Anyway…
I have shin splits. I didn’t even know that was a freaking thing, but let’s just say the light one-to-three-mile jogs I’ve been doing over the past few months are Paul’s idea of a warm-up. His leg’s not all the way better yet. It still bothers him when he lands wrong, and then we have to take a walk break (oh, damn!), but for the most part the dude is a freaking running machine. We’ve run together almost every day since that first morning when I learned that he could run, and while I love every second of it, no longer am I matching my stride to his injured one. It’s a whole new ball game, one in which the newbie runner struggles to keep up with the star quarterback and boot-camp legend Paul Langdon, who calls five miles a “quick run.” To say that he’s got his mojo back is an understatement.
“Hurry up, Middleton!” he hollers from where he stands in front of the house, hands on hips, watching me limp up to him.
“I think someone broke my shins,” I say, panting.
He has the decency to look sympathetic. “Shin splits. The worst. We’ll get you iced and take a day or two off.”
I gape at him. “By day or two, I’m assuming you mean a minimum of a week. It feels like my legs are shattered.”
He pats my butt as I go through the door in front of him. “Take it from someone whose leg practically was shattered. You’re fine.”
“You get to play that card for a long time, huh?” I say.
“Um, yeah. Pretty much forever,” he says with an unrepentant grin.
Three months ago, I’d have bet my favorite Chanel purse that there was no way Paul Langdon would ever be able to joke about his injuries.
Not that it’s a joking matter. At all. What he went through, what all soldiers go through, has nothing but my respect.
But maybe him joking about it means that he’ll one day be able to lose that haunted look that still crosses his face from time to time.
“Do you want to see a movie today?” I ask, settling myself at the kitchen counter as he pulls two packages of frozen peas out of the freezer and plops them unceremoniously on my shins. “Is there even a movie theater around here?”
“Sure, it’s right between the three-star Michelin-rated restaurant and the high-end couture mall. You haven’t seen it?”
I make a face. “So that’s a no.”
He peels a banana and hands me half. “Actually, I think there is a small theater in town. At least there used to be.”
“Ooh, yay! So you want to go?”
He nips the banana between perfect white teeth. “Nope.”
I frown, even though I’ve been expecting it. He never wants to go anywhere except Frenchy’s, and as much as I tell myself that it’s no big deal, that it’s just because Bar Harbor doesn’t exactly have a lot going on, somewhere in the back of my mind I’m terrified that it’s so much bigger than that.
“What’s the deal, Langdon? I can maybe understand why you weren’t all gung-ho about going to Portland, but you refuse to try any other restaurant, you won’t go over to Kali’s when her new boyfriend is there, you won’t go home with me for Thanksgiving, you won’t go for a run in the middle of the day because there are too many people, and now you won’t even humor me by going to a movie?”
He ignores me.
I knew he would, but I’m starting to get a constant knot in my stomach about the direction we’re headed. The sex is great. The conversation is wonderful.
But there’s just the two of us. All the time. With no plan of leaving ever. I get why he doesn’t want to go to New York with me for Thanksgiving—it was a stretch to even ask. But this is getting ridiculous.
“How about a bookstore?” I challenge.
“You can buy books online. Free two-day shipping.”
“I need more running shorts,” I shoot back.
“Online.”
“I need my hair cut,” I say, a little desperately. “Can’t do that online.”
He shrugs. “So go get your haircut.”