Free Claire (Hart University Book 2) by Abigail Strom Page A

in a gym in your life.”
    It was true. I’d told him that last year, and he’d offered to show me around the university fitness center and teach me to use the equipment.
    Why, oh why hadn’t I taken him up on that offer?
    “Are you seeing her before the date or not?”
    Now I definitely sounded pissy.
    “Well…”
    “You are. Where?”
    “We’re going jogging tomorrow morning before classes. But—”
    “I’ll come with you.”
    There was another silence, long enough for me to regret my impulsive and monumentally moronic offer.
    “You want to come jogging with us? We’re going to do five miles.”
    Was that a long way? I vaguely remembered running a mile and a half in junior high gym class, and it hadn’t been that bad.
    “Sure. I mean, running doesn’t require any special skill. And it’ll give me a chance to meet this girl and—what’s her name, anyway?”
    “Becky. But—”
    “Becky. Okay. It’ll give me a chance to meet her.”
    “Yeah, but I don’t—”
    “Do you not want me to meet her for some reason? Are you afraid I won’t like her?”
    “No, that’s not it. I’m just not sure jogging is the best—”
    “Just give me the where and when.”
    I heard him sigh. “Okay, but I’m going on record saying this is a bad idea. Do you promise you’ll stop running if it’s too much for you?”
    The minute he said that, he pretty much guaranteed that I would run with the two lovebirds until I dropped.
    “I promise,” I practically growled. “Where and when.”
    “The lake on the north side of campus. We’re meeting in front of the science building at six.”
    “Six a.m.?”
    “Yeah. But if you don’t—”
    “I’ll be there. Good night, Will.”
    “Good night.”
    I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and ran my hands through my hair.
    Six o’clock in the morning. I was going on a five-mile run at six in the freaking a.m.
    I flopped back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
    What had I gotten myself into?

Chapter Nine
    I’d set my alarm for five a.m., but by the time I stopped hitting the snooze button it was five-thirty. I jumped in the shower for a quick rinse, mostly just to wake myself up, and then I put on a pair of black yoga pants (the closest thing I had to athletic gear), my sturdiest bra, and a gray Hart University T-shirt. I added a headband to hold back my hair and my black Chuck Taylors, which were the only sneakers I owned.
    I was worried I’d be late if I walked, so I drove my car to the science building parking lot.
    I was five minutes early, but Will and Becky were there before me. They were stretching together, using one of the iron benches scattered along the lake path for balance, and I saw them before they saw me.
    Becky wasn’t gorgeous, but she was pretty. She had brown hair in a ponytail, thick dark eyebrows, and a long, lean, strong-looking body.
    She and Will had their left legs up on the back of the wrought iron bench and they were stretched out over their thighs, their heads turned toward each other as they chatted. They both looked a lot more serious about the jogging thing than I did with actual running outfits (Becky’s was purple) and actual running sneakers (Becky’s were neon green).
    I slowed down as I approached them. The sun was just beginning to come up, and the scene in front of me was spectacular.
    The early-morning mist on the lake was touched with red and gold. There were geese on the water floating silently by. The sky was a clear, transparent blue and the trees lining the lake path were moving softly in the breeze.
    Set against that background, Will and Becky looked sort of perfect together—happy and healthy and athletic, like they were about to film a Nike ad.
    Standing there in my yoga pants and T-shirt, with my music geek sneakers and black socks—I didn’t own any white sports socks—I felt like an interloper.
    They still hadn’t seen me. If I turned around now I could leave before they knew I was there. I could