The Road To Heaven (Allendale Four 3)

“That’s okay. You can probably run farther.”

I snorted. “Doubtful.”

I turned to head down the stairs, the same ones Jackson and I had flirted on weeks before. I didn’t tell Oliver to follow, but he did, stepping past me quickly to hold the door for me.

“How’d you get past security?” I asked.

“I waited around until someone came in this morning. I’m not going to judge but I think I busted your neighbor on the third floor on the last leg of her walk of shame.”

I laughed. “Well, we’ve all been there, right?”

“I don’t recall anything we ever did as shameful.”

I shook my head. “Then you must have a selective memory.” I pointed to the right. “I usually head down this way and enter the park. There’s a good five-mile loop.”

“Five?” His eyebrows raised up his forehead. “Okay.”

Oliver let me set the pace but his presence was undeniable, and it gave me the slightest challenge that was often missing in my runs. We wound through the running trail, a smooth flat surface that divided the old homes and newer construction and tiny coffee houses and eclectic bars. It was early and not many people were out, so over the quiet and chirping birds we fell into a rhythm, breath mingling, sweat pouring. Around mile four, Oliver slowed until he fell off completely and I turned to find him, bent over. I jogged back slowly.

“Dude,” he said, between heavy pants, “you’re killing me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop. I’ve never seen you in such good shape.”

He’d stripped off his drenched shirt when we entered mile two, tucking it into the back of his shorts. I made an effort not to ogle him, although it wasn’t easy. His broad chest and tapered waist looked like something off movie sets I’d been hired to work on. Like the superheroes he trained. I understood why they trusted his expertise. He had the receipts to prove his worth.

“Weight lifting and body strength, yeah, but cardio? I’ve cut way back on my carbs and it leaves me a little winded.”

I stopped before him, shaking out my legs that also felt the strain of the run. His chest heaved with exertion and a small part of me loved seeing him like this—trying to keep up with me.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked.

“I’ve never been the healthier one.”

His eyes skimmed down my bare arms; free from fresh wounds, scars faded. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

That was the second time one of my guys had paid that compliment lately. I blushed and looked to the ground before saying, “I’m proud of you, too. Your business. It’s amazing.” My eyes flicked to his chest. “And I can tell you work hard to get in this kind of shape. I’m impressed.”

“I had to give up pancakes,” he said, woefully.

“Aw. I know that hurt.”

“So bad.” His eyes lit with humor. “Hey,” he said suddenly, “I know you have a strict no-social media policy, but we do have accounts for the gym. Can I take a photo of us to use on there? I try to put up healthy, active things.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know. Me and the internet don’t mix.”

“You can have final approval.” He gave me a pleading look. “Everyone’s been wanting to know who the fifth in A5 Gym is, anyway. Now’s your chance for a big reveal.”

“No one has been asking that,” I said, shaking my head. But he gave me a pouty face that he knew I couldn’t resist, and I finally relented.

“Thank you!” He smiled wide, the pout vanishing and his phone appearing in his hand. “Selfie?”

“Oh, I’m not going to be in this photo alone.”

“Gotcha.” We bunched together and his left arm slipped around my waist. He held the camera out and snapped a few photos. He looked at them and grinned. “Thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome. But if this goes viral or something, please let me know, okay?”

“It’s not going viral. It’s basically an ad for A5. ‘Hot girl running’ is how I should tag it.”