Love on the Run

by Zuri Day

  But she wasn’t thinking about the relay or her two sprints. She was thinking about the seduction of Michael Morgan.

  After a fitful night’s sleep, Shayna stepped onto the track ready and focused. As always, running was both her sanctity and salvation. She blocked out everything but her competition and her lane, forgetting about Michael, Choice, and a representative from XMVP in the stand, and even about the fact that she was debuting one of the more subtle outfits . . . a fashion line that would roll out under Shayna’s own label—Triple S—which stood for Shayna’s Sprint Sensations. (Thankfully, Choice had agreed with Shayna and nixed the Sprintress idea.) While some of her teammates preferred the standard issue track uniform, others applauded her daring fashion statement. Tomorrow, during the relay events, she would wear the navy shorts and tank top with the iridescent strip down the side, along with the others on the 4 x 100 relay team, Talisha, Brittney, and Kim. But today, she wore high-rise boy shorts in a barely discernible pinstriped design, with a matching tank top. She also wore on her feet a pair of Right Flights, a lightweight running shoe that Michael hoped Shayna would be able to endorse. She was ecstatic about her performance since wearing the shoes and, in a nod to Michael Johnson, was considering having her shoes made in an iridescent motif.

  After a morning filled with throwing sports, jumps, and hurdles, it was time for the relays to begin: the 4 x 100, the 4 x 200, the 4 x 400, and the mother of all relays, the 4 x 1500. As always, Shayna was a bundle of nervous energy, vibes she’d channel into power once her fingers wrapped around the baton. She was the fourth runner of the relay team, the anchor. If her girls did their job, and they always did, then all she’d have to do is keep the lead and bring it home. As the officials directed them onto the track, Shayna did a variety of stretches and a couple half sprints before taking off the warm-up that Choice had designed. Once rid of the jacket and leggings, she tapped her thigh muscles, shook out her arms and legs, rolled her neck around, and pushed short bursts of air from her lungs. She elongated her body as much as possible, reaching to the heavens while standing on her tiptoes, before bending her midsection until her fingers made contact with the ground by her toes. She wasn’t aware of the picture she painted, and how when she stretched her legs like this her boy shorts rode high, exposing quarter-moon mounds of chocolate goodness.

  But somebody was.

  Michael casually stretched out his long legs in front of him, or tried to. The indoor stadium’s bleacher seats weren’t the best place to try and hide a hard-on, especially one that seemed determined to ignore its master’s command that it calm the bump down. He forced his eyes away from the vision in front of him and looked across the track at the other runners. He noted the eight lanes filled with toned bodies, a virtual smorgasbord to a bona fide player such as himself. Maybe I won’t go after Shayna, he decided. The waters would be less murky if his conquest resided in another state.

  “She looks good, doesn’t she?” Choice asked, with a nod in Shayna’s direction.

  Well, so much for keeping my mind off the booty. “Yes, she does. Those uniforms look nice on all of the women.”

  “Comfortable, providing ease of movement . . .”

  Michael nodded, as his phone vibrated against his hip. “Right.” He looked down. Felicia. He never should have told that girl that he’d be on the East Coast. Good thing he’d left his exact location vague, otherwise she would have been on the first thing smoking to the Cape. He pressed the ignore button and had barely gotten the phone placed back in his pocket when it vibrated again. Valerie. He frowned. It had been a month since he’d been with any of his female crew and still they kept calling. Wanting to know what the deal was. Well, so did he.

  “Complications?” Dina drawled out the word as if she already knew the answer.

  “Business.”

  “Ha! If you say so.” Dina leaned over so that only Michael could hear her. “I have some . . . business for us to handle later as well.”

  “I know. Shayna Washington. I’ve already arranged for our dinner tomorrow.”

  “You are a naughty boy, Michael Morgan. You very well know I’m not talking about your latest . . . acquisition, although you have convinced me that she might make an attractive and popular spokesperson.” Her voice dropped even lower. “I’m talking about the matter that was so rudely interrupted at the benefit. As I remember, a phone call put an early end to our evening.”

