The Art of Running in Heels

by Rachel Gibson

  Lexie waited for Geraldine’s hand to move. So much as a twitch and she was going to tackle the older woman. “I know how much you want that vacation. When this all blows over, I’ll send you to Disney World.”

  “No, thank you. It’s not the same as winnin’ it.” Geraldine turned and looked at Lexie. “I told Sean I’d keep your secret.” She picked up an imaginary key and locked her lips. “I’m not telling a soul,” she said from one corner of her mouth.

  Halfway through Wendy, Lexie called her mother and learned that her agent was trying to get ahold of her. People, Us Weekly, OK, and Star magazines wanted exclusives, while TMZ and the National Enquirer had staff looking everywhere for her.

  “Are you safe, honey?” her mother asked. Lexie looked across her shoulder at Geraldine and could not give her mother a reassuring answer. “That’s all I care about right now.”

  The back door of the house opened, drawing Lexie’s attention to the kitchen. She heard the creak of Sean’s footsteps seconds before he walked through patches of deep shadow and bright sunlight toward her. “Yes,” she told her mother without stopping to think about it. “I am.” For some reason, she felt safe with a man she didn’t even know. A man she was pretty sure didn’t even like her very much. “I’ll call you when I get home tomorrow,” she said, and hung up the phone.

  He stopped in the doorway and raised his hands up and behind him, grabbing fistfuls of his sweatshirt. As he pulled the sweatshirt over his head, a white T-shirt beneath rose up his hard stomach and ripped abs. The end of the T-shirt stopped at mid-chest, hovering for several drool-worthy seconds before sliding back down to the waistband of his jogging pants. He used the sweatshirt to dry his hair, wet from sweat and chilled dew hanging in the air. He looked from one woman to the next. “What’s going on?”

  “Ah.” Lexie had to remove her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Nothing.”

  “No one’s called Wendy for that vacation.”

  “I’ll be upstairs.”

  Doing what? Lexie wondered. Her answer came shortly with the unmistakable bump and clang of a weight machine.

  “He must lift every day,” Lexie said, more to herself than to anyone else in the room.

  “He has to keep fit for his job.”

  “What job?” She removed her gaze from the doorway and looked at Geraldine. “He’s never told me what he does for a living.”

  “Oh.” Geraldine’s eyes rounded. “Commercial fisherman.”

  That didn’t sound right. “He said he doesn’t fish?”

  “Oh.”

  “What?” Lexie said through a laugh. “Is it a secret?”

  “Yeah.” Geraldine nodded. “So secret we can’t talk about it.”

  Which of course made Lexie super curious. “Does he work for the government?”

  “If I told ya, I’d have to kill ya.” Geraldine laughed like she was real funny. Evidently Geraldine meant it, too. Above the sound of Wendy’s last segment, Geraldine talked about everything but Sean. She recited a lifetime of her misery. With every “Bless you” or “I’m so sorry” Lexie uttered in commiseration, the older woman elaborated and exaggerated her suffering.

  I’m being punished, Lexie thought. Punished for:

  Running out on her wedding.

  Cowardly hiding out.

  Having bad thoughts. a. Masking tape.

  Geraldine’s mouth.

  Finally, at noon, she left her spot on the couch and made lunch. She whipped up chicken salad sandwiches, complete with grapes, walnuts, and cranberries. She garnished the plates with radish roses. Geraldine loved the garnish, hated the multigrain bread, and ate it all despite that.

  Lexie didn’t wait around to chat with Geraldine. Instead she stuffed several paper napkins in the breast pocket of the shirt Sean had loaned her, loaded up a plate, and walked up the stairs next to the back door. The top floor was mostly one big room filled with exercise equipment and a hallway with several closed doors near the back. Lexie’s footsteps faltered, and she almost dropped the plate as her eyes came to a skidding halt on a sweaty, half-naked Sean doing crunches on an exercise ball. An Edmonton Oilers hat covered his head, and he’d changed into a pair of red gym shorts and CrossFit shoes, but her eyeballs weren’t stuck on his shoes. They were glued to his bare chest and the sweaty glow covering his bare skin. A bead of sweat dripped from the dark hair in the hollow of his armpits to the exercise ball. Normally, all that sweat would have grossed her out, but he wasn’t a normal guy.

