Page 18 of Your Pace or Mine (Running for the Romance #1)

Jamie felt his neck heat up and was sure his face had turned pink. “That’s good,” he said with a tight nod.

“Yeah,” Darius replied. “Would make my dating life really fucking awkward if I had a problem with that.”

Oh. Oh.

Jamie had always prided himself on being able to tell if someone was into men.

It was the little things. Typically, the way their eyes lingered on him.

It had been a useful skill in his early days in theatre, letting him know when he should flirt a little more and when it wasn’t worth it.

With Darius, though, he’d firmly put any thoughts in that direction into the wishful thinking box and slammed the lid shut.

Determined not to linger too long on the topic lest he seem like an opportunistic lech. Jamie swiftly changed course. “So, is that why you were volunteering at the clinic then? To try to get in good with Anders?”

Darius sighed. “Yeah, fat lot of good that did.”

“I think you were being too obvious about it.”

“What do you mean?”

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. “It’s like, when you want someone to like you, you can’t just go in all direct-like, asking them what they want from you. You have to be more subtle, look for the clues and then give them what they want before they ask for it.”

“That’s very How to Win Friends and Influence People of you.”

“Yeah, well. It’s worked out pretty well for me in theatre, don’t see why it wouldn’t apply for you as well.”

“That how you find work, then? Trick people into liking you?” Darius asked. There was a judgmental tone in his voice that Jamie didn’t love, but he ignored it.

“Look, I hear other things work too. You know, like nepotism.”

Darius snorted. “Okay, so, if you’re the expert. What do I do about Anders?”

“Well, you need to disprove his misconceptions about you, and kind of find little ways to give him what he wants.”

“You saw the article, Anders thinks I’m homophobic.”

Jamie wasn’t sure what to say; Darius probably didn’t need to hear how that misconception was pretty widely shared. “That’s— I’m sorry.”

“And I know the obvious solution is to come out. It’s not even, I’m not against it. Like everyone who matters knows, but how would I even do that without a cringe announcement, or it feeling contrived. Plus, it would be a media shitstorm, but—“

“Why?”

“I’m going to suggest you Google me if you want that info,” Darius snarked.

An idea was forming in Jamie’s head… this could, they could help each other out here. “What if you were dating someone?”

“I’m not, though.”

“I know, but stay with me here, what if?” Jamie mused.

“What if you were just photographed with your boyfriend a few times, maybe strategically run into Anders when you’re on a date, or better, at a charity event or something?

At the very least, you’d show the rest of the selection committee he’s wrong. ”

Darius was quiet for a minute. “That sounds less horrible. But there is one problem, Jamie. I don’t have a boyfriend to do those things with.”

“I mean me, it could be me.”

“Are you asking me out?” Darius asked incredulously.

Jamie stuttered for a moment. He almost said yes… almost. “I mean, like, we pretend. Just for a few months.”

There was no response from Darius, and Jamie prepared to launch his case.

Then.

“What’s in it for you?”

Other than getting to spend more time with the man who had featured in all of his fantasies for weeks now? Well, actually. “There’s an event, beginning of April. I need a date for it.”

“Okay,” Darius replied.

“Wait, really?”

“Worth a shot, isn’t it? My sister’s always telling me to try new things, and I’ve never had a fake relationship before. So, how do we do this?”

Jamie baulked. “I, I might need to get back to you on that one.”

He could hear the teasing tone in Darius’s voice as he replied. “Of course, I eagerly await your guidance.”

Jamie hadn’t expected Darius to agree. It had been a spontaneous thought.

But this really could help him. A bit of publicity could give him the career boost he needed, and he really didn’t want to show up to the Oliviers alone, not with Stephen up for an award and certain to be in attendance with his perfect little fiancée. Actually, this was a great idea.

The line had fallen silent as Jamie’s thoughts raced. He searched around to fill it. “What did you get up to today? Run a couple hundred miles?”

“Changing the subject?” Darius replied with a laugh, his crisp accent accentuating the syllables. “I had Sunday dinner with my family.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“It was an experience.”

“Tell me about them?”

Darius smiled. “I’ve got a little sister, Selena. She’s the best. Also, my worst fucking enemy, but I’ve been led to believe that’s standard for siblings.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jamie replied.

“Only child?”

