Page 28 of Dedicated

“Yes.”

I hesitated, thinking about my phone call with Leigh.

“Leigh seemed to think—you’re not… thisisfake, right? There’s not some kind of desire for more on your end, is there?”

“No.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, then tipped his chin up and met my gaze directly. “You’re right, what you’ve always said: I’m not very discriminating. And sure I’d be into hooking up with you because I’ve always thought you’re hot, which you know. But I’m not a relationship guy, which you also know so… yeah, you can lay that worry to rest.”

I rubbed at my chest, as if doing so would erase the disquiet that spread through it.

Chapter 21

Since I’d known him, Evan had maintained the same morning routine. He got up, went for a forty-five minute run, then did another half hour of body weight exercises. Rain or shine, 365 days a year. The one time we stayed in a hotel without a gym and it stormed, he’d gone to a hotel a few streets over and convinced them to let him use their treadmill. It showed. He was fit as hell, and I used to think it was a vanity thing—because why the hell would someone go to all that trouble, otherwise?—but Evan didn’t seem to care much about vanity or getting laid. So finally one day I asked him, and he gave me this vague spiel about it clearing his mind and boosting endorphins, but I didn’t buy that, either. He had other obsessive tendencies, like making sure his clothes for a show were properly laid out an hour before call time or his guitar strings were changed after every other performance. He’d had the same suitcase since I’d known him, and he packed it exactly the same way, layering things in a specific system. I’d decided a big part of his running habit was a way for him to feel grounded in the constant change of our lifestyle—and maybe it was rooted deeper, in his childhood, because I knew he and his mom had moved from place to place a lot. But as long as he could find pavement or a strip of revolving rubber, his day started the same way no matter where we were. When I’d told him that, his eyes had widened and his mouth opened like he was going to protest, like the idea that he was that transparent or maybe neurotic was disagreeable to him. Then he’d closed his mouth and cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, and said,“I guess you’re probably right. I’m just surprised you even noticed.”

I noticed a lot about him, though. Probably more than he’d ever imagined.

For instance, when I walked out of my bedroom the next morning at 6:30 a.m., I knew he was going to be wearing the dingy green mesh running shorts because he’d worn the blue ones the day before and he had a steady rotation going on among four pairs of shorts that he’d probably deny if I told him I was onto.

He glanced up at me from where he’d leaned over tying his shoelaces, expression shifting into one of surprise when he noticed my running gear. “No, you’re not.”

“I ran track in high school you know.” I went to the sink to chug a glass of water and felt his gaze trailing me, probably still in disbelief. I’d never once gone running with him, and I’d left my track career behind as soon as I’d gone to college. Who wanted to run around in circles when there was a bevy of mind-altering substances and sexual deviations to explore? I’d had enough trouble keeping up with my classes.

“Have your feet even seen a pair of running shoes since then? And how are you even awake? I’ll bet the last time you saw this hour was also high school.”

“Actually, it was three weeks ago.” No need to tell him it was because I’d stayed up all night doing things that would just piss him off.

It occurred to me that maybe this was some kind of sacred time for him; maybe I was interrupting. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

He gave me a wary look, as if he wasn’t sure what my motivation was. That was fair. I wasn’t sure, either, but I’d slept like shit last night and hadn’t gotten much more on a page than a doodle that vaguely resembled his lips, so when I woke up to the sound of him moving around in the kitchen, I figured it was either go with him and remind my body that it had other capabilities besides fucking, partying, and music, or stare at the ceiling until he got back and dragged me into the basement for practice. Reluctantly proactive, that was me.

And besides, running was important to him, and he was important to me. After our conversation last night, I thought it might not be such a bad idea to show him that, if subtly. So far, it seemed to have gone right over his head.

Evan shrugged and straightened, catching his ankle in his hand for a quick quad stretch. I wasn’t bothering with stretches. My legs weren’t going to know what’d hit them anyway, so why bother with forewarning?

“Try to keep up,” he said, opening the door. And then, with a challenging little quirk of his mouth that sent a jolt of heat through my balls, he shot off down the front walk.

I’d just assumedthat since I’d been a runner in high school, there’d be a little muscle memory involved, even a tiny bit. Something better than the internal shriek of my lungs and the burn of my calves and hamstrings that made me want to double over before we’d even gone a full mile.

I’d also assumed we’d be running along the main road. Wrong again. We got about a quarter of a mile down, and Evan veered off onto a trail I’d never noticed before. The terrain was uneven, but we were shaded by a thick canopy of green. The air itself smelled lush and ripe, full of color and life, and it was cooler than the asphalt we’d been running on. I kept up with Evan, just barely, though the glances he tossed me over his shoulder had shifted from amused to increasingly concerned.

Another tenth of a mile and he’d noticeably decreased his pace so that I was almost on his heels.

“I can keep up,” I huffed out, ignoring another twinge in my shin. They were going to be screaming tomorrow, but at least the scenery was nice: Evan’s legs packed with well-defined muscle and the way his running shorts draped over his tight ass would’ve given me a boner if my circulatory system wasn’t trying to shut down.

“You’re breathing like a guy with emphysema, and I’m pretty sure I heard your quads begging for mercy a few seconds ago.”

“That was my stomach. It needs coffee,” I panted out.

Evan glided nimbly over a thick tree root stretching over the trail, but when I tried to imitate his grace, the toe of my shoe caught and I went down hard—breath-knocked-out-of-my-chest, knees-skinned hard. Silver lining: the packed dirt floor of the trail was nice and cool against my sweaty cheek. I decided I’d just rest there for a minute.

“You all right?” Evan asked amid laughter, his shoes coming into view just in front of me.

“Just communing with nature.” I groaned, rolling to my side as I caught my breath. “It’s not funny. I could’ve broken a wrist. Unable to play or write—you going to take up the slack?”

“Eh, we’d figure it out.” He extended his hand to me, and I hauled myself up.

“Wouldn’t be able to jerk off properly—you going to figure that out for me, too?”

His mouth went slack, then curled up again. “Guess you’d have to live a monastic lifestyle for a while. You should try it. Very Zen.”