The Troublemaker

“What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

“It’s five thirty.” He raises an eyebrow as he takes me in fully, his gaze slowly falling on every inch of me. It might affect me if I wasn’t so tired.

“I set my alarm for six thirty. That’s what Valerie said.”

“Clearly, Valerie doesn’t know about my morning run.”

“Why exactly do I have to know about your morning run this early in the morning?” I blink and start closing the door. “Come back when you’re done with that.”

“Come with me.” He places the tip of his sneaker on the bottom of the door, so I can’t continue closing it.

“On your run?” I nearly shout, then lower my voice to a whisper when I remember normal people are sleeping at this time. “Are you insane?”

“You’re supposed to be writing an article on college athletes, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“So why not experience a day in the life the unfiltered way?”

I take a step back, lips pursing as I consider this invitation. He has a point. I do want to do the best job I can and this would ensure that it happens. Besides, when else would I get a completely unfiltered view of the ins and outs of this? It’s not like I ever cared to before. My sister played volleyball for UNC and besides going to some games here and there, I didn’t show much interest in behind the scenes. I mean, it wasn’t until she got kicked off the team that I realized someone could even be kicked off the team for something other than poor grades or cheating. I turn my eyes to Mitchell again, who’s still staring at me, waiting, and nod once.

“Give me five minutes.”

He fights a smile as he nods back and steps into my apartment. I disappear into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me, as I rummage through my things in search for workout clothes that I can wear beyond athleisure. My family is pretty athletic. Dad used to play baseball, Mom has always worked out, my sister played volleyball most of her life. I grew up in dance, and once the fun of it was over for me and I quit, I kind of fell off the bandwagon before Mom put an end to my indulgences and made me start going to Pilates with her. I used to go running with my sister sometimes when she was still living here, but I never really liked it. Some people say they find mental clarity while they run. The only thing I found was sore muscles and exhaustion followed by overeating because I was so damn hungry after the run. In any event, as I brush my teeth and pull my long dark hair into a high ponytail, I mentally prepare myself for my run with Mitch. I may not be the athlete of the family, but my competitive nature still runs deep.

We’re not even half a mile in when I stop running, put my hands on my knees, and focus on breathing.

“Come on, Misty. You’ve got to be kidding. You’re in shape.”

I don’t even look up as I stick my middle finger out to him. Fuck him and his freakishly athletic figure. When we were seventeen and I dated him, he had perfectly etched muscles, but this Mitchell is beyond perfectly etched. He has muscles on muscles on muscles. He’s not body-builder big or anything. He has the kind of frame where if he’s fully clothed, you know he works out, but that’s all you’d assume. It was the only thing I’d assumed until he took his shirt off a minute ago and swung it over his muscled shoulder. He’s walking back over to where I am when I stand upright. I feel like I’m dying and he looks like he’s on a fucking stroll.

“I’m tired.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t normally work out at five in the freaking morning.”

“This is my daily run, not my workout. I don’t lift till nine.”

I balk. “What?”

“Let’s just finish the mile and we can walk back,” he says.

“Fine.” I take another deep breath and start jogging beside him.

At least he’s slowed his pace from Usain Bolt to regular person and I’m feeling pretty good about the rest of this jog, especially since it’ll never happen again. Today I am definitely going to go along with the following him everywhere thing, especially since I don’t have to go to school or work, but tomorrow I’ll only be able to do some of the things. When we reach the end of the trail, he stops running and I do the same. He gives me a second to catch my breath before turning around and walking in the direction we just came from.

“So, you run this trail every day?” I ask.

“Every morning, except Sundays.”

“How many times do you run it?”