Pepped Up & Wilder (Pepper Jones Book 6)

by Ali Dean

  He leans forward to kiss me as the elevator doors open, but he doesn’t stop. My words must spark something in him because Jace takes what starts as a brush of our lips and devours me, caging me in with his body and letting me feel how much he wants me. Fire shoots straight to my belly with the firmness pulsing at my core, and I’m breathing hard when the dinging of the elevator doors makes Jace pull back. We’re back at the bottom floor, with Angel and Tanner Walker smirking at us in amusement.

  “Okay for us to join or do you two need a moment?” Tanner asks with a chuckle.

  Jace doesn’t move his body off of mine against the wall of the elevator, probably to hide his erection, when he responds, “Hop on, man. Good to see you.” The two exchange nods, and Jace and I greet Angel as well, all of us suppressing laughter at the situation.

  Jace peels himself off me, giving my hand a squeeze as the elevator goes back up, and I bite my lip with a mixture of embarrassment and lust as I watch him attempt to discreetly adjust himself.

  Frankie and Lizzie are already there when we arrive. Even though I’m meeting Leah’s husband Carter for the first time, I feel immediately at ease in their trendy loft. While I’ve never had former supermodels as girlfriends before, it already feels like I’ve known Angel and Leah a while, even though we’ve only met once before. It’s funny how some people just click and it doesn’t make sense. I thought I’d love running with the other pro distance runners on Newbound, and instead I felt like an outsider. Who would have thought that hanging out with three-hundred-pound football players and three women who tell me they hate running is more comfortable to me? Maybe I can relate to these women because we share the confusing identity of being in a relationship with a superstar. Who knows?

  Jace is at ease too. This isn’t some kind of interview for acceptance like at Frankie’s foundation event, these are just people who want to make new friends, share a meal and some laughs. I didn’t think I’d find a new group of friends like this after high school and college. Whether it was because we knew we wouldn’t be staying or because we didn’t stick around in the off-season, we didn’t make friends like this in Ohio. Somehow, I never imagined we’d create new groups of friends. I just assumed our people would always be the Brockton crew. It was our own sets of friends who had merged over time, but aside from Wes, everyone in Brockton originally belonged to one of us individually. It felt right that we were making new friends together, forging our own social group with no past or history in the way. Sure, Frankie was Jace’s college roommate but even with that connection to our past, this felt like the beginning of a new chapter.

  “You okay?” Jace asks quietly for only me to hear. I’m sitting on a bar stool and we’re all gathered around the kitchen counter. An assortment of tapas is spread out, and it looks delicious, but I’m not hungry.

  I look up at Jace, who stands beside me. “Great. Why?”

  He shakes his head with a little smile. “I know we had dinner before coming here but usually after a hard workout like today you could keep eating. And with all these cheeses, I’m surprised you’re not digging in.”

  I chuckle. Yeah, he knows me well. It does seem a shame not to try some of the cheese at least, so I pick a slice off Jace’s plate. After a few bites, my stomach churns, and I wash down the taste with water. I know it should taste good, but it leaves a sour aftertaste. Sometimes after a really hard workout my stomach is sensitive and I have a hard time digesting food I normally love. I’m hopeful that my body will adjust to the longer and more demanding runs once I move up to the marathon. I can’t be having trouble refueling like this when my training runs are twice as long.

  But I shrug it off. The transition to the road and longer distances has been going so smoothly, no need to worry about things that won’t be an issue until months from now.

  I’m surprised to find a voicemail from Ray when we get to the hotel later that night.

  “What’s he calling you about on a Saturday night? Didn’t you talk to him earlier today?”

  I frown as I listen to the message and tell Jace, “I told him earlier I’d do a half marathon for training in a few weeks but he found one he wants me to do this weekend in Atlanta.”

  It seems a little early in the training cycle to be putting in such a hard effort, especially after the eleven-mile pace run I did today, but I’m not going to question Ray’s suggestion. If there’s one thing I defer to him on, it’s his intuition on training. If he thinks I’m in a position to keep pushing, I’m game. I’ve been feeling awesome.

