Читать книгу Wednesday Walks & Wags - Melissa Storm - Страница 11

Chapter 5

Bridget hadn’t been certain Wesley would wait for her, but when she reached the courtyard a minute later, she found him standing with his arms crossed and one white-blond eyebrow lifted in her direction. Wesley’s dogs—Beau and Snow—sat placidly on either side, while Teddy strained against the leash so hard he could scarcely breathe.

He made quite a picture standing with his two large arctic dogs, looking every bit the arctic prince himself. In fact, his hair was so fair, it appeared to blend into his equally pale skin despite its length, which reached almost to his cheekbones. His chin and nose both had a sharpness to them that reminded her of an elegant bird—maybe a swan.

Where Bridget was made of soft curves from head to toe, Wesley had been composed of one angle after another. Even if his unwelcoming expression didn’t keep people at a distance, his generally icy air would most definitely do the trick. Never had she met someone quite so unapproachable, which was perhaps why she insisted on seeking him out tonight.

Or maybe she was just a glutton for punishment.

“I didn’t take you for a runner,” he noted with a smirk, making her think her latter conclusion was probably the right one.

Bridget put a hand on her hip and scowled. “Should I be insulted?”

Wesley shook his head and worked to hide the small smile that played at his lips. “You surprised me in a good way.”

“You invited me because you didn’t think I’d come,” she said aloud just as the realization struck her. Well, that was a jerk move on his part. Now she was glad she’d stopped him on his way through the courtyard.

“Maybe.” He stood straighter and cleared his throat. “But now that you’re here, let’s go.”

Without waiting even a second more, Wesley picked up speed. He and his dogs moved with a practiced fluidity that appeared more like a graceful dance than a sweaty exercise regimen.

“Ready, Teddy?” she asked the little fluffball at her side, wishing she’d had the time or the foresight to change into something other than jeans for her first run . . . well, ever.

She’d been one of the girls who refused to sprint the presidential mile in middle school, preferring to walk and talk with her friends at her normal pace. But now she found herself running after Wesley, her breath already coming out in labored puffs as they rounded the first block.

“C’mon,” he called effortlessly over his shoulder. “If you want to jog together, then you’ve got to be able to keep up.”

Is this just jogging?

She’d never moved so fast in all her life. At least not on purpose.

Bridget’s heart pounded in her ears. The longer they journeyed on, the more her legs felt like limp noodles attached to bear traps—her limbs had begun to lose all feeling while her ankles screamed in protest.

She wanted to ask Wesley to slow down, but she couldn’t get the words out over her gasps for breath.

Teddy—the blessed little munchkin—didn’t complain or slow her down in the slightest. If anything, Bridget felt as if she were the one letting him down. Perhaps her father or brother had run him regularly when he was still living at home with them. They were both far more fit than Bridget had ever been. She’d always been the brainy one, the one who joined after-school academic clubs instead of trying out for sports.

Why had she decided to join Wesley again? Oh, that’s right. She had absolutely no reason whatsoever.

Once again her impulsiveness had landed her in thick soup. But no, she could reason this out, find a way for it to make a bit more sense.

Now that Bridget thought about it, she had a good job and was well on her way to an even better one, just as soon as she finished her DVM coursework. So perhaps that meant it was time to invest a bit more in her health . . . and her subconscious had figured that out before she did, right?

Of course, she was young still—twenty-three—and had inherited a speedy metabolism from her mother’s side of the family, but could she really expect that to last forever? Then again, would getting a bit fat really be the worst thing in the world? She already had chubby cheeks and had recently taken on a somewhat pear-shaped body, and while she considered herself decent-enough looking, she’d never been the kind of girl who needed a boyfriend to feel complete.

“You doing okay?” Wesley called from ahead of her.

“Oh . . . kay!” she managed to cry out between fast, desperate breaths.

Her thoughts fell away, taking too much energy to maintain as their run—or jog or whatever—continued on well past her point of comfort. Bridget focused her gaze on Wesley’s sneakered feet as each hit the payment, then rose in the air once again, propelling him even farther, even faster.

One, two.

One, two.

It became a meditation, drowning out all other thoughts or rationalizations until the only thing she could do was count Wesley’s footfalls and keep pushing herself forward in an inexplicable need to keep up with the new neighbor she wasn’t even sure she liked all that much.

She could have turned around and taken Teddy home at any point, but she wanted to see this through. For some reason, she wanted to prove to Wesley and that knowing smirk of his that she could do this, that she could surprise him in a good way yet again.

One, two.

One, two.

A few more counts . . .

And then, just like that, they found themselves in the apartment courtyard again.

“Good job,” Wesley said as he completed a quick series of stretches.

Bridget fell forward with her hands on her knees, unsure whether she would throw up or simply get high on the sudden rush of oxygen into her lungs. She stayed like that until her breaths became a bit steadier. Her legs, too.

When Bridget finally looked back up, Wesley and his dogs had disappeared. Without saying goodbye.