Page 10 of Your Pace or Mine (Running for the Romance #1)
Darius
T he evening air had a bite to it, the kind that left Darius’s lungs feeling clean and sharp with every breath.
He shifted on his feet at the edge of the park with Jackson and the other volunteers, watching the group of returning runners warm up.
Jamie was back again. He’d been here every week without fail.
They hadn’t interacted much since the first night.
Darius had been avoiding interaction with anyone at the clinic but Jackson since that disparaging article had come out.
He’d quite artfully dodged any potential for conversation by keeping himself just far enough ahead of his group and leaving the second they finished.
Still, Darius’s eyes immediately found Jamie, jogging in place like a wind-up toy, his breath puffing out in little clouds. He took the moment to observe him, the long lines of his body, his bouncy curls and seemingly boundless energy drawing Darius in like a magnet.
Darius blamed Jackson for this newfound fixation.
Other runners surrounded them, splitting off into their respective groups as they prepared for the longest run most of them would have done yet in their training, eight miles.
Distance would ramp up quickly from here, so he wasn’t going to let anyone slack off tonight.
The atmosphere was more relaxed after a few weeks of the sessions under their belts.
Darius didn’t think he’d made much progress with Anders, but he was trying, damn it.
Casual conversation drifted around him as he gathered himself, pointedly ignoring Coach Anders as best he could.
He needed to play the long game, show up for his runners.
Prove he cared about something other than the Olympics, even if it wasn’t strictly true.
He was dithering over Ellison’s suggestion to pace the marathon.
Maybe it would be better to just come out publicly and see where things landed—at least that would have the benefit of closing the door firmly on the whispers of bigotry.
Anxious to get started and stop overthinking his mess of a life, Darius interrupted the chatter to outline the plan for his group.
“We’ll start at a tempo pace before evening out. I want everyone at conversational pace for most of the run, then we’ll pick it up again in the final mile.”
There were nods from some of the more seasoned runners in the group, but not everyone looked convinced.
“The idea is to see what it feels like to really push on tired legs, you’ll be thankful for this session when you hit that final stretch down the Mall, I promise.”
“This isn’t secretly a way to kill me, is it?” Jamie asked, his tone light but laced with mock suspicion. “Revenge for your jumper?”
Darius couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. “Not entirely,” he said, reaching up to stretch his arms overhead. “Though that was my favourite hoodie, so if you keep complaining, I might make it harder, just for you.”
Jamie stopped bouncing and fixed him with a dramatic glare. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Darius raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Wouldn’t I? I’ve got at least two intervals and a hill sprint with your name on them.”
The groan Jamie let out was pure theatre, his head tilting back like he was bemoaning the end of days. Darius’s eyes traced the column of his neck hungrily as he whinged. “I knew it. I’ve signed up for torture disguised as training.”
Darius laughed, the sound bubbling up before he could stop it. He didn’t laugh like this often—freely, without holding back—but Jamie had a way of pulling it out of him. “You’re being very dramatic about this for someone who clearly works out.”
“Ooh, nice to hear you’ve noticed.” Jamie winked, grinning now as he shook out his legs.
Darius rolled his eyes. He glanced around at the rest of the group, admittedly fewer people this week than previously. He could tell some of them were uncomfortable with his presence, and he blamed the never-ending barrage of articles that the first hit-piece had unleashed. But what could he do?
Come out? Ha . Not bloody likely. As much as the idea sometimes appealed to him, he knew the tabloids would have a field day speculating about his cruising spots, and his father would start pushing him to settle down with someone to kill the news cycle.
As if anyone but the worst kind of gold-diggers would want to settle down with someone like him.
Even if the group was still wary of him, at least the longer distance tonight meant that they would be far from Anders for most of the session. “Ready to go, everyone?” he asked. “That is, if Jamie’s stopped stalling.”
Soft laughter rippled through the air as Jamie let out a huff.
Darius looked back over his shoulder, catching Jamie’s indignant expression before he fell into stride beside him.
“Stalling? I was mentally preparing,” Jamie said, a little breathless already.
Darius gave him a sideways glance, his grin softening. “You’ll be fine. Just think of it as one mile at a time. Pace yourself, and you won’t even notice the distance.”
Jamie made a sceptical noise in the back of his throat, but he kept up. Their shoes crunched in sync on the gravel path, eight miles of running ahead of them.