“And spoiled rotten.” Jamie grinned.

“It shows,” Darius retorted.

Jamie laughed at the deadpan tone of his response. “You’re funny. How come I didn’t know you could be funny?”

“I hide it very well,” Darius replied. “Or maybe you’re just easy to please, you are my boyfriend now.”

A little thrill ran up Jamie’s spine. That sounded good coming from Darius. “I’m definitely easy to please,” he replied, the quip punctuated by a yawn.

Darius grinned, and there was that fucking dimple again. Too fucking adorable.

“Get some sleep, Jamie. You need to be well-rested for training next weekend.”

“I will be, don’t worry.”

They said goodnight and hung up, but Jamie didn’t fall asleep. He felt like something had shifted inside of him. Instead of a restless night listening to the sounds of the city, he spent the night replaying the turns of their conversation and analysing the timbre of Darius Hewitt’s laugh.

The next few days passed by in a blur of activity.

If he wasn’t teaching, he was practising.

And if he wasn’t doing either of those, he was grafting to try to get his fundraising target closed.

He was more than halfway there now, but the marathon was coming up so quickly, and the idea of going into debt over a charity fundraiser was utterly horrifying.

Despite his busy schedule, he continued his text exchange with Darius.

He mostly just sent him random nonsense about his day.

He’d taken to sending photos of things that reminded him of the stoic runner— a greyhound that he swore could have been Darius’s twin, a selfie in front of an ad for trainers that Darius featured in, a Scrabble board.

He also peppered in suggestions of things they could try to soft-launch their fake dating scheme.

Then, every night, just after Jamie had settled in his bed, leaving the chaos of the day behind, Darius would ring.

They would talk until one of them started to nod off.

It was nice, having someone to tell about his day every night, to fall asleep knowing that someone was thinking of him.

Part of Jamie was concerned that those late-night conversations were just Darius humouring him.

He had a tendency to jump around from topic to topic, and he knew he’d spent too long ranting last night about the government’s failure to meet its climate goals, but he’d never been great at keeping quiet about the things he cared about.

Darius seemed genuinely interested, though.

He didn’t just nod along, like most people did when Jamie got on one.

Darius engaged. He asked questions and offered his opinions back, even on sillier topics like Jamie’s outrage at his fellow Scouser, John Hulley, not getting the recognition he deserved as the true founder of the modern Olympics.

They hadn’t even been on a single fake date yet, and Jamie was starting to worry he was already in too deep.

Darius was just so much more than he’d expected.

He was funny and kind, making Jamie laugh with his stories of childhood antics and races gone wrong.

He was supportive, too. Jamie had lost count of how many times he’d offered to cover his fundraising target, but Jamie resisted.

He already felt guilty about hiding the extent of his motives for this fake relationship from Darius—throwing money into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Darius was still hassling him pretty regularly about seeing a physio, but they’d mostly moved past talking about Jamie’s injury now. The main focus was developing a plan to love-bomb the Olympic selection committee with examples of how Darius was the team playeriest of team players around.

On Thursday, after a long day of teaching and very little movement on his fundraiser, Jamie was in a melancholy mood.

“Tell me a story?” he asked. There was a vulnerability to his voice that he couldn’t quite hide, but Darius seemed to be humouring him tonight. He didn’t call it out.

“A bedtime story?”

Jamie nodded.

“Of course, love,” Darius replied softly, as if he were speaking to a pet or a small child.

It was obviously just a turn of phrase. Jamie used it himself all the time, pretty much everyone from North of the M25 did—but coming from Darius’s lips, that little word felt like it meant something.

Jamie didn’t want to get his hopes up, though; it wasn’t like he had anything special he could offer someone like Darius.

Someone with the world literally at their feet.

“Do you want to hear about my worst race?”

“Is it a happy story?”

“It is, I promise.” Darius smiled.

Jamie allowed himself to relax into the mattress, the world fading away as he listened to the soft elegance of Darius’s voice, the stretched vowels and clipped consonants washing over him.

“This is going back, like, quite a bit, but when I was about thirteen, this club my parents were part of had a sort of family sports day. Selena was only around four, and she insisted on entering the three-legged race with me.”

Jamie let out a soft laugh. “Let me guess, she was a natural, and you were a total dead weight?”