Page 70 of The True Garza

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Take me home, then.”

My chin in his grasp, he kisses me again. Swiftly this time. “Bathroom’s down that hall.”

So frustrating! I snatch up my jeans and ripped panties from the couch and head to where he directed. The stubborn, defiant part of me is not pleased with my actions. She’s disgusted with me, thinks I’m a weakling. Yet, that knees-knocking orgasm I just had isexactlywhy my body defies me and gives in to him. Because it knows—it remembers—that the reward isalwaysworth it.

In the bathroom, I clean up and put back on my ripped panties, because going panty-less with jeans is a disaster for me. When I return from the bathroom, True has changed into joggers, a muscle tee, and running shoes.

“Be back in a bit,” he tells me, sticking ear-pods in his ears. “Going for a run.”

“What? Now?” Talk about whiplash. I might need to invest in a proper neck brace. “It’s after midnight.”

He shrugs. “I run all hours. Neighborhood’s safe.”

“Do you have to do that now, though? Can’t you take me home first?”

“This weekend’s been hard for me. Your presence helped, but it was still difficult. My meds make me feel muted, so I slack off on them. Running is my therapy. And at the moment, I’m not feeling… right in the head. I gotta run.”

“Okay. I’ll run with you, then.”

He lifts a brow at me. “Getting attached to me already, Bridge?”

“Get over yourself.” I brush past him to the foyer, where I left my shoes. They’re not quite for running, but they’ll do.

“Sure you don’t need to rest?” he asks when we’re outside.

“I can rest later.”

He removes one of his ear-pods and sticks it in my ear. “Hope you can keep up.” He taps at his ear-pod, andEminemblasts in my ear.

Before I can complain, he’s sprinted off.

When I catch up with him, he slows down and we jog steadily side by side for around twenty minutes, until we’re at a neighborhood park. There, we do sprint races up and down on the basketball court. He beats me every time. Afterward, we do laps around the field. True seems to have an endless amount of energy, while I’m fast approaching burnout. But I do my best to keep up with him.

After almost an hour of high-intensity cardio at the park, he says, “Let’s jog back.”

Hallelujah!

We jog at a slower pace through the neighborhood.

“What’s it like inside your head?” I ask through labored breaths.

“Right now…” He’s staring straight ahead, eyes tight at the corners. “It’s full of you.”

Why does he keep saying things like this to me? Is he trying to kill me?

“I can still taste you.”

“Was this run also about me?” I ask. “You wanted to ‘runmeoff’?”

“Yep.”

“But I came along and ranwithyou….”

“Yep.”

I bite back a smile. “I’m not sorry.”

He shrugs. “It wouldn’t have worked, anyway.”