again.

“Uh-huh,” Tasha murmured for the third time.

“Use real words,” I snapped irritably. “Why can’t I be Rocky?”

“You can be anything you want.” Tasha turned to retrieve more dishes.
 

Nana rolled her eyes and started scrubbing at baked-on meat loaf.

“Nana?” I paused for a few seconds, hoping she’d glance at me.

“Yes, you can be Rocky.”

“No.” I shifted from one foot to the other, a plate clutched between my fingers. “I have another question.” I waited for her to look up.

“Spit it out.”
           
I gulped, obviously I wouldn’t have her full attention and this question needed it. But I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Are my mom and dad still alive?”

The casserole dish slipped from Nana’s fingertips, clanking into the glass cups in the sink. Soapy water spewed onto the tile backsplash and Nana’s cotton shirt. Nana spun from the mess. For half a second shock and disbelief poured from her eyes. But then her face softened into the wrinkles I liked, the ones that hid her scowl and showed she was concerned about her granddaughter. “Why would you ask that, sweetheart?”

I shrugged and looked down at the chipped linoleum. Warmth from Nana embarrassed me, she usually only called Tasha and Tate sweetheart. “Just missing them, I guess.”

Nana’s soft arms surrounded me. I set the plate on the counter, leaned against her wet shirt, and sighed. Water poured into the plugged sink, a few more seconds and we’d really have a mess, but I couldn’t leave Nana’s embrace to prevent it.

Tasha looked like she’d rather be anywhere but in Nana’s kitchen watching her best friend’s display of sadness. She reached behind us and shut off the tap then turned to study the pictures of Jared and Tate on the fridge.

“I understand,” Nana said. “I miss them too.” Nana rocked me for a few seconds.

“Would it be crazy to tell you that I’m kind of doing this marathon for them? Raquel told me she thought they’d be proud of me for accomplishing something big. For not quitting.” I sniffled and continued, “I really like the sound of that.”

Nana kissed my forehead. “I think that’s the best reason I’ve heard yet.”

She released me and hustled back to dinner cleanup. It wasn’t until I climbed into bed that I realized she’d never answered my question. Maybe my parents were alive and Muscle Man and Greasy Beanpole were going to kill my mom and dad all over again. I trembled in my bed. My attempts at sleeping were a complete waste of pillow time.
 

“If you go slower on the eccentric contraction, you’ll increase your strength without increasing size.”

“Ha,” I sneered as I turned to face the person trying to instruct me on how to lift weights, obviously the weirdo didn’t know I was the fitness trainer of the year.

The mocking words died in my throat as I came face to face with, “Damon?” I clung to the set of dumbbells in my hands.

He grinned. “Hi there.”

For over a month now I’d been thinking about this man. Usually my fantasies increased a man’s attractiveness by about thirty-two percent, and the actual re-encounter was a disappointment. Not so with Damon. He was so much better looking in real life than I could mentally sketch.

“Hi,” I whispered, then turned and re-shelved the fifteen-pound dumbbells rather than let the words,
Why haven’t you called
, spring from my mouth.

I forced myself to pivot back to face him, pressing my ponytail a few times to create some lift in my mop of dark hair. I wished I were one of those girls who had beautiful wisps of hair curling around their face. I really wished I were one of those girls who wore makeup to the gym . . . or at least brushed my teeth and put on deodorant.

“How’s your marathon training going?” Damon asked, leaning against the weight rack.

“Well, let’s see. I’ve made it through one week and I wish my legs would fall off and never come visit. And you?”

He chuckled. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, but it is. I’ve fallen off a treadmill.”

“Yeah, I saw that one. You okay?”

I nodded and changed the subject. “I went to a sports massage therapist for some relief. She worked on me for an hour then told me, ‘You’d better ease up on the running for a few weeks until your body adjusts or you may do permanent damage.’” I couldn’t believe I was admitting this to him, but the smile on his perfect face kept my tongue rattling along. I pushed a hand through the air. “What’s a little damage? So I take a few extra ice baths.”

“Ice baths already?” His eyes widened. “How far are you running?”

I bit my lip. “I was supposed to do ten on Saturday.” I ducked my head. “I made it eight.”

Damon was almost successful at hiding a smile. “And you took an ice bath?”

“Hey,” I defended myself. “My legs were swollen like a pregnant woman with toxicity.”

He glanced down at my lower limbs. “Hmm. Haven’t checked out many pregnant women, but your legs look good to me.”

I did a little victory dance, complete with fingers jabbing ceiling-ward and my head bobbing. “Oh, yeah. My legs look good.”

A half-laugh emitted from his perfect lips. He glanced around the weight room as if checking to see if anyone else had witnessed my display.

Embarrassed, I looked at the weight rack. “I’d better get back to my workout. I still have to run home somehow.”

Folding his muscled arms across his chest, he tilted his head to the side. “You want to go on a training run this weekend?”

I pumped my eyebrows, quickly recovering from my embarrassment. “Just the two of us?”

He cleared his throat and blinked. “Well, there are a few others who will be tagging along.”

I pivoted and grabbed a pair of twenties from the rack. “Sounds great.” Oh, I am a dork. Twice in one minute I’d proven just how big of one. “Where should I meet you?”

He sidestepped between me and the weight rack so I had to face him again, had to concentrate on that devastating smile and feel my stomach flutter. “I’ll call you and set up the run and then maybe I could check if you,” his gaze swept my body, “and your good-looking legs, have room in your schedule for dinner.”

The redness in my cheeks had nothing to do with the twenty-pound weights I was trying to curl. “Just the two of us?” I asked again.

His navy blue eyes twinkled like the sky at midnight bursting with stars. “Definitely just the two of us.”