But the sun was warming my skin and beads of sweat were trickling between my shoulder blades. I had a baby sleeping in a stroller in front of me and the calming thwack of my sneakers on the pavement. I felt… good. Great, even.
So when I answered, the stutter wasn’t there. My tongue was my own. “Dane is an enormous flirt.”
Gordo laughed. “Good. Christian could use some flirting with. Maybe if he had someone to focus on, he’d get off my case to find a new guy.”
I almost missed a step. I wanted to ask. God, I wanted to ask so much. We’d talked about work over dinner that one time, and he’d said I was too sexy to collaborate with, though what was said while plastered should be taken with a grain of salt. But that was the crux of it: despite how much I liked and admired Gordo, there was so much I didn’t know about him still.
How had Gordo become a single father? And was he really interested in me? What the fuck did he see in me, if so? And what was I supposed to do about that?
“I wouldn’t count on him to keep Christian’s focus for long,” I said, too cowardly to ask any of the questions burning a hole right through my heart. “He’s a bit of a man-whore—and ‘a bit’ is being generous.”
“Ah, I see. What, then, does that say about you?”
I almost bit my tongue. “What d-do you mean?”
“Well, you are the company you keep and all that.” He winked at me as he said it, and my ears heard the joke even as my brain flashed red with warning.
Because instead of feeling like it was flirting, it felt like a criticism. And why wouldn’t it be? Gordo might have his hands full with Giuliana, but he had a family and a respectable job. I had a fuck-ton of tattoos, and baggage so heavy I could barely carry it most days. A stutter and a juvie record and God, I had nothing to offer him except flirtations that wouldn’t go anywhere. I was sexy enough to be too dangerous to work with, but too much of a mess to date. To be a partner.
“I s..s...sh-sh-sh I sh-sho...fuck! I’m going to check on Dane,” I said, the stutter monkey heavy on my back, as I moved to let him take over pushing the stroller.
I looked to my feet, waiting for Gordo to grab a hold of the stroller, but he didn’t. Instead, his hand fell on mine. It was warm and our bodies were moving, keeping pace and eating up road, yet I felt frozen to the spot where he touched me. His touch was a cool breeze, dampening the twisting burn of shame in me.
Gordo made me feel so many fucking things. I hated him, in a way, for making me want things I’d not allowed myself to consider before. Things like running a race with a family, supporting a cause I adored, and thinking there might, might be something more for me at the finish line.
Gordo made me want connections like this, a touch that could cool me off if needed or stoke the passion in me when wanted. I wanted to get to know him, desperately. I wanted to run away. The shield in front of my heart felt like it was in danger of shattering, and I didn’t know what would happen if I let it.
“Don’t go,” Gordo said, not letting go of my hand. “Tell me what just happened. Did I say something wrong?”
When I risked a glance at him, his face was filled with remorse. He cared that he’d hurt my feelings, and I understood that he’d truly been teasing, not intending it to be a barb on my character. And he was reaching out, trying. I knew that I needed to try a little harder back, try to get out of my own head and meet him halfway. I couldn’t keep running.
“I’m...not s-sure what to s-say. My past—” I scrunched my nose as I sought the right words. “I’ve felt a lot of rejection in my life, and I think that when you s...s-said I was the c-company I kept, it felt like you were—”
Because we were still jogging and I was reeling from the up and down of the conversation, I felt wrung out. Speech was becoming even more of a challenge than normal.
But Gordo must have got it, because he squeezed my hand.