As they settled into a rhythm, Darius found himself glancing at Jamie more than he should—at the way his cheeks flushed pink from the cold, the determined set of his jaw, the faint bounce in his curls that escaped his cap, and the tattoo on his thigh peeking out from under the edge of his shorts with each step.
“You’re staring,” Jamie said after a minute. His voice was teasing, but his eyes were fixed on the path ahead.
“I’m checking your form,” Darius lied smoothly.
“Oh, sure. And how is it?”
Caught, Darius shook his head, a chuckle escaping. “You’ve got great posture.”
Jamie turned his head to look at him, his expression softening. “Flattery will only get you so far.”
“Good thing I’m not trying to flatter you. You’re overstriding. That’s a surefire way to get yourself injured,” Darius said, letting his pace quicken slightly, just enough to pull ahead. He was unsure if further conversation would be welcome.
Darius checked on the other runners in his group. They were in better form this week. Perhaps because the first few weeks had weeded out the less dedicated, or perhaps because they knew now that Darius wasn’t fucking around.
Jamie caught up to him again. “I’m not overstriding.”
“Whatever you say. Not like I’m the expert or anything,” Darius snarked back. He was surprised by the ease with which Jamie was engaging him. “You don’t seem as horrified to be near me as everyone else.”
Jamie shrugged. “I’m not really a fan of unfounded gossip. You’ve been kind of a dick to me, but like normal levels of dickishness, and Jennings seems fine with you. So maybe I’m just giving you the benefit of the doubt,” Jamie replied.
“Well, I appreciate it.”
Jamie nodded. “Does it bother you?” he asked. “The negative press?”
Darius laughed. “Does it bother me being called a bigot and told I don’t deserve a spot on the team I’ve spent my whole life working towards?”
“Ok,” Jamie replied with a smirk. “Stupid question.”
The more they ran, the more Darius started to think Jamie was flirting with him.
The tone of his soft teasing was made more noticeable by how little the other runners were interacting with Darius at all.
By the fourth mile, as the gentle banter continued, he was convinced it was flirtation.
The thought of it made him preen a little and ignited some deep-seated desire in him to show off a bit, so he jogged ahead, then turned around, running backwards to maintain the conversation with Jamie, and, well, to check on the other runners, obviously.
It was a ridiculous move, something he would’ve thought was impressive in school, but it did make Jamie laugh, so he counted it as a win.
The laughter didn’t last long as Jamie’s face took on a determined set through the fifth mile of the run.
“I’m gonna need you to distract me here, this is proper awful,” he gasped. “Let’s play a game.”
“A game?” Darius countered. “The game is called ‘Running.’”
“Haha, no like, would you rather, “ Jamie grinned, clearly pulling the idea out of thin air at that very moment.
“Ah,” Darius said sagely, “a game for thirteen-year-olds, that tracks.”
In an immense display of emotional maturity, Jamie stuck out his tongue at him.
“OK, I’ll start,” Jamie sighed dramatically. “Run a marathon in high heels or barefoot.”
“Barefoot, easy,” Darius answered. “I’ve never understood how anyone can take even two steps in heels, much less run in them.”
Jamie just grinned in return. “It’s not that hard, if I can dance in them, I’m sure you could run in them,” he laughed.
Well, that was an image Darius didn’t hate at all.
“Ok, your turn,” Jamie prompted.
“No way, I am not a pre-teen. This is ridiculous.”
“God, you’re so pretentious.” Jamie bumped his shoulder as he ran. “Don’t you ever just want to feel like a kid again?”
“No,” Darius deadpanned.
Jamie laughed, the sound light and unguarded. “Wow, you’re a right laugh at parties, aren’t you?”
Darius raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m the life of the party. But I prefer adult games.”
Jamie stared at him, and Darius realised how that must sound. “Like… uh, Scrabble.”
Jamie snorted. “Scrabble? That’s your idea of cutting loose? Let me guess, you’re the guy who tries to use all seven letters every turn.”
“Efficient use of resources,” Darius shot back, grinning. “Besides, high-scoring words are objectively sexy.”
Jamie laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re so ridiculous. Okay, Mr Efficiency, what do you do for fun that doesn’t involve intimidating people with your vocabulary?”