  Michael remembered. He’d texted Troy for one of their emergency deliverances. More than once the brothers had come to each other’s rescue when females became too aggressive. Dina was a hot, vibrant woman, to be sure, but Michael’s focus was elsewhere right now. As if to underscore the point, the official motioned for the first runner of each team in the relay to get down into their starting blocks. On your mark! Michael’s eyes drifted from that runner, Kim as he remembered, over to the others, Brittney and Talisha, before finally coming to rest on Shayna, the one closest to where he sat. He watched as she nervously shook her legs and twisted her neck one way and then the other. At this moment, he had an intense desire to help her work out those kinks, those in her neck and those decidedly lower as well. Mr. Big threatened to make his presence known again, so Michael shifted his focus from sexual to sprinting, before leaning forward to watch the race.

  “Set.” Michael noted that instead of watching the race’s beginning, Shayna’s eyes were temporarily glued to the track in front of her, as if she were mentally already running her leg in her mind. “Go!” The gun shot off and the race began. The crowd came alive, shouting, yelling, rooting their selective teams to victory. Michael was caught up in the excitement, his eyes glued to the speedy runners, watching lane three, which held the California Angels, quietly encouraging Kim. Come on, Kim. Woman . . . run! Kim’s running was graceful, powerful, her five-foot-seven frame and long legs helping her eat up the distance between her and Brittney. As they rounded the curve, the women in lanes three, five, and six had established themselves as forces to be reckoned with. When Kim was about five feet from her, Brittney began moving forward, right arm back, palm up, waiting to feel the weight of the baton. As soon as she grabbed it she shot forward, trying to increase the lead between her and the other ladies. The runner in lane five wasn’t having it. Obviously, the Angels weren’t the only ones who wanted first place. The ponytailed blonde in lane one moved ahead of the sistah in lane six. Michael noted the determination on her face, her thin lips pressed into a straight line, her arms maintaining a one-two rhythm as she burned up the distance to the teammate handling the third leg of the race. Brittney reached Talisha, who began in second place. Now, he noted that Shayna was no longer staring ahead of her; she was nodding her head and waving Talisha toward her, calmly encouraging her friend to pick up the pace. Talisha read the telepathic text and by the time the baton was passed to Shayna, she and the woman in lane number five were separated by inches. Shayna put her head down, and later Michael would swear that a motor got turned on. Shayna hit the curve at around ninety, Michael reckoned, her movements smooth and purposeful, her body straight, her arms pumping, her feet barely touching the ground.

  Michael was on his feet before he even realized it. “Go, Shayna!”

  And she did. There was a good two feet between her and second place. After crossing the line, she did what would become her signature dance, a little hop, step, and body twirl as she pointed her fingers to the sky. Her teammates rushed over to join her at the finish line. The foursome celebrated coming very close to breaking an indoor record.

  “Impressive,” Dina said, once Michael had retaken his seat.

  “Definitely,” Michael replied. And the race was pretty good, too.

  22

  The following evening, Shayna waved good-bye to her teammates and nervously approached the waiting limousine. She felt strangely out of place, not joining her friends for celebratory pizza in Coach’s suite. The day had been fantastic, with Shayna taking second in the 100-meter race, and third in the 200. C
onsidering she’d not trained much for the past few weeks and had missed the platinum classics, she didn’t feel too bad. Especially since she’d shown up and performed where it counted the most, the 4 x 100 relay with her girls.

