Kiss King - Mickey Miller Page 0,13

appreciate my parents’ resistance to technology. I mean, I’m not about to go join the Amish, but I’ve never had Instagram or a Twitter or anything and don’t plan on getting one any time soon.

Embracing the monotony and boredom, I think up a few more money-making ideas for Maya during the ride.

Sell T-shirts, put things on eBay, become a tutor. None of these things feel like they’ve got five figures in four weeks potential though. So, I know the problem isn’t solved just yet.

As I pull up to the meet at our archrival’s campus, Saint Simeon College, I’ve still got nothing.

When I step out of my truck, I can feel the buzz in the air produced by hundreds of teen and twenty-something athletes in track warmups jogging, chatting, and prepping for their races.

I hear the echo of a starter gun go off in the stadium, and I check my watch as I pay for a ticket and head inside to find a seat.

The first event is the thirty-two-hundred-meter run, which generally gets a cheer to start the race and then a cheer to finish, and about ten minutes of excruciating boredom in between.

I take a seat in the first row of the mostly empty stadium and spot Maya, who is lying on the artificial turf in the middle of the track, arms and legs spread out like an angel.

Here’s what you need to know about Maya, from my perspective, at least.

She’s medium height, medium build, blonde-haired, and has the ability to slide by your attention, if you let her. She’s so low-key that when you talk to her you might miss a few things.

1. Her eyes. They’re this gorgeous hue of green—you might think they’re blue at a glance, but they’re not.

2. I’m a very good gauge of people. And I could tell she had a lot going on between her ears the moment I met her. But I also noticed she actually enjoys playing into the “dumb blonde” stereotype. It’s this shield she uses against the world.

3. Her speed. Maya was all-state in Michigan in track her senior year. She never talks about this fact because she’s humble and doesn’t like talking about herself very much.

There are, also other parts of Maya which are noteworthy. Many tales have been told which have made their way around campus at this point. She’s got a fantastic ass—sort of normal for a track girl, and she doesn’t mind bragging about how good she is in bed.

On the other hand, the divorce seems to have altered her personality some. I noticed she hesitated to remind me of her abilities.

We were both present for many drunken conversations during fall term in which she tried to explain to me she was better at explaining blowjob techniques because she was well-versed in doing them, and that me trying to explain how to give a great blowjob was like a guy who has gone to the massage parlor trying to explain to a masseuse how to do their job, and that yes, she actually is the expert on the topic.

I’m startled when I feel a tap on my shoulder and spin around to see Maya with a goofy smile on her face.

She bubbles up when she sees me. “Hi Grant!”

She jumps into the seat next to me and wraps me up in a semi-awkward hug. Well, all right. I guess we’re on hugging terms now. I mean, I did write XOXO in that note I left her. But that’s just kind of my style.

“Had the day off, so I wanted to see, uh, the guys run.” I pause, then add sarcastically. “Wait, are you on the track team too? I had no idea.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes her fist into my shoulder.

“Whoa, hands off the merchandise,” I joke. “This is my throwing shoulder and I might pitch tomorrow.”

She shakes her head. “You know I run track and you came to see me. It’s okay, Big G, you don’t have to lie to me.”

“Big G? Really?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for a nickname for you. But you’re right. That one doesn’t quite work, does it?”

I shrug. “Nah. So how are you doing on this fine spring day? Tell me again, which events are you running?”

“I’m good, and I’m running the one-hundred, the two-hundred, and the four by one. Well, actually that’s a lie.”

“You’re not actually running those events?”

She leans her head on my shoulder.

“Nah, I am. The lie is that I’m good. I’m not good. I’m pretending like I’m