Faster.”
She stopped dead. Garner jogged into her and almost knocked her flat.
“I will not run ahead of you and let you mush me along like a sled dog. If you want to go fast,
you
lead, and I’ll try to keep up.”
“I’ve never met anyone so determined to stay out of shape,” Garner said. “I’ll run beside you. Speed it up, Miss Brownwood.”
Angie obligingly sped up since he asked so nicely.
“Hold your arms like this.” He showed her. “You have to get into the rhythm of it. Are you breathing hard?”
“I’m just right.”
She managed to say it without gasping. It was harder than she thought to disguise her steam-locomotive breathing from Garner while he instructed her in the fine points of jogging.
After jogging a slow three blocks, the only thing that was obvious to Angie was that she was extremely unfit. She struggled along, determined to hold it together for one or two more blocks. Her escape plan depended on it.
Garner turned down another quiet street. Angie began dropping slowly behind him, until she was just in back of his right elbow.
They hustled toward a wide, green alley that passed between the backyards of two rows of houses. Angie dropped a little further back. As Garner shot ahead, she turned swiftly into the alley, casting one regretful glance after Garner’s perfectly shaped backside.
That one regretful glance was all she had strength for. She made it to a clump of forsythia bushes and collapsed onto the clover behind them, breathing like a bellows at an iron forge. Honey bees working the clover barely had time to dodge. Angie paid them no heed.
She sprawled out flat. Over her head, the branches of a tall sycamore tree screened out the sky. Honey bees buzzed over her head in search of the clover blossoms she was crushing. Such a warm, peaceful afternoon, and fitness freaks like Garner wanted to waste it by pushing himself, and her, into exhaustion.
The clover smelled sweet and grassy, the afternoon temperature was soothing, and her body felt like lead. Angie closed her eyes and waited for her breathing to steady.
“Wake up, Miss Brownwood,” an unwelcome male voice said. “You aren’t getting off this easy.”
Disoriented, she opened her eyes and saw, not her bedroom ceiling, but a canopy of green leaves and filtered sunlight. A second later, Garner’s face hovered above hers. He was standing at her feet, with his hands on his hips.
“If I let you alone, you probably wouldn’t wake up until morning,” he said.
That didn’t sound bad. It sounded wonderful. Angie opened her mouth to tell him so.
“In fact, you look so good, I’m tempted to stretch out beside you and do whatever comes naturally,” he went on.
Angie’s eyes widened, whether with disbelief or with hope, she was uncertain.
“However, if I did that, you’d remain in deplorable condition.”
Angie thought about socking him, but her arms felt like iron bars. She thought about kicking his left kneecap, but her legs felt encased in concrete.
Garner smiled. “Haven’t you ever heard that making love is a physical activity? Stamina developed by jogging translates into stamina in the bedroom.”
“Too bad,” Angie said, using as little breath as possible. “If you wait till I’ve developed stamina, I’ll also be in better shape to kill you.”
Garner broke into unabashed laughter. “Since a good coach doesn’t distract his trainees with lovemaking, I’ll have to leave you unkissed. On your feet, Brownwood.”
Brownwood. She knew it. He now fancied himself a coach.
“Do I get to choose between kisses and getting on my feet?”
“No.” He stood over her and bent at the waist to grasp her under her arms, lifting her to her feet in one smooth motion. “You haven’t finished your afternoon jog, yet.”
“I think I have.” The moment he let her go, Angie collapsed back onto the clover.
“On your feet, Brownwood,” he said. “Believe it or not, you’ll thank me for this
She stopped dead. Garner jogged into her and almost knocked her flat.
“I will not run ahead of you and let you mush me along like a sled dog. If you want to go fast,
you
lead, and I’ll try to keep up.”
“I’ve never met anyone so determined to stay out of shape,” Garner said. “I’ll run beside you. Speed it up, Miss Brownwood.”
Angie obligingly sped up since he asked so nicely.
“Hold your arms like this.” He showed her. “You have to get into the rhythm of it. Are you breathing hard?”
“I’m just right.”
She managed to say it without gasping. It was harder than she thought to disguise her steam-locomotive breathing from Garner while he instructed her in the fine points of jogging.
After jogging a slow three blocks, the only thing that was obvious to Angie was that she was extremely unfit. She struggled along, determined to hold it together for one or two more blocks. Her escape plan depended on it.
Garner turned down another quiet street. Angie began dropping slowly behind him, until she was just in back of his right elbow.
They hustled toward a wide, green alley that passed between the backyards of two rows of houses. Angie dropped a little further back. As Garner shot ahead, she turned swiftly into the alley, casting one regretful glance after Garner’s perfectly shaped backside.
That one regretful glance was all she had strength for. She made it to a clump of forsythia bushes and collapsed onto the clover behind them, breathing like a bellows at an iron forge. Honey bees working the clover barely had time to dodge. Angie paid them no heed.
She sprawled out flat. Over her head, the branches of a tall sycamore tree screened out the sky. Honey bees buzzed over her head in search of the clover blossoms she was crushing. Such a warm, peaceful afternoon, and fitness freaks like Garner wanted to waste it by pushing himself, and her, into exhaustion.
The clover smelled sweet and grassy, the afternoon temperature was soothing, and her body felt like lead. Angie closed her eyes and waited for her breathing to steady.
“Wake up, Miss Brownwood,” an unwelcome male voice said. “You aren’t getting off this easy.”
Disoriented, she opened her eyes and saw, not her bedroom ceiling, but a canopy of green leaves and filtered sunlight. A second later, Garner’s face hovered above hers. He was standing at her feet, with his hands on his hips.
“If I let you alone, you probably wouldn’t wake up until morning,” he said.
That didn’t sound bad. It sounded wonderful. Angie opened her mouth to tell him so.
“In fact, you look so good, I’m tempted to stretch out beside you and do whatever comes naturally,” he went on.
Angie’s eyes widened, whether with disbelief or with hope, she was uncertain.
“However, if I did that, you’d remain in deplorable condition.”
Angie thought about socking him, but her arms felt like iron bars. She thought about kicking his left kneecap, but her legs felt encased in concrete.
Garner smiled. “Haven’t you ever heard that making love is a physical activity? Stamina developed by jogging translates into stamina in the bedroom.”
“Too bad,” Angie said, using as little breath as possible. “If you wait till I’ve developed stamina, I’ll also be in better shape to kill you.”
Garner broke into unabashed laughter. “Since a good coach doesn’t distract his trainees with lovemaking, I’ll have to leave you unkissed. On your feet, Brownwood.”
Brownwood. She knew it. He now fancied himself a coach.
“Do I get to choose between kisses and getting on my feet?”
“No.” He stood over her and bent at the waist to grasp her under her arms, lifting her to her feet in one smooth motion. “You haven’t finished your afternoon jog, yet.”
“I think I have.” The moment he let her go, Angie collapsed back onto the clover.
“On your feet, Brownwood,” he said. “Believe it or not, you’ll thank me for this
Similar Books