  Jace’s face lights up. “I can come watch you race.” He can’t hide his excitement and I grin back at him.

  “I’m not even supposed to race it. It’s more like a training run. He thinks it will be good to do it in some humidity and heat too.” Hot weather is my kryptonite, but that’s why I need to suck it up and run through it. Especially with my goal race this cycle a June race in Chicago. Yuck.

  Jace starts to help me undress. Not that I need it, but my limbs suddenly feel very heavy. Whether from thinking about running thirteen miles hard next weekend in gross temps or from my long day, I sag into him as he pulls my shirt over my head. Pushing me gently onto the bed to tug off my jeans, he takes a look at me. “You look wiped, Pep.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, sleepiness taking over as I sink into the mattress.

  Jace massages my muscles for a few minutes before sliding on my undies and sleep shirt. I’m already half asleep by the time he snuggles in next to me.

  “Sorry I’m not a sex machine tonight, baby,” I mumble as I nuzzle my face into his chest.

  His chest rumbles with light laughter. “We’ve got our whole lives for that.”

  “This was one of the best days,” I tell him.

  He kisses me on my head but I don’t even hear him respond before I’m out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Pepper

  I’m already more excited for the non-race in Atlanta than I was for the 10K two weeks ago simply because Jace is with me. Up to this point, most of my bigger races have been in the fall during football season and he couldn’t come. I raced on the track last year for my first spring and summer as a pro, and Jace was able to come to some of those meets. Still, I’ve never been as into track. Now that I’m racing on the road, I think I’ve found the kind of racing I love best. We didn’t race on roads in high school or college. Maybe it’s the newness of it, or the longer distances, but I love the challenge of pacing correctly, racing in a pack like in track but not going around in a circle over and over again. The terrain isn’t as fun as trails, but that means strategy comes into play more and it’s still less predictable and monotonous than the track.

  There are a handful of Americans in this race who are aiming for the Olympic Trials qualifying time, and a few foreigners who are here for a fast race, and, of course, a chance at the prize money. It will give me great experience for the Chicago half to run 13.1 miles with some of the world’s best at this distance.

  Jace gives me a kiss and a butt squeeze before hopping on a bike he rented in order to follow the race. It’s seven AM and the Georgia heat is already heavy in the air when we toe the line. My plan is to grab water along the way to toss on my head and neck to cool down, but not to attempt drinking any. It takes practice to consume liquids or calories while running a 5:30 mile pace, and I don’t need to start doing that until I’m preparing for the full marathon. Even in heat, I can get away with running a little over an hour without fluids.

  “Runners, on your mark,” the starter bellows and we take our position. Boom! The gunshot rings out and adrenaline shoots through my system on instinct. Years of race starts and the thrill hasn’t diminished a bit.

  The men start fifteen minutes behind us and shouldn’t catch up, so it’s women leading the race. A few of the top runners I recognize go out hard, faster than I’m willing to push at this stage of training. After the first frenzied half mile or so, it looks like four women are in a lead pack setting the pace. I know
my pace well enough to recognize they are running closer to 5:15, and there’s no way I can maintain that. Maybe it’s part of their strategy but that’s not mine. Not today. I settle in with the chase pack of about ten women who are running roughly 5:30 pace. Ray suggested that I don’t look at my watch and go on feel, to really try to get a sense for how Olympic Trials qualifying pace feels.

  I’ve been a little off all week. I still feel strong and smooth, but the airy runner’s high vibe I’ve had going for weeks is finally absent. I knew it wasn’t sustainable and now that I’m right in the thick of it with hard training, my body is going to start hurting.

  I see Jace on the side of the road between miles three and four. He smiles at me, mouths “I love you” and gives me a double thumbs-up. Since I’m not racing and this is more of a training run, he refrains from cheering. Now, if Gran were here, she wouldn’t be able to help herself. I smile inwardly at the thought, wishing I could convince her to travel to watch some of my races. I almost never compete in Colorado anymore. She did a road trip in an RV with Wallace two summers ago, but after that decided she was done traveling.

