couldn’t get on with, because I always had her to look forward to.
I’d come back from work and run; always thinking of meeting Rachel later on. Then I’d get home, shower, and call Lindy, like I’d always done before walking down to collect Rachel.
My calls with Lindy would be their usual dull strained discussions all about life and people back home, what Lindy had done, who Lindy had seen, what my parents were doing, what my friends were doing. Then at the end of the call Lindy often threw in a jab at Rachel. ‘Is she still there? Hasn’t she got the message yet? Surely she’s …’ Sometimes I left my cell on the counter and went to get a drink or something when she started on about Rachel. I never listened anyway, nor replied, just let Lindy get her rant out.
When I came to pick up Rachel she’d breeze out all smiles and questions about what I’d been up to all day at work, and how my run went. Lindy never asked those questions.
I talked constantly with Rach. I couldn’t remember ever talking this easily with Lindy.
Rach and I liked the same TV shows and video games, we had some discussions on music choices, but disagreements made us laugh because she only teased, she didn’t argue. We had the same sense of humor, too.
“Come on you lazy boy,” Rach urged me, before turning to face front again. “I wanna get back and change, I’m not going on our big night out like this.”
I wanted to run with her, she said she’d never run and she wasn’t into it, but I thought she would be if I got her started; she had so much energy, I knew she’d get the buzz. Lindy had never got it. She’d hated me running when I was back at home. She’d begged me to give it up, once.
But I liked running; I’d feel like I’d missed out on something if I didn’t run.
Rachel said she didn’t get running, but she did get what it meant to me. I knew she did, because she always asked where I’d run and how far, and if I’d enjoyed it.
She’d finished two hours early tonight so we had plenty of time to go out, and I knew she’d bought new clothes with money from tips––money from the men she’d flashed her cleavage at as she’d served. But I only knew because she’d asked permission to spend the money on herself before paying me back. I’d told her go ahead, treat yourself, you deserve it.
She’d kissed my cheek, when she’d said thank you, which was the only physical contact we’d had since I’d last fixed up her hand.
She wasn’t wearing the bandage any more, she’d taken it off. The wound was healing okay though, I’d made her hold her palm out and show me.
“Hurry up!” she called from in front of me.
My hands were in the pockets of my leather jacket and my lips twisted to a half smile as I walked. Of course, I could break out into a run and see if she could keep up, her heels weren’t that high.
My hands slipped out of my pockets and I started slowly, jogging past her and glancing back at her over my shoulder. I’d worn my running shoes with my jeans to come fetch her.
She started running too, hitching up her tight pencil skirt with one hand.
I ran a little faster, it didn’t even make me breathless but it was so easy to leave her behind.
“Wait! Hey wait! Not that fast! Wait!”
I upped my pace again, although it was nowhere near the pace I usually ran at.
“Jason Macinlay! I said wait! I can’t keep up with you!”
I stopped dead and turned around laughing. There were others in the street looking at us oddly, I didn’t give a damn.
Rach had her shoes in one hand and her other gripped her skirt, holding it hitched up to the top of her long slender thighs, as she ran the last few paces in stocking covered feet over the cold ground.
She had a good stride. I was sure she’d be good to run with.
When she reached me though, she doubled over panting and pressing her palm to her side. “Dammit. I got a stitch. What did you have to do that for?”
I laughed at her. Well, she
I’d come back from work and run; always thinking of meeting Rachel later on. Then I’d get home, shower, and call Lindy, like I’d always done before walking down to collect Rachel.
My calls with Lindy would be their usual dull strained discussions all about life and people back home, what Lindy had done, who Lindy had seen, what my parents were doing, what my friends were doing. Then at the end of the call Lindy often threw in a jab at Rachel. ‘Is she still there? Hasn’t she got the message yet? Surely she’s …’ Sometimes I left my cell on the counter and went to get a drink or something when she started on about Rachel. I never listened anyway, nor replied, just let Lindy get her rant out.
When I came to pick up Rachel she’d breeze out all smiles and questions about what I’d been up to all day at work, and how my run went. Lindy never asked those questions.
I talked constantly with Rach. I couldn’t remember ever talking this easily with Lindy.
Rach and I liked the same TV shows and video games, we had some discussions on music choices, but disagreements made us laugh because she only teased, she didn’t argue. We had the same sense of humor, too.
“Come on you lazy boy,” Rach urged me, before turning to face front again. “I wanna get back and change, I’m not going on our big night out like this.”
I wanted to run with her, she said she’d never run and she wasn’t into it, but I thought she would be if I got her started; she had so much energy, I knew she’d get the buzz. Lindy had never got it. She’d hated me running when I was back at home. She’d begged me to give it up, once.
But I liked running; I’d feel like I’d missed out on something if I didn’t run.
Rachel said she didn’t get running, but she did get what it meant to me. I knew she did, because she always asked where I’d run and how far, and if I’d enjoyed it.
She’d finished two hours early tonight so we had plenty of time to go out, and I knew she’d bought new clothes with money from tips––money from the men she’d flashed her cleavage at as she’d served. But I only knew because she’d asked permission to spend the money on herself before paying me back. I’d told her go ahead, treat yourself, you deserve it.
She’d kissed my cheek, when she’d said thank you, which was the only physical contact we’d had since I’d last fixed up her hand.
She wasn’t wearing the bandage any more, she’d taken it off. The wound was healing okay though, I’d made her hold her palm out and show me.
“Hurry up!” she called from in front of me.
My hands were in the pockets of my leather jacket and my lips twisted to a half smile as I walked. Of course, I could break out into a run and see if she could keep up, her heels weren’t that high.
My hands slipped out of my pockets and I started slowly, jogging past her and glancing back at her over my shoulder. I’d worn my running shoes with my jeans to come fetch her.
She started running too, hitching up her tight pencil skirt with one hand.
I ran a little faster, it didn’t even make me breathless but it was so easy to leave her behind.
“Wait! Hey wait! Not that fast! Wait!”
I upped my pace again, although it was nowhere near the pace I usually ran at.
“Jason Macinlay! I said wait! I can’t keep up with you!”
I stopped dead and turned around laughing. There were others in the street looking at us oddly, I didn’t give a damn.
Rach had her shoes in one hand and her other gripped her skirt, holding it hitched up to the top of her long slender thighs, as she ran the last few paces in stocking covered feet over the cold ground.
She had a good stride. I was sure she’d be good to run with.
When she reached me though, she doubled over panting and pressing her palm to her side. “Dammit. I got a stitch. What did you have to do that for?”
I laughed at her. Well, she
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