The Wall of Winnipeg and Me - Mariana Zapata Page 0,75

I’d seen Aiden in compression shorts.

I had to force myself to quit fondling those big hams with my eyeballs. I didn’t know what it was about muscular thighs that drove me nuts. I could live without a six-pack, but developed quads and calves were my Kryptonite. “Because you shouldn’t be running.” Before I could think twice about what was in my mouth, I said the worst thing you could possibly tell a highly competitive person. “And I don’t know if you can run five miles, big guy. Plus, your Achilles—”

What had I done?

The Wall of Winnipeg, the man who had dragged himself into becoming the greatest defensive player in the NFO, leveled a gaze at me that for the first time in the years we’d known each other, made me uncomfortable. It was unsettling. Beyond unsettling. And I wished I had something to hide behind.

“You worry about running your own five miles, all right?” he quipped in a quiet, rough voice.

God help us. I lifted my hands up, palms toward him, and shrugged, backing away in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

My middle finger twitched, but I kept it under wraps and with its brothers and sisters. We stretched in silence for the next few minutes, our quads, hamstrings, and calves getting needed attention. I did it because of my knee injury, and Aiden because his body was worth millions. Millions and millions.

The fact he was breaking the strict rules he put on himself just so I wouldn’t go out for a run alone, definitely made an appearance in my heart and head, chipping away a little more at that aggravation I’d built up with him since I had quit. I just hoped he didn’t regret it tomorrow.

“I’m ready,” the stubborn mule reported.

I nodded and kept my eye roll to myself. “The trail around here is only two miles. I’ve been circling it.”

He simply jerked his chin down and followed me toward the gated entrance. I waved at the security guard as we slipped through the side door, and soon enough, we started jogging.

As big as Aiden was, it was amazing how he didn’t lumber. He definitely wasn’t a sprinter by any measure, but he was constant, consistent. His stride was even, his breathing good, and those long legs, which had to weigh at least eighty pounds apiece, somehow made it so he wasn’t a half mile ahead or behind me. I had no idea how much distance he usually covered when he did cardio, usually on the bike or doing sprints, but I knew he kept track of that sort of thing religiously.

But he kept up, mile after mile, even as his breathing got heavier and each step became more of a fight for him. And when we rounded the last corner, about a quarter of a mile away from the house, I slowed down. Neither one of us said much as we walked side by side. I had my hands on my hips as I caught my breath, and when I happened to look over, his hands were in the same position as mine.

As if sensing me checking him out, Aiden raised those thick, nearly black slashes called his eyebrows.

I raised my eyebrows back at him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He gave me a smug and slightly sour look. We walked for a little while in silence before he asked, “When did you start running?”

Wiping at my brow, I made a face at myself. “Right before I quit.”

Aiden did a double take I couldn’t miss.

I remembered the day I’d been outside of his house and I’d seen that woman running. “I didn’t have time for it before.” And I hadn’t exactly been motivated to, but I kept that part to myself. “I want to run a marathon in a few months. I just need to get up to six miles without going into cardiac arrest afterward.”

We walked a little longer before he added, “One of our conditioning coaches runs marathons. I’ll ask him if he has any tips. You should really be following a training guide so you don’t get injured.”

“Oh.” Huh. “Thanks. It’ll still be at least a month before I can even start at the rate I’m going, but we all have to start somewhere, I figure.”

He made a thoughtful noise but didn’t say anything else as we walked the rest of the way home. I could tell he was busy thinking about something from the way the creases at his eyes intensified, but he didn’t voice