Pretend You're Mine (Inked Hearts 3)

With every stride, my thoughts unfurl. The messy lines straighten. Arrange themselves in order.

Fail to offer clarity.

Bringing some woman to Penny’s wedding is a terrible idea.

Pretending she’s my girlfriend is worse.

But there’s this voice in my head screaming you have to do this.

My phone buzzes against my thigh. I tell that voice to quiet and wish for distraction.

Leighton: It’s done. Just emailed you. Tell me it’s not horrible.

Ryan: On a run. I’ll check it out after I shower.

Leighton: It’s a million degrees.

Ryan: And?

Leighton: Are you dying?

Ryan: Yeah.

Leighton: You are not. You walk in here like you’re fresh from a shower after half your runs.

I snap a picture of my surroundings—the ocean, the Santa Monica pier, the busy Venice street, the bright lemon sun—then I turn my phone to selfie mode, and snap a picture of my sweaty shirt.

It’s hot as hell today.

But I don’t feel the embrace of the sun. I don’t see the brightness. I know it’s there—I always end these runs dripping sweat—but I miss the comfort of it.

Ever since that day I walked in on Penny under Frank, I struggle to find the comfort in anything. Drowning my thoughts in work, booze, or exercise is as good as it gets.

Besides Leighton.

But that—

I’m not thinking about that.

I send her the photo.

Leighton: Barely sweating.

Ryan: I went nine miles.

Leighton: How can I get some of this infinite endurance?

Ryan: Join me next time.

Leighton: You’re too fast.

Ryan: I’ll slow down. Call it a rest day.

Leighton: Asshole.

Ryan: You just figuring that out?

Leighton: It’s a constant revelation.