Page 9 of One-Time Shot

I swept my hand across my forehead and sighed. “Running is…fun, isn’t it?”

Jett smiled. “It can be, but I think what we’re doing is more of a light jog.”

“Po-ta-toes, po-tah-toes.”

He pursed his lips as if to curb a burst of laughter, but lost the battle and snickered like a kid.

“You’re funny, Maloney.” He clapped. “C’mon, let’s keep going.”

“Oh, no, no. Just…two more minutes. Please. I haven’t gone running?—”

“Jogging.”

“In a long time,” I continued. “Not since junior high school when my sadistic physical education instructor, Mr. Engells, made us run around the track, loop after loop, once a week without fail.”

“That monster,” Jett deadpanned.

“I sense sarcasm, but I assure you it was a nightmare come true.” I took another gulp of water, and proceeded to overshare with aplomb. “My final class of the day in eighth grade was biology. It was my favorite, even though the curriculum was more of a hodgepodge of all things science—anatomy on Tuesdays, physiology and behaviorism on Thursdays. You never knew what you were going to get, but I enjoyed the snappy pace and my lab partner was always…”

“Always what?”

“Um…nice,” I hedged. “But once a week, without fail, I’d turn up to class attempting to hide a musky scent under copious layers of Axe’s bergamot and juniper essential oils deodorant. It was embarrassing. I manufactured reasons to extend lunch and either be late or miss PE all together—doctor appointments, visits to the dentist, whatever necessary. I didn’t want to miss that last class of the day, though. If my mother suspected foul play, she never let on.”

Jett snort-laughed. “So if I’m hearing you correctly, PE interfered with your adolescent love life.”

“My…what?” I sputtered while Jett chuckled like a loon. “No! I—well…no. I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I used Axe in junior high, too. What was her name?”

“Jason Harney.”

Jett didn’t bat an eyelash. If my candor surprised him, he hid it well. Good. I hadn’t intended to come out, but if the hockey player was a bigot, this wasn’t going to work, so perhaps it was best to know now.

“You’re gay,” he stated.

I pushed away from the tree with a brusque nod. “I am.”

“Cool. I’m—” He paused, then shrugged. “That’s cool.”

We shared a look I couldn’t quantify, but the message was one of easy acceptance. So I smiled, hooking a thumb toward the path.

“Shall we sally forth?”

He tipped his chin. “We should, but…your shoe is untied.”

I glanced down and groaned. “I don’t have the strength to deal with it, and we must be close to the finish line, anyway.”

“Tie your shoe, Maloney.”

I met his amused gaze. “No.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jett grumbled and dropped to one knee to manhandle my loose shoestrings into submission.

He wasn’t gentle in the slightest, but his gruffness hardly disguised his chivalry. I stared at the top of his head in wonder and confusion. Jett Erickson was proving to be a hard egg to crack. The second I’d pegged him for being obstinate and unreasonable, he’d gone and done something utterly…sweet.

“Um…thank you.”

He nodded sharply, turning away. “Don’t mention it. Let’s get you back to civilization. It’s getting dark, and I’m hungry.”