  “I made lunch,” she said, and made her way across his line of vision to a workout bench.

  She took a seat and placed the plate beside her. When she looked over at him, he was sitting on the ball, knees shoulder width apart, just looking back at her blankly. That’s when she noticed he was wearing earbuds.

  “I made lunch,” she repeated herself. She tried not to stare as he rose and walked toward her, all hard muscles and sculpted abs. A bead of perspiration ran down the center of his chest to wet the happy trail circling his navel and disappearing beneath his waistband.

  “Thanks.” He grabbed a towel from a weight machine and dried his face and chest. “You can go back downstairs if you want.”

  For some reason, that sounded like he wanted to get rid of her, but she wasn’t ready to leave. “I’m good.” He stopped in front of her, and her eyes just naturally landed on his happy trail dipping south. She felt her cheeks warm as she lifted her gaze up his flat belly and the defined muscles of his chest. She looked past his square chin and into his deep green eyes looking right back at her. She felt like a perv, but where was she supposed to look? “I just need a few moments of sanity before I go back down,” she said. “I need a short break from hearing the details of your mother’s near-death experiences,” she said.

  One side of his mouth twisted upward in an uneven smile as he tossed the towel aside and sat on the other end of the bench. He picked up half a sandwich and took two huge bites.

  “Hungry?”

  He smiled as he chewed and pointed to the other sandwiches.

  “No thank you.” She’d snacked as she’d made lunch, but mostly she wasn’t hungry after listening to Geraldine’s bowel movement disorder. “The description of your mother’s skin lesions and bloody stools made me lose my appetite.”

  His smile fell and he reached for a big bottle of BioSteel on the floor. His green eyes got a little squinty at the corners, like maybe she’d insulted his mother.

  “Not that she isn’t a lovely woman.”

  He swallowed almost the entire bottle before he lowered it. “She’s a hypochondriac.”

  Even though several feet separated them, Lexie felt the heat of him rolling off in waves. It surrounded and pressed in on her. Overpowering her senses like a blowtorch to the face, and she liked it.

  “Growing up, I was a hypochondriac,” she said into the uncomfortable silence. She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out the paper napkins and put them next to the plate. “Band-Aids were my addiction, and I loved the pain relievers my mother kept on hand for me. It wasn’t until I was about ten that I discovered the pain relievers were actually white Smarties.” He grabbed another sandwich and a BioSteel from the pack on the floor by his foot. “I know you’re probably thinking that I should have figured out that the medicinal Smarties where just like all Smarties, but I didn’t figure it out until I was ten.” She glanced up at the A-frame ceiling painted a bright white. “I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out.”

  He popped the top off his sports drink and sucked down half the bottle. “White Smarties taste like orange cream.”

  She lowered her gaze to his. “And yellow like pineapple.” She looked into his green eyes. “Most people think all Smarties taste the same.”

  “I know my Smarties.”

  She raised a brow. “Did you line them up according to color?”

  “Of course.”

  “We’re Smarties connoisseurs.” She laughed and shook her head. “In the
same room.”

  He smiled and pulled his hat from his head. A lock of damp hair escaped and curled over his forehead, touching his brow like a big C. “What are the chances?” He combed it back with his fingers, taking his time adjusting his cap as if getting it just right on his head. “I ran into town earlier, and your picture is on a bunch of newspapers. I’m surprised no one has spotted you.”

  “I’m surprised your mother hasn’t turned me in.” She wanted to ask if he was a spy, or at least worked for the Canadian equivalent of the CIA. “This whole thing has gotten way out of control.” She watched him reach for another sandwich and added, “It seems like it started out small, but every day it just snowballs bigger.” He handed her a bottle of BioSteel. “Thanks.” She took a sip of the sports drink that reminded her of Gatorade. “I don’t know how I got here or what to do about it.”

