The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,231

his shoulder.

“Hurry up, we’ll need to stretch and warm up before we head out.”

Chapter 29

TIME

REMI

* * *

“You okay?”

My question is met with a wheezing sound that sounds like a groan, but I think is actually a “fuck you.”

Kal’s been cursing me out for the last mile and a half. The return trip has really highlighted the slopes in the terrain, we’ve run uphill for most of the journey that leads to the house.

“Want me to carry you?”

She comes to a dead stop and bends over, hands on her knees and squints up at me. Her face is red and her hair, soaked with sweat, sticks to her face. She pants as she peers up at me, and she looks pissed.

“Is that a yes?”

She stands, hands at her waist and grimaces. “That’s an it’s about fucking time you asked, you sadist,” she says and I let out a loud bark of laughter.

“You could have told me to pick you up any time.”

“You should have offered the first time I said I thought I was going to throw up.”

“You don’t ask, you don’t get. Hop on.” I turn around so my back is facing her and bend my knees.

She puts her hands on my shoulder, and I hook my arms around her thighs and hoist her up.

She lets her entire weight rest on me, her head lolls on my shoulder. “Thank God you’re built like a gladiator, I don’t think I could have made it ten more steps.”

“Good thing you’re not built like a gladiator or you would have had to lie there until you caught your second wind.”

“Mmmm… whatever. I’m going to take a nap.” She drapes her arms around my neck and sighs. I savor her weight. The sweet smell of her sweat, the thud of her heart against my back, the heat of her pussy pressed to my back.

“So, this job, it’s as an investigative journalist?” She stiffens, lifts her head slightly. And then, she relaxes again and lays it back down.

“Yeah, it’s actually a television show. I’m sort of auditioning for a job. When I’m done with the assignment, I’ll know whether I get the permanent role that there’s only one of.”

“So you’re in a competition with someone else for it?”

“Yeah. His name is Slugman.”

“That’s his real name?” I chuckle.

“Yeah. Honestly, he’s not so bad. I just hate him because he’s ten years younger than me, probably smarter and more tech-savvy than I am.”

“So, you think the youngin’s got the leg up?”

“He might… but our editor, who would be our boss, likes me best.”

“So if you don’t get it then what?”

“Not getting it would be disastrous. I was out of work for so long. I tried to find a job in a male-dominated business obsessed with youth. That I even have a shot at this is a miracle.”

“What will you do if you don’t get it? Because that’s a possibility, right?”

“Bite your tongue and take that back.” She stiffens.

“I’m not saying you won’t. I believe in you. I’m sure you’ll bring back the makings for a great story and get the job. But I’m not making the decision and neither are you. So, we can’t be sure how it’ll go. You need to think about what you’ll do.”

She’s silent for a few minutes and then she says, “I don’t know, Remi.”

“Dig deep, Will. Rewrite your happy ending. One that doesn’t include this job.”

She’s quiet. But it’s not an uncomfortable silence. I can practically hear the slightly rusty wheels of her imagination turning.

“I’d get a regular, non-journalist job and spend my nights writing my book.”

“You want to write a book?”

“Yeah, I do. My book of Legends… I want to try and get it published.”

“Do you still have it?” I ask, a fond smile on my face as I remember the notebook that brought us together.

“Of course, I do. It’s in New York.”

“Good. So you have a good start. You have your book, next worst-case scenario.”

“Why can’t we do best-case scenarios instead?”

“Because you already know what that looks like. Best-case scenarios are always what we hope for or secretly expect. When we plan we need to think about—”

“What could go wrong.” She finishes for me. Just like old times.

“Exactly. So… what would you do if no one buys it?”

“Keep working my regular job and write for pleasure.”

“You give up easy, Kal.”

“No, I don’t. But I have bills to pay. I need that nine-to-five,” she protests.

“But why couldn’t writing pay the bills, too?”

“Because that’s not up to me. If I don’t