by Peyton Banks
About the Author
Bestselling author, L. Loren holds a Business Management Degree from the University of Mount Olive. As a former call center supervisor, her desire to write lay dormant for years, until she found the courage to live her dream. She is currently based in Birmingham, AL with her loving and supportive husband.
L. Loren created her own brand of erotic romance that she dubbed LoveRotica - Love stories with an edge of sexy. Her catalog of sexy stories is self-published and available on Amazon.
Her stories and poems have appeared in various anthologies, publications, and literary journals. L. is also the curator of the Love is Color Anthology, available for free on Smashwords.
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You Can’t Run From Love
A Second Chance Sports Romance
LEESHA MCMOY
Blurb
How can you love someone when you've forgotten how to love yourself?
Jamayla Grey had everything she ever dreamt of.
Fitness, success... love, but after being tripped by a competitor and injured, she lost two of those things and threw the last away.
Now, six months later, she’s fully recovered physically, but the mental scars still plague her mind. She needs to get it together soon, though, because she barely scraped through her last competition.
So, as her life at university begins, she sets herself three rules. Train hard, win every race, and don’t think about him.
But on the very first day, one of those rules is smashed to pieces, and she soon realises that no matter how hard you try, you can’t run from love.
1
Jamayla
Train Hard.
Win every race.
Don’t think about him.
Those were the only rules I had for my new life here at Loughborough Uni, and one is already fucked.
Big-time fucked.
I twist my mind around some quickly made up ‘new rules’ and try not to self-destruct from the remembered sight of the most stunning black king that’s ever existed.
Short, soft beard, delicious, kissable lips, gorgeous smile, perfect dark skin that glows under stadium lights…
I have pictures, so it’s not like I’d forgotten what he looked like, but there’s nothing like seeing someone like Emaris in the flesh.
No racing heart, no goosebumps, and definitely no tingling in…
Dammit. I’m just adding to the broken rule list now.
I almost don’t believe it. Surely, this has to be a dream? I scoured everyone's social media for weeks to make sure no one was coming here.
So what the hell is he doing here!
I pinch myself.
He’s still there.
Every hair on my body stands to attention as I near him, as if it knows it’s close to its other, once, better half. He's kitted out in Nike, our sponsor, and although the black tracksuit is baggy, my traitorous eyes force me to see all the rock-solid, shredded muscles underneath.
Mah—Emaris, is a runner, too. One, if not the best, at our level. He runs the one and two hundred metres, and yes, so do I. We’ve known each other for years, but it was the return to school after we both turned sixteen that changed everything.
We could’ve been hit with Cupid’s arrow from how fierce our attraction to each other was, but we weren’t even physical for another year after, and even then, it was mostly touching.
Besides, I was more than happy with merely kissing him for hours.
God, his lips can do and make you feel things that shouldn’t be possible.
I push away the memories and pull my hoodie over my head before he sees me. I have track, first thing, so the last thing I need is to be thinking about how well his firm waist used to fit between my thighs.
“Jama?”
Shit.
I take a deep breath as I turn, but it gets stuck somewhere mid-exhale. “Emaris.”
Something that looks a lot like hurt flashes in his hazel eyes. “Oh, so we back on a real name basis now, huh?”
I want to smile, badly, but I hold it. “We ain't on any basis.”
“Don't I know it,” I think he mutters.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Bath?”
“I was, but I heard about the programmes and shit here, so I switched.”
I cross my arms. “Right.”
“Yeah...”
His gaze drifts over my face, telling me he’s doing the same thing I did. It’s been six months since we saw each other, but it feels like a lifetime. I couldn’t face going back to school after what happened, so my dad home-schooled me through my A-Levels.
I missed him so much…
“I’ve gotta go. I have track first thing.”
His smile isn’t what I expected to see in response to that. “So do I. I'll walk with you.”
Ugh... “Sure.”
He laughs, but that's not even what annoys me, it’s the brief hand on my lower back that makes me tremble when I turn that does.
Stupid body.
Don't get me wrong, I might’ve said I missed him, but I still do. I still love him, too, but I ain't good for him. Not anymore. Since my injury, I ain't even been good for myself.
He deserves better, someone who has their shit together… Emaris is a king in all ways and deserves to be treated like one. Especially after what he's been through. Car accident when he was thirteen, losing his dad, his little sister, but miraculously, he made it.
It slays me to think of someone else making him happy, but it can't be me.
“So, how you been?” he asks.
“Good. You?”
“Alright.”
I frown to myself. Just, alright? He's got everything he ever wanted. Everything I should've had by now. Since I started competing again last month, things have picked up, but I still have a lot of work to do to prove I deserve to be here.
I’m lucky I didn’t lose my scholarship.
