Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers Read Free Page B

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    “It was only third place.” Blanca looked at Jude modestly. Farrah had never seen such a girlish expression on her friend’s face. Blanca wasn’t president of the bragging rights division of the club for nothing.
    “That’s a grueling race. Congratulations!” He turned from Blanca to Farrah. “You’re in one competitive track club,” he said admiringly, his eyes wandering to her full mouth.
    “Tell me about your track club,” she said, a slight prickle tracing its way down her spine. “Greenwich, did you say?” The name brought to mind tennis, sailing, and golf. Did they get sweaty in places like Greenwich, Connecticut? Surely, it wasn’t anything like the Bronx.
    “We have some top runners, men and women, but no Ironman finishers from what I know,” he shot another respectful glance in Blanca’s direction.
    “Thank you,” was all Blanca said. Farrah couldn’t believe it. She’d never seen her friend act coy before. What was going on here? Did Blanca think Jude was a bit of all right? She’d find out soon enough on the ride back, since they’d all come up together in John’s van.
    The food came, and talk died down. Farrah attacked her oatmeal, eager to dispel whatever impression she’d given Jude about being high maintenance in the food and drink department. She rued worrying the waitress about the milk. Sometimes, she drove herself crazy with her own fussiness. It had been about the only thing she’d had in common with her ex-boyfriend, and it hadn’t helped their relationship.
    “Do you live in the Bronx?” Jude asked.
    “Yes. In Riverdale,” she said, referring to the Bronx’s most exclusive neighborhood, running north and south next to the Hudson River.
    “Nice area.”
    “It’s pretty. But parking is tough.”
    “Do you work in the city?”
    “Sort of. I’m based in the city, in Midtown.”
    “So you take the train in?”
    “Yes, when I go into my office.”
    “You don’t go into your office every day?”
    “No, I go in maybe once every two weeks.” The last thing she wanted to talk about was her job.
    “Then what do you do the rest of the time?”
    “I don’t go in.” She didn’t mean to be obtuse. But every time she told a man how much she traveled, it ended up being their final conversation.
    “Sounds good to me.”
    “What do you do?” She kicked herself. She’d just asked the one question she most disliked being asked herself.
    “I try not to work. But that doesn’t work most of the time.”
    His answer piqued her interest as well as her imagination. It was so different from the way men in Manhattan talked, typically bragging about the 100-hour weeks they put in. As if that could be a turn on.
    “I know what you mean,” she agreed, at the same time trying to push Monday morning to the farthest corner of her mind.
    “Will I see you at Leatherman’s Loop then?”
    “I’ll try to make it.” She was intrigued by the sound of the race.
    “I’ll show you some horse country afterward, if you’re interested.”
    She nodded, at a loss for words. She loved horses, although she’d never had a chance to ride as a child. There weren’t any stables near Jackson Heights, Queens. Even if there were, her family hadn’t had money to pay for lessons.
    “We’ll see,” she finally got out. She made a note to ride up in the team van that day.
    “Sure.” This time, she caught his eyes wandering to her mouth, then back up to her eyes.
    Suddenly, the diner felt hot and close. She needed some fresh air. Throwing down her napkin, she got up. “I’ll be right back,” she told Jude.
    Blanca looked up questioningly, one eyebrow cocked. Farrah shot her a look that said “Don’t open your mouth.” It was like asking a bullfrog not to croak.
    Hurrying outside, she gulped in the crisp, cool September air.
    He’d more or less asked her out, hadn’t he? Farrah had not gone on a real date since her ex, Will, had disappeared almost three years ago. She just hadn’t