Free Brent Sinatra: All of Me by Mallory Monroe

never
to Emmy.   She’d been making moves on Brent
for a long time, but now there was a sense of urgency about her actions.
Because she wanted next.   He was fair
game, as far as she was concerned.
    That was why she moved to the front of the pack as soon as
Brent stopped.   “Hey, Brent,” she said
with the biggest smile she could muster.
    Brent gulped water and looked down at her pink shoes, her
pink short shorts, her pink t-shirt with her braless pink nipples pinching
against the fabric.   Matchy-matchy kid
stuff, he thought.   “Hey.”
    The other two young ladies spoke as well, and Brent spoke
back.   They, too, were dressed in various
shades of pink as if their leader’s style was now their style.   Both were plain Janes compared to Emmy, but
that, he knew, was by Emmy’s design.   They were her counterpoints.   They
didn’t know it, but they were shields for her to get what she wanted.   Brent knew the type.   He’d been dealing with them all his
life.   They would bring their friends
along, not because they enjoyed their company, but because they wanted the man
to realize just how much more attractive they were compared to the
competition.   That was why Brent missed
Makayla.   He couldn’t imagine a serious
person like her thinking about playing these kind of silly-ass games.   This would be child’s play to her.   He chose her for that very reason.   Mal was young too, but she was a woman among
girls.   His woman.
    “Running again I see,” Emmy said, when it was clear he was
more interested in drinking his water than talking to them.
    But she was right: he wasn’t interested.   “Yup,” he said.
    “You run almost every morning, don’t you?”
    “Almost.”
    “And you’re at it again I see.”
    Since it was obvious that he was running again, and she had
already made that point, he didn’t bother to respond.
    But his silence didn’t deter Emmy.   “I was just telling my friends how you’re
always on the run.   Every morning like
clockwork, unless there’s some big case in town you have to solve.   But you’re always on the go.   And you have the body to prove it.”   She laughed.   Her friends laughed.   Brent gulped
down more water.
    The girls looked at each other.   He wasn’t thinking about them.   But Emmy kept smiling and kept on
trying.   “I like to run too.   We all do.   But you put us all to shame, Chief Sinatra.   You shame us all.   You run with a purpose, and all alone.   You probably could use some company
sometime.”
    Brent gulped down the last of his water, tossed the empty
bottle into the recycle bin, and already felt his second wind.   “Have a nice day, ladies,” he said, and took
off running again.
    Emmy couldn’t believe it.    “You saw that?” she asked.   “What
an a-hole!”
    “He didn’t give us the time of day!”
    Emmy shook her head in disgust, and then started walking fast
and angrily toward her car. Her two friends hurried behind her.
    “Is that it?” one of them asked.   “Is this all?   We got out of our beds and came all this way, to this sweaty track, for
this?”
    But Emmy was too embarrassed and upset to respond. She knew
it was a waste too.   She didn’t look
back.
    And neither did Brent.   He kept running the track as they loaded into Emmy’s car and drove
off.   He kept running if he was running
for his life.   Until he ran off track to
the road less traveled: the backroads.
    He ran along the quiet wooded trail that used to be overrun
with young, hotshot joggers who thought it was cool to put on their tight
shorts and fancy wristbands and brag about those miles they ran before
work.   Now it was the sanctuary of the
very few: the real runners.   The men and women
who could take the pounding of the rough terrain and not curse their beaten
bodies for even attempting.   The Ethan
Park track was a far more desirable jog path, and most joggers thought old
school men like Brent were out of their