Free Moore To Love by Faith Andrews Page B

attention. Now that it seems all eyes are on me, I take it back.
    “The regulars.” He sniffs as if I should know what he’s talking about. When I shake my head in misunderstanding, he continues, “ We’ve been rounding that track for the last few years and what started out as a hello every now and then turned into a sort of, I don’t know, common ground, I guess.”
    Understandable. I get that comradery vibe in the park, too. Funny, though, since I never actually thought to talk to one of the regulars andI never witnessed Lane speaking to one, either.
    “But I always see you alone.” Except of course that one time, with that one chick that I’d rather not bring to your attention since you haven’t brought her around again and I’m secretly hoping you broke up, if she was indeed your girlfriend. And now she’s moved on and you’re all sad and you’re here and you saved me and . . . will you marry me?
    My thoughts trail off but Lane goes on. “Nah, not true.” He shrugs his muscular shoulders. “You and I just never seem to be on the same timetable, but after we pass each other I usually catch up with Ronnie or Saul. Other times it’s Jenny and Karen.”
    “Huh,” I muse. “There’s a whole world of you people out there that I never knew about.”
    “Don’t be crazy. You know who they are, too. Ronnie’s that guy with the four dogs. Saul is the red-headed dude with the dark shades. And Jenny and Karen are the twins. Karen usually has her jogger stroller. The little guy in there is her son, Liam. And Jenny—” He huffs before he can finish his thought, his voice lingering on her name. I bet she’s the girl I saw him with that time.
    Instead of allowing him to reflect on this Jenny , I cut him off. “Well, I still feel like an outsider to your secret runner’s society. I don’t know jack about all of these regulars , but they all seem to know me, is that right?”
    “They sure do!” His thick chest rises and falls with silent laughter.
    “Hey! So, I’m some comedy act to all of you?” Madeline Moore, the perpetual butt of the joke.
    Lane notices my embarrassment and reaches over to rest his hand on my arm. I almost pass out again from the gentle gesture. “Not at all. Like I said, it’s cute. And you have a really sweet voice.”
    Humina, humina, humina. My mouth falls open at his sweet words. I’m momentarily speechless. Thank God for head injuries—blame it on the brain.
    Lane and I spend an awkward moment in silence, evaluating each other’s faces as if really seeing each other for the first time. I take note of the barely noticeable curve to his nose and the small scar underneath his right eye. Beautiful imperfections. His five o’clock shadow is scruffier than usual, but it’s sexy and colorful, bits of auburn and deep orange intertwined with the same ashy blonde on top of his head. His eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen and taken notice of lots of eyes in my line of work. The deep jade hue doesn’t even compare to that of any I’ve seen on a woman. This man is perfection. And I’m only looking at what’s above the neck. I can only imagine what the rest of the package is like underneath that heather grey, sweat-damp, body-hugging—
    “Madeline Moore?” A man wearing a white lab coat waltzes into my room and steals every ounce of goo-goo goodness out of my moment with Lane.
    Lane snaps out of the haze we were both under and zips out of the chair. He starts to excuse himself, using my full name. “Madeline,” it sounds like honey dripping off his tongue. “I should go. The doctor probably has some—”
    “No!” I blurt out, every molecule in my body urging me to make him stay put. “Please, stay?” It’s a desperate plea. I, myself, recognize the pitiful despair lacing my tone. The doctor arches a brow, indicating he recognizes it, too. And Lane—handsome, caring, fancy-pants-wearing Lane—he narrows his gaze and looks deep into my eyes, letting