  By the time we reach the halfway point, my skin is hot from the sun beating down on it. I grab a cup of water from one of the volunteers holding them out at the aid station and toss it onto my head and the back of my neck. It cools me off for about a second but I can taste the salty sweat from my forehead dripping into my mouth. While I’m uncomfortable from the heavy air, my legs still feel fresh, like we’ve barely started.

  I’m relieved at this. I want to prove to Ray I don’t need to train with the others. I want to prove to myself I can do it my way. After the halfway mark, women from our group drop like flies, and we’re down to three by the time we hit mile ten. There’s only three miles left and my body is still hammering out 5:30 mile pace like it’s no big deal. I’m slightly amazed that I’m not sucking wind or cramping up. Even though Ray didn’t want this to be a race effort, physically or mentally, I expected it would be one of the most brutal efforts of my life. Race mindset or not, this is still the longest run I’ve done that wasn’t at easy jogging pace. Not to mention I’ve been logging hundred-mile weeks for over a month straight.

  When our group gains on the four women in the lead pack, I start to worry. This shouldn’t feel so great. Am I peaking too early? Then again, if I hit the qualifying time today, does it even matter whether I peak at the end of the training cycle? While I’m not looking at my watch, splits have been called out often enough that I have a sense we’re still on 5:30 pace, and it’s only been picking up as we taste the finish line. It’s impossible to suppress my race instinct. I feel too strong to hold back, and I know that this feeling doesn’t always come along when it needs to. So as one of the runners in our chase pack surges forward to close the gap with the lead group, I follow her.

  Ray might disapprove, but it feels right in my bones. My legs want this. My eyes sting with the sweat dripping into them, and my throat is dry with thirst, but as we turn onto the main street, the finish line comes into view. I know that it’s nearly another mile, which gives us time to catch the lead pack, but that’s also a very long time to hold this pace. The runner beside me doesn’t back down though. With the roar from the spectators growing with each step forward, she throws down the hammer.

  Now would be a good time to remember I’m not supposed to be racing. But even as the burn hits my lungs and my vision blurs slightly with fatigue, my legs refuse to back down from the challenge. The lead pack is breaking apart as everyone drops the pace. When we overtake one, and then two women from the lead pack, my leg turnover picks up instinctually in an attempt to reach the next one. I don’t know if I’d be doing this if not for the runner ahead of me. She’s tiny, with a long braid swishing down her back, but damn she’s got a motor on her.

  There’s less than a quarter of a mile left when we pass the third runner from the lead pack. Only one more ahead, and the runner I’ve been following bursts forward with so much speed I’m surprised sparks aren’t shooting off the ground. I’ve got a decent kick, but nothing crazy, and there’s no way I can stay with her. I’m holding strong at what I can only imagine is close to a five-minute pace, and my legs simply aren’t capable of going faster. I watch her shoot past the lead runner and go on to break the finishing tape.

  It reminds me to look at the clock above and while I knew I was running well, I’m astonished to see a 1:11 ticking above the finish line. That’s well below the qualifying time for the Olympic Trials marathon. I cross the line baffled by what just happened. I’m spent, exhausted in the best way possible, and thrilled to reach my goal for this training block despite not even meaning to do it today.

  My legs shake as soon as I stop running and I’m tempted to give in and collapse right there, but manage to stay upright. I congratulate the runners around me, my eyes seeking out Jace. I find him on the other side of the gate and stumble forward for a hug. The smile taking over his face hits me right in the chest, but as the adrenaline seeps out of my system, utter depletion takes over. I know this is the longest race I’ve ever done, but no one warned me just how rough I’d feel afterward. I’m parched, and I know the hot sun beating on me isn’t helping matters. An official hands me a bottle of water after Jace releases me and I start to screw off the top with shaky hands. Darkness creeps into my vision, and I stumble backward, needing support. I feel Jace reach over the barrier to hold my back just as I get the top off the water. But the bottle suddenly feels too heavy to bring up to my mouth, and blackness takes over.

