Taming Romeo Read Free Page B

condiments don’t count.
    I change into a pair of running shorts, a tank top with the words “I’m hottest…” on the front and “when I sweat” on the back. Pulling my hair into a pony tail, I secure it with a rubber band and don a wide brimmed baseball cap.
    Sunscreen, sunscreen. My mother’s voice harps in my ear.
    I spread a thick dollop over my face and extend it to my neck and the top of my chest. As a medical student, I know all about the harmful effects of UV rays, but the chemicals in sunscreen could cause the very skin cancer it’s supposed to protect you from.
    Once again, I run through all the symptoms I’m experiencing. Heart palpitations, sweaty palms, hot flashes. Anxiety and impending doom. I could either have a blood sugar problem or a heart valve issue, maybe even cardiomyopathy. Joyful thought, Evie. Keep it up and you’ll master the art of hypochondria and be the bane of medical insurers everywhere.
    Enough time wasted. I pour myself a large glass of water, down it, and strap an iPod to my waistband. Five minutes later, I emerge from my family’s new home on the west side of Rancho Santa Fe, quite a change from the La Mesa neighborhood I grew up in. They moved during my first year of medical school, so I wasn’t around when they went house hunting. The first time I returned home, I couldn’t keep my mouth closed. Acres and acres of white horse fences, orchards filled with oranges and lemons, and gigantic mansions with long private driveways were scattered along bucolic, gently rolling streets. My parents’ house is a fixer-upper close to long, tree covered stretches of country roads. Ideal for a leisurely stroll, or in my case, a brutal run.
    I stretch my five-foot-four frame and do a few warm-up exercises before walking up my parents’ curved driveway. I turn left to start by going uphill. Traffic is light, as it always is, and I’m glad my neighbors are not the kind to be out and about in their gardens. Once or twice, gardeners in their pickup trucks slow and pass me. My jogging must amuse the day workers in the back and a few whoop and wolf whistle. Only a few. Either the workers are polite in this neighborhood, or more likely, I need serious work.
    Increasing my pace, I trot up the hill to the intersection. My breathing is getting labored. I check my watch. A full six minutes. Trot, trot, trot. Think how much weight I must be losing. I pump my arms harder. Someone once told me if my arms were moving, my legs would move too. I swing them harder and stumble. Okay, maybe I should walk a little. Didn’t they say interval training strengthens the body faster than a steady monotonous pace?
    I mark the next crossroad and walk to it. Now I start running. It’s a slight downhill. Good show. I stretch my legs and pound my way down the hill. The theme song to Chariots of Fire plays through my mind before I realize I haven’t turned on any tunes in my music player. Actually this is Genie’s iPod and I have no idea what’s in her playlist.
    Another excuse to take a walking break. I turn on the iPod and scroll through her playlists. One is marked Romeo García. Incredible. My sister has every one of his singles. Admittedly, some are too sappy for my taste. Cheesy love songs for preteen girls. Now that Genie is eighteen, she should be outgrowing this teenybopper stuff. Come on. Even when I was secretly dating Romeo, I never listened to this sugary, empty calorie fluff. Give me Three Days Grace or Breaking Benjamin any day.
    Nevertheless, I select her Romeo playlist and crank it up. His voice back then was too boyish, cute. I’m sure as all-get-out he doesn’t sound so sugary now. Maybe it’s me, but there’s something really sexy about a strong, booming voice shouting with the blasts of an electric guitar. I’m working up a sweat, gawking at the mansions and elaborate landscapes, energized at the thought of the new powerful Romeo. That shit-eating grin alone could topple a row of pretty boys