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

send Will a text to explain that I—
    “Claire!”
    Will straightened up and waved, and I forced a smile onto my face as I closed the remaining distance between us.
    “Hi,” I said, looking at Becky. “I’m Claire.”
    “Becky. It’s so great to meet you. I saw your band last spring at the student center. You guys were amazing.”
    She liked my music? Damn.
    “Thanks. I, um, hear you play soccer.”
    She nodded. “We’re having a great season this year, but you’d never know it.” She sent a mock glare Will’s way. “Considering that all the money and attention go to football.”
    Will grinned. “Hey, I’m with you on this. I know it’s not fair. But that article you wrote was great, and if people keep speaking up maybe things will change.”
    “Article?” I asked.
    Will nodded. “Becky covers sports for the Hart Star. She wrote a pretty tough piece on college athletics, showing the disparity of resources between men’s and women’s sports.”
    She was a feminist? Damn.
    Once again, I considered bagging out. I could tell them I had a headache or a stomach ache or a leg cramp or—
    Becky moved closer to Will and bumped his hip with hers. “Are you ready to go?”
    It wasn’t a big deal. One little hip bump. But something flared up inside me, and when Will said he was ready I said, “Me, too.”
    “Great. It’s two and half miles around the lake, so we’ll do two laps.”
    I nodded. “Two laps. Great.”
    Will spoke up. “You can stop after one, you know. And let us know if you need to slow down the pace or—”
    “I’ll be fine,” I said quickly.
    Will looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he just shrugged. “Okay.”
    The first section of the path was wide enough for the three of us to run side-by-side. We started off at what seemed like a pretty reasonable speed, and I felt confident that I could keep it up for two laps.
    I continued to feel that way for about a minute and half.
    After ninety seconds, I was panting and wheezing. My leg muscles were burning and there was a stitch in my side.
    Will and Becky were having some kind of fitness geek-out about aerobic and anaerobic exercise and target heart rates. Becky had a Fitbit and she was telling Will how much she loved it. I was trying to shore up my determination to keep going when Will asked me a question.
    “What?” I gasped out.
    “I said, can you talk? That’s a good test to make sure you’re not exercising too hard.”
    If that was the case, then Will was doing fine. He wasn’t having any trouble talking. He might as well have been sitting down.
    I took a few deep breaths and made a mighty effort.
    “Yes, I can talk. Don’t worry about me.”
    Two sentences without a huff or a puff. Yay Claire.
    Will took me at my word and he and Becky went back to their conversation. I didn’t even try to listen to what they were saying, focusing all my energy on moving my arms and legs. When the path narrowed, I gratefully dropped behind the other two.
    “How are you doing?” Becky asked me over her shoulder, her voice as unstressed as Will’s and her smile sweet and friendly.
    I hated her.
    I marshaled another massive effort. “I’m great.”
    After that things were a little easier. The two athletes were ahead of me, so at least I didn’t have to worry about them seeing my red face and the ever-increasing pain and agony in my expression. And they couldn’t hear my heavy breathing, either.
    As we kept going on the path to hell, I focused on Will. He was like a machine, his legs pumping like pistons, up and down, up and down, as measured and tireless as pile drivers.
    My eyes shifted over to Becky. She matched him stride for stride, her legs as piston-like as his were. And it was obvious from the way she was talking that this wasn’t even a stretch for her.
    She was probably taking it easy because of me.
    They probably both were.
    The insanity of what I was doing swept over me. What had I been thinking? How could I