Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“What did you do at your old school?” His brow lifts as he reaches for his toes.
I’m stunned silent for a moment as I admire his form. His gray T-shirt with the school’s bear mascot on the front is practically molded to his body. It makes me wonder what he looks like underneath.
“I said stretch, Emo,” he barks. A lock of dark hair has fallen in front of one of his eyes, giving him a wild look about him.
I nervously play with my tongue ring and spread my legs until I’m practically in the splits. Then, I flatten my chest out on the asphalt and reach forward with my arms. The burn feels good.
“Were you a dancer?” he asks, his tone gruff.
I walk my way back up on my hands into a sitting position. “Ballet since I was five. It wasn’t until I hit high school that I decided I wanted to run track.”
“A novice then,” he states.
A harsh laugh escapes me. “Novice? I can probably run faster than you.” I mutter the last part under my breath. “Asshole.”
“I highly doubt that,” he snorts.
I lift my arms in the air and stretch them above my head. “I’d be willing to wager.”
His eyes narrow as he glares at me. I’m not sure what it is about me that pisses people off—especially him. “I don’t bet.”
I twist my body and reach toward my left toes. “Then you’ll always lose.”
He scowls and quickly stands. “Up. Show me what you got. What do you want to do?”
I rise to my feet and peel off my T-shirt. “Hurdles.”
“Glad to see you’re wearing a bra this time,” he says in a dry tone, motioning at my black sports bra. His gaze drops to my stomach before he storms away from me toward the hurdles.
Following after him, I wonder why his panties are once again in a wad. “You’ve got a winning personality. Anyone ever tell you that?”
He ignores me and makes an exaggerated gesture to the hurdles. “Impress me, Emo. I don’t let just anyone on my team. Especially not foul-mouthed brats.”
Fire explodes within me and I actually do flip him off this time. “Bully.”
His hands go to his hips and he spreads his feet apart as he watches me. He looks good enough to eat in his navy blue track pants. God, I hate him.
“I won’t time you at first. I want to see your form,” he instructs, ignoring my outburst. “Go.”
I walk over to the starting point and dig my toe in. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and exhale all of my frustration. Then, I fly.
I run faster than I ever have before and leap over each and every hurdle without problem. By the time I reach the end, my chest is about to explode and I’m grinning like an idiot. I wish he would have timed me. I know it would have been a personal best. When I turn around, he’s storming my way wearing his signature scowl. Unease skitters down my spine as self-doubt creeps in.
What did I do wrong?
Nothing.
I know this.
Then why is he mad?
“Your form sucks, Emo.”
I don’t cry often but my eyes prickle with tears. “What?” I choke out.
He grits his teeth. “Again.”
“What’s wrong with my form?” I demand, my chest heaving with exertion.
“You jump too high. You’re losing precious seconds,” he says in a bland tone.
“Time me this time,” I snarl, as I trot back to the beginning. This time, I make sure to focus on my form. I’m slower but I think I did better.
“Nope.”
I’m still bent over catching my breath when he makes his way over to me.
“Still too high. Your time sucks, Brook.”
“River,” I snap.
He smirks and checks his watch. “I don’t have all day. Again. I want you to slide over those hurdles. This isn’t the high jump so don’t jump so high.”
Defeat weighs on my shoulders and I swallow down tears of failure. Again and again I run. My focus is so much on my form that I know my time gets slower and slower. He makes me do it so many times I lose count. The football players have long gone and the sun is setting on the horizon. I’m starving and thirsty and tired.
“Again.”
If he says that word one more time, I’m going to choke him with my bare hands. With tears in my eyes, I attempt to ignore the burn in my calves and hamstrings as I prepare to do it again. I focus all of my anger and frustration into my speed. But my form is better and I can tell I’m nailing it as I fly across each hurdle. My focus is on the end when my leg gives out. I’m jumping so low that my toe clips the last hurdle, causing me to crash forward. I land on my hands and knees, fire exploding through me. The moment I roll to a stop, I collapse and burst into tears.