  She nodded a greeting as the driver opened her door, then she settled in for what she’d been told was a ten- to fifteen-minute ride. Retrieving the mirror from her purse, she eyed her reflection with a critical view. Turning this way and that, she finally agreed with Britt and Tee—the upswept do made her look more sophisticated and Talisha’s makeup job was spot on. Rarely one to wear makeup, Shayna was pleasantly surprised how the smoky eye shadow made her large doe eyes stand out, and the mascara promising “lashes so long you will swear that they’re fake” was pretty much living up to its name. She licked her lips, still getting used to the bronze-colored gloss that Brittney had sworn would be a perfect match for the dress she’d insisted Shayna borrow—a formfitting cream-colored jersey silk that highlighted her curves like a yellow marker and hit her legs a few inches above the knee. “This is too much, too sexy,” she’d argued after first donning the garment. She’d turned in the mirror and almost gasped, feeling that her booty was way too prominent to be considered decent, and the neckline a little too plunging for her taste. Then both Brittney and Talisha had reminded her of the night’s goal: seducing Michael Morgan. Back in Los Angeles, in the comfort of her condo, the idea had sounded genius. It had even still made sense this morning, when Michael had approached her at the track. But now, with her friends-barrier back at the hotel and the distance between her and Michael being rapidly eaten up by a limo driver on a mission, Shayna was now trying to find the mind that she’d lost.

  “We’re here, ma’am.”

  Shayna looked up to find what appeared to be a large, Victorian-style brick home with defined shingles, several gables, and a windowed turret. Her expression was dubious. “This is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The Belfry Inne and Bistro is housed in what is called the Painted Lady, a reference used for Victorian homes back in the nineteenth century when this was built. I’ve brought my share of guests to this establishment, and haven’t ever heard of one who left disappointed.” He got out of the car to open the door for Shayna.

  “Thank you,” she said, and then realized that she hadn’t even thought of the cost of the ride. “I’m sorry, how much do I owe you?”

  “All taken care of, ma’am,” the driver said, with a slight bow at the waist. “Go inside and enjoy.”

  As Shayna approached the building’s front door, she took in the charm, elegance, and grace of the place. Now, she didn’t feel her outfit at all out of place, and was thankful that Talisha had talked her into wearing the dress instead of the slacks or pantsuit that would have been Shayna’s choice. She entered, and was immediately taken to a table where Michael and who Shayna assumed was the XMVP representative already sat. Michael stood as she approached, his eyes hooded and unreadable. She hoped hers were as well, since the scenario she was imagining was making her nipples tingle and nana ache. He looked positively decadent in a tailored black suit and gray shirt. The woman was attractive, Shayna noted, wearing something that Shayna imagined the price of which could feed a slew of Haitian children.

  “Shayna, hello,” Michael said, pulling her into a lightweight hug. “Let me introduce you to Dina DeVore, the VP of marketing for XMVP Shoes and Sportswear. Dina, this is Shayna, your next superstar spokesperson.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Shayna said, reaching for the outstretched hand that resembled a limp noodle when grasped. Whatever their differences, there was one thing Shayna had in common with her mother. She could read a woman’s face and body language like a Kindle Fire. Shayna knew envy when she saw it, and given this potential endorser’s rather frosty greeting, wondered about the relationship between this woman and Michael. If something was happening between them, then three would most definitely be a crowd.

  “You looked fantastic today,” Michael said, once Shayna was seated. “Especially considering the fact that a month ago you were nursing cracked ribs. You should be proud of your showing.”

  “I did okay,” Shayna said with a shrug. “This meet simply confirmed that I have a lot of work to do.”

  The three made small talk as the waiter came over to take their drink order. Both Michael and Dina opted for wine while Shayna stuck to sparkling water, her drink of choice. After ordering appetizers, Cape littleneck chowder for Shayna, mussels for Michael, and Dina settling for the sirloin carpaccio, Dina’s mini-interrogation began.

  “So tell me, Shayna. Did you grow up in Los Angeles?”

  “Yes, in Inglewood.”

  “And did you always like to run?”

  This question somewhat calmed Shayna’s nerves. Talking about her passion, her first love, was easy. And it kept her from thinking about how that whisper of a mustache and goatee framed Michael’s succulent lips. “I’ve been running for as long as I can remember,” she said, with a smile. “First with the kids, and then later from them. A teacher encouraged me to join the track team and then later a friend of the family” —translated: one of Beverly’s many lovers, but no need to digress—“noticed my potential and suggested I be entered into some citywide races. I was, and I won. My future was set and when USC came knocking, I never looked back.”