  “I know the feeling.” He swallowed, drawing her attention to the muscles stacked around the hollow of his throat. “Shit can go sideways real fast.”

  She wondered if that was a military term and fought the urge to look lower as the words “devil’s playground” slid across her brain like a serpent’s tongue. She purposely raised her gaze up his face to his sweaty hat. “Are you an Oilers fan?”

  “We used to live in Edmonton.” He glanced at her, then pointed at the plate. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He reached for another sandwich. “Can’t hardly live in Alberta without being an Oilers fan.”

  “My dad played for the Oilers. Of course, that was before I was born.” She stood and moved away from the devil’s playground to a cable weight machine in the middle of the room. The pins in the dual weight stacks were set at three hundred. “Hockey players get traded a lot, but my dad played in Seattle until he retired after ten seasons. My mother wishes he’d stop coaching and retire completely.”

  He took the napkin from the bench and wiped his mouth. “Why?”

  “Hockey teams are on the road a lot.” Wasn’t there something about the devil’s workshop, too?

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out her Chap Stick to cover her suddenly dry lips. She hadn’t been to First Baptist for a while, but she was pretty sure she’d been warned to stay away from both. “He gets cranky and jet-lagged, and Mom thinks he’s getting too old to keep up such a hectic pace. She wants him to stay home and help hang wallpaper, but I doubt that will happen.”

  The one-sided smile she recognized tugged at the corner of his mouth and was followed by an unexpected chuckle.

  “Every time he comes home from the road, he complains more and more about old injuries.” She liked his laugh. It was deep and honest and slid down her spine. “But I’d much rather hear him complain about old injuries than grumble about some of the players.” She took the top off the Chap Stick and smeared her lips. Hadn’t there also been something about devil’s tools? “Those rants can last a long time.”

  “What does he rant about?” He stood and moved toward her.

  “Everything.” He hooked an arm over the top of the weight machine and looked down into her eyes. He was close and half naked, and against her will, she responded to the pheromones attacking her senses. She should move. Run away. “If he thinks a guy’s taking a dive.” The serpent’s tongue whispered, Maybe later.

  His hand rose from the machine and he pushed her hair from her temple. “What else?”

  The slight touch scattered warm tingles down the side of her neck and across her chest. Earlier, he’d made her feel safe, and now he made her feel tingles. Maybe it was stress. Only she felt relaxed. Maybe it was the devil in her head. Only that voice sounded a lot like her own.

  “What else?” His finger slid down the side of her face to her jaw.

  Maybe it was Stockholm syndrome. Only she hadn’t been kidnapped. “What?”

  “What else does your dad get grouchy about?”

  “Oh.” She took a deep breath and let it out, hoping to clear her head, but not having much luck with his touch on the side of her face. “He gets really grouchy if he thinks some guy cares more about his hair than scoring goals.”

  He dropped his hand.

  “He thinks a guy’s hair shouldn’t flow beneath his helmet,” she explained, and took a step backward. “When I talked to him yesterday, he wasn’t happy with the team’s new sniper. I guess the guy needed some time off to deep-condition his flow.” The little tingles began to dissipate and she said through a relieved laugh, “Dad said he’s a nancy-pants.”

  “A what?” One dark brow rose up his forehead. “What’s that?”

  “Nancy-pants is a . . . a . . .” She tried to think of a word, other than the one the guys on the team used.

  “Pussy?”

  That was the word, all right.

  “Your dad thinks this guy is a pussy?”

  She probably wouldn’t go that far.

  A deep furrow creased his forehead, and he moved across the room to a hook with his white T-shirt on it. “Because of his hair?”

  “There are probably other reasons.” She was slightly relieved when he pulled the shirt over his head. “Maybe he’s not worth his big salary? Or isn’t a team player and gives the veterans on the team attitude. Dad says he’s a showboat and rides his stick across the ice.”

  “Maybe your dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  That sounded oddly belligerent. “Are you a Chinooks fan?” But nothing she hadn’t encountered before. Hockey fans could be fiercely loyal to their favorite players.

