Free The Problem With Crazy by Lauren McKellar Page A

against the building and thanked a potentially deaf God for the fact that I had at least organised the accommodation. I shot off a quick email to the hotel manager—I knew they had a sister property slightly further south. Perhaps I could move our room there, meaning I’d only run the risk of seeing Dave on the plane, and not at the hotel where the band had also booked rooms.
    I kicked off the wall and looked at the winding path that led to the parking lot. After being trapped inside that claustrophobic emotion-inducing office I didn’t feel like hopping back in my tiny yellow car, and driving the hour-long trip home. I felt like walking, stretching my legs.
    No, scratch that.
    I felt like running.
    I grabbed my ankle and pressed it behind me, stretching my muscles out in the privacy of this tiny courtyard. Birds sang gaily in the branches of the giant willow tree across from me and I tried to block them out.
    Next, I kicked my foot out and leaned forward to touch it. It was a good thing I’d changed into those workout clothes, after all. Maybe I could do a few laps around the building—this giant ambiguous counselling office—before starting the trip home. I switched legs and bent down again. To sweat, to feel exhaustion and pain—I needed the physical accompaniment to my internal turmoil.
    “Nice ass,” a deep voice said. I jumped and quickly straightened up. Heat rushed to my cheeks as my head spun from left to right, trying to identify where the voice had come from.
    “Sorry,” the voice came again, only this time I identified its source. A guy stepped out from behind the tree, lit cigarette in hand. He was tall, about six-foot, with floppy brown hair, olive-toned skin and chocolate-coloured eyes. A tiny freckle marred his right cheek. A small smile was twisted on his lips, showcasing a dimple that made something twinge inside of me.
    “You can’t do that.” I frowned.
    “You bend over in my presence, and I’m not allowed to compliment you?” The guy stepped forward, closer to me.
    “I was stretching.” I shot him what I hoped was a withering look. “And you were hiding behind a tree.”
    “I was relaxing behind a tree.” He stepped closer again, and I saw the light dancing in his eyes. “But I do realise I might have come across a little sleazy. I meant it as a compliment. You have a great ass. Much better than some of the others I’ve seen around here.”
    “You do this all the time?”
    “Depends on what you mean by ‘this’.”
    “Stand behind trees and check out people’s asses.” A tiny smile crept onto my lips, and I tried to force it back down.
    “Only when I have time.” This time, a full-blown grin stretched its way across his mouth and I was treated to double dimples and square, white shiny teeth. “What about you? Do you, er, stretch at counselling centres a lot?”
    His words brought me crashing back down to the present. I was at a counselling centre, a specialty one, for people coming to terms with illness. I was here because my dad was dying, and I could be, too. Some random guy had flirted with me, but I’d probably never have a boyfriend again because who would want to date someone with my problems, as Dave had oh so kindly pointed out?
    Reality = checked.
    “No.” I shook my head. “Anyway, I was just leaving.” I turned my back and looked at the path in front of me, trying to decide which way to go.
    “Great.” The boy nodded. “You’re going for a run?”
    I didn’t answer. Maybe if I ignored him he would get the hint.
    I chose left and jogged down the path, a slow gait at first while my legs got used to the activity. It felt weird, running in the middle of the day in a park I’d never been in, but I didn’t care.
    As I turned the corner I picked up the pace, my knees pumping up and down with extra speed. I passed windows in the multi-storey brown building, more giant, gnarled willow trees like the one out front, and brilliant flashes of lime-green grass.
    I