“Jama, I was hoping—”
“That's me,” I say, spotting the changing rooms. “Good luck out there.”
I hear him sigh before I jog to safety, then as soon as the changing room door shuts behind me, I do the same.
2
Emaris
I sigh as I watch Jama run away from me. Seeing her after all this time has me fucked up. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but she’s also still running away from me.
But I'm not playing this game with her.
The fact I'm here should tell her that. Yeah, I came up with some bullshit excuse as to why I switched universities, but truthfully? There's only one reason I'm here, and it has nothing to do with any athletics programmes.
I debated it for a while. I always dreamt of going to Bath, but I've dreamt of her more, and as much as my passion for running consumes my life, I also know how I want my future to look.
I shrug my bag higher up on my shoulder as I head to the men's changing rooms. I get it. Jama thinks I don't, but I do. What happened to her knocked her confidence, it would’ve anybody’s, but cutting herself off from everyone and making herself unhappy, I don't get.
And I know how happy I made her. I've got the pictures to prove it.
I don't know if she blames herself or what, she never spoke to me about it, but she did nothing wrong. Everyone saw Tia trip her, and Tia even lost her scholarship at Birmingham because of it.
Whatever she thought, though, made her cut me off. She sent a text from the hospital, telling me how much she cared about me but that she couldn't see me anymore.
And that was it.
She fucking killed me.
I look for her when I get out to the track, but it's another five minutes before the girls come out, and then my eyes are immediately drawn to her. She’s wearing the new sports bra and leggings kit by Nike, in pink, and her tight, firm curves don’t just have me lookin
g, but a few of the guys beside me, too.
Her abs tighten as she breaks into a jog, and I remember all the nights I ran my tongue over her silky skin. She always took such good care of her body, and mine. There wouldn’t be a night we spent together where her hands weren’t worshipping me somewhere.
She was my first everything, and I was hers, but I knew from hearing my boys talk about girls that what we had was different. It wasn’t just the physical with us. She spoke life into me, made me better at everything I did, even encouraged me to raise my grades.
But don’t get it twisted. When we were physical? Fuck…
I still haven’t been with anyone else. I tried to, a few months after she broke up with me, but I couldn’t do it. My boys called me a pussy, but I didn’t give a fuck. To me, it wasn’t the same.
When you’ve suffered loss like I have, you appreciate when someone is really down for you and not just there for the material shit. It’s another reason why I couldn’t let her go.
She ties her natural curls up as she nears and tries not to look my way, but I know she will before she passes. She can act like she’s annoyed that I’m here, but deep down, I know she’s not.
Far fucking from.
My pulse rises as she slows, and then her dark, almond eyes find mine through her long lashes. Her naturally pouted lips part as she sucks in a breath. Soft... So fucking soft. I used to kiss her for hours. That shit was electric, too. She’d make me kiss her after I ate her pussy, and…
Don’t think about that shit.
She nods, but then I watch her eyes lower to my body just before she passes me, and I know for certain I made the right decision following her here. She can deny herself what she wants all she likes, but I can guarantee, with a chemistry like ours, she won’t be able to keep that shit up for long.
Not now she has to face me every day.
I turn, and so does she before she blushes and sprints away.
Yeah, she wants me here.
And she’s still mine.
3
Jamayla
I remain in the changing rooms long after everyone else has left.
My performance out there was shit.
I was never like this before my ankle sprain. I was so confident, so sure of myself. No one came close to beating me, but now… It's as if I'm scared to win.
There’s nothing physically wrong with me anymore. I've had hundreds of scans; my parents own their own dating app and made sure I had the best medical treatment and rehabilitation possible, so I know I'm fully healed, but that doesn't seem to make any difference.
It’s my mind that’s the problem.
“Jamayla?”
I look up at Mister Stanson, the Coach. He’s mid-forties but has the body of a twenty-year-old. He didn’t say much to me today, but I saw him watching. “Hey. I'm just leaving.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder to stop me from standing. “Can I have a quick word first?”
I reluctantly drop my bag. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“I know about your sprain. About what happened.”
“Oh, right…”
He rests his arms on his knees. “And I’ve taught a lot of athletes that have been through what you’re dealing with now.”
“And that is...?”
“Loss of confidence, fear... I've seen you compete before, so I know what you're capable of. You're still her, Jamayla. You just have to believe.”
“Yeah... That's the hardest part.”
“I understand, but you've got me and the rest of the coaches to help you, okay? We have a lot of positives to work with. Your technique, your fitness level, your drive, they’re all on point, so we’ll go from there.”
“All right. Thanks.” I know the coaches are amazing, so I hope they can help me. “When is the first comp?”
“Qualifiers for the West Midlands Champs are up first, next month, but don’t worry, we’ll do everything we can to make sure you murder them.”