  “The jury is still out on that.” A deep scowl creased his forehead as he moved to the bench and reached for his sports drink.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “You?” He shook his head and tossed a BioSteel at her. “Your father’s wrong, though.”

  She caught it with one hand and moved toward him. “My dad’s a good judge of character. The guy probably has other issues.”

  “Probably.” His gaze swept across her face, and the corners of his mouth turned up into a slight smile. “Probably has issues, and one of those snowballs you were talking about is giving him a big problem.”

  “What problem?” His fingers touched her face, and she fought the urge to turn her cheek into his hand.

  “This.” He lowered his mouth to hers and said against her lips, “You.”

  Lexie had the feeling they weren’t talking about a hockey player anymore. She slid her hands up his T-shirt and rose to the balls of her feet. Through the material, his skin felt hot beneath her palms, and his heart boomed in his chest. “I’m not your problem.” She touched the tip of her tongue to his top lip, and his breath whooshed from his lungs.

  He chuckled and slid his hand to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair before he said, “You’re chaos.” He tilted her face up, and her mouth parted even further. Then he softly sucked her bottom lip, and she felt it, too. The kiss a stark contradiction to the hot rush flowing across her chest, spreading fire and creating chaos. Lexie took a step back before she gave in to it. One of the last things she needed was added mayhem in her life. Not even if that mayhem had solid muscles and sexy green eyes.

  Sean pulled the Subaru to a stop at the Harbor Inn and walked Lexie to her room. They moved through pools of light as a chilly ocean breeze caught her hair and brushed it across her cheek.

  “I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, and for some reason felt a bit panicky. Which of course was silly. She’d known him for only two days. “Bright and early.” She stopped in front of room seven and looked up into his face. She didn’t know Sean. She probably would never see him again after tomorrow. “I’m looking forward to going home, but not to the Gettin’ Hitched madness.”

  The light above the door shone down on them; his lashes cast a faint shadow as he returned her gaze. “You’re tough. You survived my mother.” The tips of his fingers brushed her neck as he pulled the ends of
Jimmy’s collar under her throat. “I think she may have even liked you.”

  “What about you?”

  “Do I like you?” One side of his mouth lifted, and the same breeze that tossed her hair about her head brought his scent to her nose, and she breathed him in. Funny that she’d known him for such a short time but she recognized the smell of his skin. Funnier still, it calmed her when she didn’t know she was nervous.

  “You’re a pain in the ass.” His silent laughter and obvious amusement creased the corners of his green eyes.

  She leaned back against the door. He calmed her. Everything about him felt safe, stable in a world that had become so uncertain. “Well, you won’t see me after tomorrow.” He didn’t correct her and she looked away, into the dark parking lot. “I won’t be a big pain in your ass anymore.” He placed his fingers on her cheek and turned her face to him.

  “I didn’t say you were a big pain in the ass.” His fingers touched the side of her jaw and raised her face to his. “I guess you’re okay.”

  “I’m glad you think I’m okay.” She meant it to come out a little sarcastic; instead she sounded a little breathy.

  “For a runaway bride.”

  “I guess you’re okay for a guy who had me babysit his mother for two days.”

  He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip and smiled. “Did you have somewhere else you needed to be?”

  She kissed his thumb, then put her hands on his big arms. “Acapulco.” She swayed into him, and her breasts pressed into his chest. Her palms slid to his shoulders, and she rose onto the balls of her feet. “I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon in Acapulco.”

  As he had the day before, he dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. “With a guy you don’t know.”

  She didn’t know him, either. Only two short days, but after his mouth came back for a third kiss, she wasn’t counting anymore.

  His tongue touched hers and swept into her mouth, hot and intense and curling her toes into her boots. A deep, satisfied “uuh” came from his chest, and she combed her fingers into his hair. He liked it, and the “uuh” turned into a deep groan. The kiss caught fire and she clung to him, the only stable thing in a world gone out of control. She slid her hands down his sides and back until he captured her wrists. Without breaking the kiss, he pinned them to the door above her head, and something deep and primitive within her responded to the force of his restraint. She moaned deep in her throat as desire twisted and knotted her stomach.