Lucy Wagner Gets In Shape (A Romantic Comedy) (13 page)

“Hey, I’m over here,” I call. I’m leaning against the closet door, slipping on my sandals.

“Why aren’t you over here?” He croaks, and I do the whole shy, blushing thing that really isn’t like me at all, but I can’t help it. “C’mere.” He raises his arm towards me, and my chest lurches like it hasn’t done since I got an autograph and a kiss on the cheek from Nick Carter after a Backstreet Boys concert in seventh grade. I walk (no, make that float) over and sit on the edge of the bed, then melt into his morning hug and kiss. He’s so warm, I want to crawl in beside him and snuggle for a few weeks.

Omigod, that is so sweet. “Thanks, Wilbur,” I whisper. His green eyes are full of sleep and tenderness, and I’d better go now or I’m a dead duck. “I’ve got class in less than an hour, so I’m out of here. See you at the office later?”

“Let me drive you home,” he says quickly. At first I protest—he looks so comfy—but as I imagine waiting at the bus stop at the end of the block, I begin to waver. Crap, I really need to get my car from my Dad’s house. Well, technically I need to get my car
running
, and then get it from my Dad’s house.

“Okay, thanks,” I say in a raspy murmur. It’s like I’ve lost full use of my voice or something—I’m feeling shy and girly and ready to jump on Will and never let him go. God, am I turning into Clingy Girl? He sits up and brushes my cheek with his knuckles. Oh, who gives a shit?

We make it to my condo with half an hour to spare. I grab my purse and swing the door open—If I skip washing my hair, I can be ready in fifteen minutes—but Will grabs my elbow before I can jump out.

“Wait…” he leans over and kisses me—a warm, delicious kiss. “I’ve given you hundreds of rides over the years, and I’ve always wanted to do this,” he murmurs against my lips.

Oh, swoon.

***

I teach my class in a daze, then make my way to my office, where Jen is sitting behind my desk. She likes my office better than hers—probably because mine isn’t filled with hundreds of ungraded papers.

“Poor Will, he was probably out there running by himself,” Jen says around the lollipop in her mouth. She’s been digging through my bag of sweeties again.

“Actually, I think he overslept as well.” I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Naw, he’s pretty dedicated. I think he’s really getting into—“ she stops suddenly when she sees my expression. “Ho-o-o-ly shit.”

I squeeze my eyes closed and cover my face with my hands.

“Holy shit. You two finally knocked boots?”

“Knocked
boots?
Is that what they do on Hee Haw? Or like, in prison?”

She ignores me and squeals so loudly that a few students actually stop in the hallway and peer into my office.
“Jen
,
”
I hiss, as a scoot my foot across the floor to kick the door closed.

“So, I want every depraved detail, you whore.”

“I don’t think I need to give you any details,” I drawl, my eyebrows raised accusingly.

“Oh, shut up--you don’t do bitter well. Just tell me what happened.” After a ten-minute recap, and one or two depraved details--just to get Jen off my back--we decide to meet at my place for a carb-tastic dinner, since tomorrow is the big race.

Dinner is full of pasta and dramatic hand-wringing about the next day. Will’s worried about us all running too slow, while Jen and I are stressed over kayaking, since our upper body strength rivals that of two arthritic grandmothers. Jen leaves to pick up Dax from work by nine o’clock, and Will and I decide to make it an early night. As I walk him to the door, I feel nervous again, like I’m never going to get used to us being more than friends.

“I’d invite you to stay, but I don’t think we’d get much sleep,” I say shyly—which is weird, since I’m rubbing up against his chest like some kind of oversexed floozy.

“No, we wouldn’t.” He’s moving in close, nuzzling my neck, and my good intentions are quickly evaporating. “Go on, get in there and go to bed.” He pushes me away gently before we end up naked and sweaty against the coat closet. As if that would be a bad thing. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I echo, as he backs slowly onto the porch. “I love you.” He stops, probably because I’ve never said that before. To him, I mean. I’m kind of surprised at myself, but as his face spreads into a million-watt smile, I have no regrets.

“I love you, too. God, so much.” He leans forward and kisses me lightly, and I close my eyes to savor the moment. I don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anyone’s love, except my parents, and it makes me warm and shaky inside. Will turns and walks deliberately to his car, and I watch until he pulls out of the parking lot. Even after, I stand in the doorway, kind of in limbo, feeling a sense of completion that I’ve never felt before. Then I go inside and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I’m awakened the next morning by a loud knocking at my door. Can it be five am already? I roll out of bed and unlock the door, and Jen stumbles in with two large cups of Starbucks.

“This is such a fucking bad idea,” she grumbles, and I ignore her, grabbing a steaming cup from her hand.

“Shut up, I can’t talk now. Try again in an hour.”

An hour later, we are in the warm-up area, chewing on power bars and trying to look like serious athletes. We’ve already dropped our bikes off at the first stop. Will is delivering the kayaks at the pier, and he’s already texted me to let me know he’s on his way. I’m jumpy, since I’ve already had two cups of coffee. This is probably not on the training list of champions, but hey, I’m no champion.

By the time Will catches up with us, my Dad and Dax have also arrived, looking somewhat reluctant (Dax), but supportive (Dad). I catch a glimpse of Paul a few hundred yards away, leaning against the side of his car as he stretches his hamstrings. I look away and try to hide behind Will and Dax, who are talking about something guy-ish, like basketball, or Dax’s new truck.