I laugh. “Should I be worried?”
“Not unless you're scared of hard work.”
“Definitely not.”
“Good. Then I'll see you tomorrow.”
My mood is lighter when I leave the changing rooms. Maybe Mister Stanson is exactly what I need. There are other good runners here that I intend to use to motivate me, but my biggest rival is my mind. I know that.
I have free period now so head to the library to make a start on some reading for English on Wednesday, but of course my thoughts return to Emaris. I almost fainted when I saw his semi-hard dick print trying to escape his athletic tights, and it took ages for my nipples to relax afterwards.
He always did do some crazy shit to my body.
But as much as he’s beautiful to look at, it’s Emaris’ way of seeing the world and his treatment of others that really makes him the king he is. He isn’t cocky about his athletic abilities, he’s always humble, respectful of others, driven as hell, just like me.
He was everything I wanted.
We literally did everything together. Meal prepped, trained, studied, there wasn’t anything we didn’t do. We motivated each other. My running was better, everything in my life was better.
Do I regret breaking it off with him? Hell yes, I regretted it as soon as I sent the text, but I was so emotionally damaged after getting hurt, I didn’t want to bring him down with me or take it out on him.
It wasn’t easy, making the decision. I grieved for what we had. Cried a million tears. I honestly never thought I'd see him again. He would forever be a perfect memory.
But life has clearly decided that Mah isn’t supposed to be just a memory, and I’m terrified, because the more I see him, the more I don’t want him to be either.
4
Emaris
I take the seat beside Jama in English. I wasn't expecting to have any more classes with her, but I'm happy as fuck I do.
She tries to ignore me as I stare at her, but she soon sighs and turns her head my way. “Hey.”
I smile. One, because I’m loving seeing her face on a daily basis again, and two, because I know how much she likes it. “Hey.”
Her eyes drop to my lips briefly, telling me she still does, but then she turns away.
I keep my eyes on her for most of the lesson, though, and I know she feels it. She keeps shifting in her seat and tucking her curls behind her ear.
Yeah, she definitely feels it, but I’m not immune. I’m hard as fuck under this desk remembering how good her hands felt on me, what it was like to be inside her, how fucking good various parts of her body tastes…
I remember it all.
Jama tries to run off after class, but I corner her before she gets the chance, and then her eyes are pleading as she looks up at me. “Yes?
She can plead all she wants, but I’m not gonna leave her alone. She’s lucky I don’t take what’s mine and kiss the shit out of her right here in the corridor. “What are you doing after classes?”
“Nothin—I mean, studying.”
I roll my eyes. “You gonna eat first, though, right?”
She bites the edge of her bottom lip but quickly stops when she realises what she’s doing. She knows how much I love that shit. “Yeah...”
“So let me feed you first.”
“Uh, I don't think—”
“Room two-one-two, east block, five o'clock,” I say before I leave her.
Jama might be determined, stubborn, and head-strong, but that shit never worked on me. She’d practically hand me her control with a single glance. That’s the reason she’s gone out of her way to avoid me for the last six months.
“Mah!” she calls after me, but as tempted as I am to turn around, I keep walking.
Now I know I'm breaking down those walls.
She forgets that I know her.
Dead on five, I hear a knock at my door. I saw her out there a few minutes ago, but she's got this thing about being exactly on time. No matter what for.
I let her in and check h
er out while her back is turned. She's sporting green leggings and a matching, cropped hoodie with a vest underneath. Anyone else might not think she’s made an effort, but trust me, she definitely has.
She smells good as fuck, too. Prada, Candy, my favourite.
“You find it okay?”
“Yeah…” She looks around. “Where are your roommates?”
“Work.”
She nods.
I know she doesn't work. Not many of the athletes do. Most of us are sponsored here by various brands, have scholarships, or both. Work means less time for training, and winning.
“You hungry?”
She finally turns to face me. “Yeah. What did you make?”
“Thai beef stir fry. That good?”
“Yeah. I ain't hitting the track that hard tonight.”
“Aight.”
She follows me to the kitchen. “So, how have you been?”
“Alright.” I fire up the stove and hear her pull out a chair to sit at the table. “You?”
“Yeah…” That tells me straight away that she struggling with something, and I know what at least one thing is. “You want some help?”
“Nah, I'm good.” I do, ‘cause I miss cooking with her, but I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from kissing her if she did. “And how’s the training going for the qualifiers next month?”
“So far, so good. Kinda...”
I hear her sigh and know she can't be happy right now. After seeing her in class for the past few days, it’s clear to see she’s struggling with her self-belief. I’ve never seen that in her before, so I know it has to be eating her up. That shit is a killer to a runner’s success and leads to a cycle that’s hard to get out of.