  Jace

  I watched the bottle of water slip from her fingers and realized what was happening. My hand supported her back but I couldn’t keep her from falling with the barrier between us. She went down like a sack of potatoes. Just, whoosh, on the ground. I managed to lean over to keep her head from crashing and then jumped over the barrier to her side. Her eyes fluttered open again as I propped her up in my lap.

  Pepper’s face had been red from heat and exertion a moment ago and was now ashen. “I fainted,” she slurred, confusion clouding her face.

  My heart was racing with fear and worry, but the medics who swarmed in acted like this was part and parcel of finishing a half marathon. I rubbed my hands over her arms and legs, wanting to soothe the goosebumps popping up and warm the skin that was turning clammy. Her legs, now more toned than ever from the mileage and weights she’d been hammering out, were shaking slightly, and my blood whooshed in my ears as I tried to stay focused on what the medics were doing and saying. They took her pulse.

  “She fainted once before,” I informed them, realizing that I was the best one to answer some of the questions while Pepper remained less than fully coherent. “It was years ago, in high school, and it was in the middle of a race. I don’t know if this was the same though.” With the crowds all around, and some other pros and elites still in the finish area, I didn’t want to elaborate. Back then, she’d fainted more from the mental pressure she’d put on herself than from a physical reaction.

  “It looks like heat exhaustion and dehydration,” one of the medics said. “Let’s get her in the tent to examine her better and get some fluids in her.”

  The other medic nodded at Pepper. “Congratulations, ma’am,” he said in a southern drawl, and I didn’t like the way he smiled at her.

  Pepper’s lower lip trembled slightly when she thanked him, and I wondered if she was about to cry from happiness at how well she did, or because she was freaked out by what just happened.

  There was an awkward moment when the medics asked me to move so they could carry her to the medical tent and I refused. She hadn’t broken any bones and didn’t need to be held in any particular position. This was a job for her husband. I scooped her up off the ground, her body feeling too light for a woman so damn strong. With nothing on her but booty running shorts and a racing top that was hardly more than a sports bra, I wasn’t too thrilled about laying her out on a bed in the medical tent for a couple of young
dudes to poke around at. Fortunately, a slightly older woman took over from there, asking Pepper questions about how she felt, putting a blanket over her, and encouraging her to sip water.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie,” the woman said, “I work at elite endurance events all the time and lots of the pros go into a little shock after a hard effort like that. Doesn’t help that it’s hot in Georgia.”

  I could tell that Pepper was soothed by the woman’s sympathy and the knowledge that this wasn’t an unusual occurrence. The racing in my heart slowed slightly as a little color returned to Pepper’s cheeks. I was holding Pepper’s hand, rubbing my thumb over hers, when her coach, Ray, burst through the tent entrance.

  He nodded at me in greeting before pulling up a chair next to Pepper. “What happened out there?” The guy was a former Olympic marathon runner and was well respected by everyone at these races. He was at the start beside Pepper but stayed behind to talk to a couple of his male runners who started after her.

  Pepper stiffened a little, and I narrowed my eyes at her reaction. It was like she was gathering her courage, preparing to defend herself. “I know it doesn’t seem like it,” she said, gesturing to the blanket over her body and the tent generally, “but I actually felt really strong out there. I didn’t mean to go so hard. I didn’t even realize I was pushing my body so hard that this would happen. Honestly, Ray, I felt smooth and solid just like we planned until the last mile or so.”

  Ray’s expression was unreadable. “I know. I was able to catch you on the course between miles eight and ten. You looked great. And based on your finishing time you didn’t blow up. But I’m really concerned about your body’s reaction to all of it. For such a great run, it doesn’t quite add up to me.”

  Pepper’s voice was small when she asked, “Does this mean I’m not cut out for the marathon? If I go into shock from a race that felt great that’s only half the distance, that’s not a good sign for my future as a marathon runner.” I was surprised by the emotion shaking in her voice. I knew that she wanted to make the Olympic team in the marathon, but I didn’t realize until this moment how devastated she’d be if it wasn’t in the cards. It’s not like they have a half marathon at the Olympics and the next longest Olympic event is the 10K, a track event, which is far from her favorite type of race.