  “Where do you get your talent?”

  Shayna took a spoonful of chowder as she pondered her answer. She noted the aroma of the soup, identified the celery root and chorizo, along with some spices that she couldn’t name. Big Mama thought the gift of speed came from her father, a belief that her mother had routinely shot down. “He wasn’t fast enough to run away from the hood, to run from the lure of the streets,” Beverly had countered more than once. So many times, in fact, that Shayna believed her.

  Any truthful answer she gave would be too complicated, so Shayna decided for a general approach. “I guess it’s God-given,” she finally offered. “I just always loved to run. It makes me feel strong, and free.”

  Michael ate his mussels and listened intently. In this moment, he realized that there was so much about Shayna that he didn’t know. And he realized something else.

  He wanted to know her—everything. Everywhere.

  As their meal continued and the wine flowed, Shayna noticed that the cold around Ms. Ice Princess began to thaw. Having had the time to study her, Shayna’s assumption that Dina was in her thirties had been replaced by her believing the executive was in her forties instead. According to Dina, she’d been in the retail business for twenty years, having graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology and spending several years in Europe before settling on the East Coast. These days, Shayna learned, Dina split her time between coasts, having a home on Long Island and a condo in Beverly Hills. Michael eloquently stated the case for why Shayna would make such a great spokesperson and role model, and Shayna further won Dina over with understated charm.

  As they finished their entrées of salmon, short ribs, and seafood risotto, Shayna pondered her next move. How do I get Michael away from Ice Princess? Will saying I need to talk to him seem too obvious? Is trying to outlast Ice at the table not be noticeable enough?

  Just as she began to think there was no cool way to pull his coattail and therefore no chance of seducing Michael Morgan, Dina’s phone rang.

  Her expression changed as she looked at the face of it. “Hello?” And then, “What is it, Jim?” She listened, appearing more worried as she held the phone to her ear. Finally she stood. “Michael, Shayna, excuse me. This will only take a minute.”

  Dina had barely rounded the corner before Shayna spoke up, quickly, almost urgently, before she lost her nerve and along with it the hundred-dollar bet—or “fun incentive,” as Brittney had called it—lying on the LA condo table. “Michael,” she said, lightly laying her hand on his muscled arm. “I need to speak with you privately. Is it possible for us to go back to your hotel room?”

  23

  For a moment, M
ichael didn’t want to move. Because if he did, then he might wake up from what was surely a dream. Since seeing the vision enter the room wrapped in cream-colored loveliness, he’d basically had two things on his mind. Outwardly, to secure the deal with Dina DeVore and XMVP Sports. Inwardly, to get Shayna into his bed.

  Had he just heard correctly? Had she just asked to go to his room? In his mind, her doing so was akin to the fly asking the spider for permission to visit his web. Thoughts bounced around in his mind like ping-pong balls. What did she want to talk to him about? Had she hidden her interest and now wanted to get her groove on? And then more sinister thoughts. Is this a ploy to aid her professional success? Is there an ulterior motive to her wanting to get into my room? In the future, is there a way that she could use whatever happens between us against me? Or become a stalker, like what’s her name?

  Shayna’s next words brought him out of his paralysis. “I’m sorry, Michael. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just that I—”

  “Probably have plans, or somebody waiting there for you already. I totally understand that. It was presumptuous of me to think any other—”

  “Shayna!” Michael said, low yet forceful, reaching over to grab her gesturing hand. “There’s no need to apologize. Your request took me by surprise, that’s all. You’re more than welcome to join me at the hotel. In fact, it will give us a chance to go over what was discussed tonight.” Michael figured to go over something all right, and it wasn’t a discussion. I just need to think of a way to get out of Dina’s crosshairs. “Look, this is going to sound crazy, but I need for you to do something. Right now.”