At least I’ve been able to avoid her at the last few family events.
I’m about to lean in to give Zannah, my sister-in-law, a kiss on the cheek when the governor strolls up, cooing at the baby. I’ve known Annabelle Lockwood my whole life, and while she seems down-to-earth, she’s here on a mission—to campaign for my brother.
I smile at Zannah, who grins and snuggles her nose into the top of the baby’s head. Drew’s always had a crush on her, so instead of being his usual schmuck self, he’s asking the new mom how she’s been sleeping.
The governor turns to me. “You must be proud of Spencer. He’s so young to have accomplished so much. And look at this baby!”
“Yep, he’s a handsome guy.”
My brother Henry walks over with his business partner. “Nice to see you, Governor Lockwood.”
“You too, boys.” Boys. They’re both on the board of Great Northern Timber Company and responsible for billions in sales. I guess when someone has known you since you were born, you’re always a boy.
When Zannah starts talking with Annabelle, Henry pulls me over to the side, excusing us. “Hey, Josh, you doing okay?”
“Sure.” I down my champagne and signal to the waiter for another glass.
“Can I ask a favor?”
“No.” Henry may be older than me by two years, but I don’t have to do everything he says.
“Seriously, I need you.”
“No.”
He rolls his eyes and hands me an invitation. I don’t even want to look at it. Not another goddamn event. I glance at it and see that it’s a birthday party at a local museum featuring a traveling exhibit of Dale Chihuly glass sculptures. “I have two tickets to this. Rebecca can’t attend, so come with me.”
“Tough. Find someone else.”
“Dude.”
I raise my eyebrows and shake my head, and Drew comes over to rescue me. “What’s this all about?”
Henry immediately responds, “My baby brother is boring.”
“That’s a known issue.” Drew grins at me conspiratorially. “But he has his moments.”
“Thanks,” I say and take another gulp of champagne.
“So you’ll go?” asks Henry. He will keep at me until I agree. God forbid I don’t do what’s expected.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
Henry gets a big smile on his face. “Good.” He slaps me on the back, grabs his business partner, and wanders over to greet Tiffany.
Good thing he’s talking to her. Then I don’t have to.
But it makes me wonder how much longer my luck will last.
Donning black track pants and a dark gray high-tech Nike T-shirt, I strap on my running shoes and take the back stairs two at a time.
It’s Sunday, and the city is waking up. This is my favorite part of the day, when the sun peeks over the horizon, casting the city in a hazy orange glow. A posse of street sweepers methodically cleans the roads, and patient customers line up outside of Voodoo Doughnuts.
It rained hard last night, and the ever-present potholes are now puddles, dotting the downtown streets in a haphazard, almost paisley pattern. Late spring in Portland gives you the meteorological equivalent of blue balls—better weather doesn’t actually come. Still, there is an ease about the day that urges me outside, because it signals I’ve got a chance to get some sun. So rather than do my routine workout in the gym downstairs, I head for the trails that surround downtown.
My building sits alongside a park that takes up five wooded city blocks. Beyond that are winding, tree-covered paths.
After passing the swings on the playground and a merry-go-round, my muscles warm up, and I sprint past a covered area with picnic tables and a barbecue pit.
Now it’s just me and my body, forcing air out, moving my thighs, pounding the path. Exercise gives me the headspace to block out the crap from last night, where I’m not thinking about Tiffany or my brothers or familial obligations. It grounds me, helping me to appreciate the smell of the wet earth and pine needles, and the solemn hush of the forest as it drowns out the city sounds.
I run past a puddle big enough to stock koi and head into the forested section, when a surprisingly spry old dog races towards me, veers, and zooms past, intent on going somewhere like he’s late for a business meeting in which he is getting a corporate sponsor. Spinning around to watch him, I note with a chuckle that he’s laser-focused on the huge puddle, leash trailing after him on the path.
“Chauncey! Here, boy! No, boy, don’t go in the mu—”
The recognizable curves of my attorney, Evelyn, emerge from the trees, only this time she’s wearing a light pink tank top, gorgeous boobs jiggling as she runs after her dog.
Total inspiration for my next blog post.
She catches my eye, recognition flaring, but she’s too focused on getting her dog to give me more than a breathy “Hey.” Predicting the inevitable, I turn and run after her.
I groan to myself. Now I have a view of her perky ass bouncing as she runs, her hair trailing behind her in a ponytail. Black leggings show off the curve of her lean legs and perfectly proportioned hourglass shape.
I’ve almost caught up to her, and she’s almost caught up to her dog, but not in time. Chauncey speeds up and splashes into a giant puddle with fervor only a dog could possess.
Evelyn draws her breath in sharply. “No!”
Hair flying, tits bouncing, ass full and gorgeous, she lunges for his leash in a desperate move to keep him dry, but he pulls her down shoulders first into the mud, dragging her several feet before coming to a stop.
She cries out and grabs her ankle.
I cringe, knowing that had to hurt.
Rushing to catch up to them, I crouch beside her. She bites her pouty lower lip, and I stare at it for a second, distracted, before I remember what just happened.
“Evelyn, are you okay?”
She struggles to stand up, clearly in pain, but it’s like she doesn’t want me to see. She nods yes, but I don’t believe her. I reach out a hand to help her out of the puddle, and in so doing get a good look at the damage. Her cheeks and clothes are muddy, her shirt is soaked through, and her knees have chunks of grass stuck on them.
Her dog, also covered in filth and looking pleased with himself, shakes it all off—all onto her—and sits next to her feet as if none of this happened.
“How bad did you hurt yourself?”
“Not bad,” she says, her voice strained as she straightens her body with a wince.
“Let me see.” I let go of her hand and watch her try to walk. She limps on one leg and wobbles before standing unsteadily before me.
“It hurts… a little,” she finally says, and she wraps her arms around herself as if to keep warm.
Then I realize, You dumbass, her shirt is drenched and it’s see-through. She’s crossing her arms so you don’t see her tits.
I strip off my shirt—it’s warm and I haven’t started sweating yet—and hand it to her. “Change your top or you’ll freeze.”