Page 21 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)

Julian

Celeste made a point of telling me she doesn’t run on Wednesdays.

Her words were delivered with an icy glare that I should have heeded.

Yet here I am, posted up outside her apartment complex, looking every bit the idiot I swore I would never be.

I adjust my hoodie and shove my hands into my pockets against the cool morning breeze. The street is quiet except for the faint hum of traffic in the distance and the drumming of my fingers against the car.

I’m here early just in case that stubborn woman tries to slip away unnoticed.

It’s crazy, and I fucking know it.

Footsteps approach behind the glass door, pulling me out of my thoughts.

When she steps outside and sees me standing here, she stops, shuts her eyes, and takes a deep breath.

I think she’s counting to five.

Whatever she’s doing isn’t working because she looks furious.

In the next breath, she throws her head back and lets out a fake cry. “Noooo.”

Satisfaction blooms in my chest. “I don’t run on Wednesdays, my ass.”

Color flares in her cheeks as she pushes past me and starts running.

I wait a beat, admiring the sharp set of her shoulders before pushing myself forward.

Her ass is perfect this morning, hugged in black leggings.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?” she snaps, not looking back at me.

“For the motivation. It’s clearly working. You’re already running faster.”

“That’s because I’m trying to get away from you.”

“Good luck with that.”

She shoots me a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but doesn’t break stride.

It’s disappointing she’s not in the mood for a full-blown argument. I’ve come to enjoy those as much as any sparring match I’ve ever had.

“You could at least say good morning,” I add.

“It’s not a good morning.”

My presence has pissed her off even more than usual today, and for some sick reason, that drives me forward. Before I know it, I’m matching her pace, closing the gap until we’re running side by side.

I take in the clenched set of her jaw and the headphones in her ears that always make her seem like she’s in a different world when she runs.

For some inexplicable reason, I gesture toward them. “What do you listen to all the time, anyway?”

I cringe at my own fucking question. I sound like a high school kid fumbling for conversation. But if I’m so determined to invade her mornings, I might as well try to understand her, even if it’s something as trivial as her choice of music.

She tugs out an earbud. “What?”

“What are you listening to?”

“You’re not supposed to talk to me on these runs, remember?” She eyes the space between us. “And you’re very close.”

I fight the urge to stop and shake her. “Enlighten me.”

“Music,” she deadpans, eyes back on the path.

Patience, Julian.

“Yes, my little ray of sunshine, I know that much.”

She huffs again, then yanks the right earbud out and holds it toward me.

Honestly, she could just as easily stab me with something if I touch her, so I look at it.

“Do you want it or not?”

Without a word, I take it and slip it in. Radiohead's Creep bursts into my ear before fading into Numb by Linkin Park.

She doesn’t ask for the earbud back, but she does shoo me away a few paces.

When we get close to her favorite coffee shop, we repeat the same dance as yesterday, with her glaring at me while I’m still faster at paying. She hates it.

Outside her building, she jerks to a stop, chest heaving. I hold the earbud out, and she snatches it without a word.

“You’re welcome for the run,” I say.

Her head snaps toward me. “You didn’t help me. You annoyed me.”

Mission accomplished.

She’s furious, and I’m the cause. It shouldn’t bring me any twisted satisfaction, but it does because it means I’m getting to her, cracking the armor she wears so damn proudly.

She shakes her head, muttering something about egos before heading for the door.

I look up at the building, knowing she’s up there now, probably pacing and cursing my name.

Good.

When my phone buzzes with Nathan’s name, my mind is still on the woman who swears she doesn’t run on Wednesdays, yet ran anyway, who hates smiling and small talk almost as much as I do, and listens to songs that reveal a softness she works so hard to hide.

The next morning, she still glares at me in greeting but silently hands me the earbud.

The day after, she lets me get a little closer.

And by the week after that, something must have softened in her, because she almost smiles.

Almost.

And with that barely-there curve of her lips, I’m completely fucked.