The race begins with running, then moves on to biking, and finishes up with the kayaking sprint. The kayaking worries me, not only because of my poor upper-body strength, but also because I haven’t quite recovered from my encounter with the pants-deprived guy in the woods. As we make our way to the starting line, Will takes my hand and squeezes it supportively. “Are you talking yet?” He knows my policy.

“Naw, where’s the fun in that? It’ll be better if we all stay together.” He sinks to his knees and begins to tie my shoelace, which is a knotted mess—my fingers don’t work before seven am.

“You’re going to stay back with me a Jen?” He nods at my foot, and I suddenly feel about a million times better. Will’s going to be with me the whole way--nothing bad can happen.

By the time we start the run, I’m feeling much more energized, since my caffeine has kicked in. Of course, Jen and Will keep warning me not to trip over stray pine needles, but I can handle their sarcasm as long as I’m not running alone while a sea of cut-bodied super-runners whizz past me. After four miles I’m feeling the rest of my coffee kick in, and I’m desperate for a bathroom break.

“Guys, I need the restroom,” I pant miserably, spying a port-a-can in the distance.

“Pee your pants, we can’t afford the time,” Jen huffs back at me. I give her the international face signal for ‘you are so gross,” and we come to a stop in front of the dark green port-a-can rack. There are two people in line in front of us, so we all stop and immediately pull our phones out of the waterproof pouches around our waists. Don’t ask why—we are all slaves to our iPhones. I scope out the course map on my GPS, and see that we have traveled a disappointingly short distance. Then I check emails, which consist of three Amazon spams and a message from Dr. Richards at LSU. Ahh, how nice to get a rejection email in the middle of a race. I click the link out of morbid curiosity, and my eyes widen in shock when I read the message:

As the shock washes over me, I feel Jen push my shoulder, none to gently, towards the port-a-can. “Go on, Lucille—we haven’t got all day here.” I shove my phone back into its plastic pouch and squeeze myself into the horrid stall. Breathing through my mouth to avoid the unfortunate smell, I lose myself in thought. I can’t believe they want to hire me—they hated me! At least, I thought they hated me. I mean, maybe they treat everyone with disdain. And if that’s the case, do I really want to work there?

The next few miles of running go by in a haze, because all I can think of is the job offer on my phone. Who makes a job offer over email, anyway? I’m not even sure whether I should take it seriously until I speak to Dr. Richards over the phone, so I don’t say anything to Will and Jen.

By mile eight, the pain in my shins is overwhelming any logical thoughts I might be able to produce, and I start doing this half-jog, half-stumble thing that has Will staring at me with a worried frown. “Are you okay?” He calls back to me. He’s doing that annoying ‘you’re-so-slow-that-I-have-to-run-backwards-to-match-your-pace’ thing, and it’s pissing me off.

“She’s fine, shut up.” Apparently it’s pissing Jenny off, too.

The last two miles of the run seem to last longer than the first eight, but we finally make it to the bike station, where we stop to put on our cycling shoes and take a short rest.

“Hi, sweetheart,” my Dad is standing by my bike, holding out a bottle of water and a towel for me. “You’re doing brilliant.”

“Yeah…brilliant,” I mutter, peeling off my tennis shoes and socks. My bloody heels cause my Dad to grimace, and I pour ice water over my feet to try and numb the pain. I glance over at Jen, and her feet look worse than mine, if that’s possible. “Do you want some water?”

“Thanks,” she gasps, pouring the cold liquid gingerly over her toes. Dax hands her a towel to dry her feet, and we both manage to squeeze into our biking shoes. I notice that Will is already straddling his bike, waiting patiently for us. He looks so cute with his sweaty curls peaking out from underneath his helmet, and the thought of leaving him to take a job out-of-state makes my heart sink. But this is my career we’re talking about—it’s the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.

God, life was so much easier when I thought I was unemployable.

Chapter Fourteen

Except for the fact that my ass is sore, the bike ride is the easiest part of the race by far. I spend most of it deep in thought, so deep that I don’t hear Jen calling until she rides up next to me.

“God, I miss that crazy whore Kimberly.” We’re quiet for a moment, huffing and puffing, embroiled in thoughts of nineties primetime soaps.

Before I know it, the bike ride is complete, and we stop for food. Will has packed for all of us, and he‘s made sure to include all of my favorites (protein bars, M&M trail mix, and blueberry Pop-Tarts). As I shave the frosting off the top of a Pop-Tart with my front teeth, Will and my Dad begin to move our kayaks closer to the starting point. Jen is shoving trail mix in her mouth like a champ, and I gesture for her to pass the bag to me. I pick out the M&M’s and peanuts, and alternate chocolate and Pop-Tart bites until it’s time to head to the pier. When I stand up, all the blood leaves my head, and I end up stumbling to my knees, mushing my trail mix into a chocolaty mess in my fisted hands.

“Whoa, Luce,” Jen grabs my elbow to stop me from face planting. “You look awful.”

“You look pretty shitty yourself,” I mumble, wiping the palms of my hands on the grass in front of me.

“Yeah, but I’ve been drinking water—you need to hydrate.” By now my Dad has made it to my side, and he’s looking worried. He grabs my hand, and I realize it’s shaking.

“Lucy, do you think you can finish?” He’s bent down to wipe the dirt off my knees, and I feel like I’m about six years old.

“I’m fine, Dad. I just need a bottle of water and a few more peanuts.” To prove my point, I take a big swig of Dasani and walk briskly to the pier. Well, as briskly as I can with bloody feet and a head that’s spinning like a top. Will’s organizing lifejackets and paddles when I sneak up on him from behind.