Read Online Rhythm, Chord & Malykhin by Mariana Zapata - Free Book Online Page B

treadmill or when I didn’t mix it up with the Stairmaster. I figured my ass and thighs could thank me when I was forty. But it had been more than two weeks since the last time I’d made an effort to put my legs to use.
    But Sacha was the same person who took me accidentally kicking him in the ass like a champ, and had gone out to eat with me so I wouldn’t go by myself. He hadn’t given me the smallest impression that he was anything but a nice guy. “Come with me,” he said, already waving me forward.
    “Are you sure?” I asked,
    The singer rolled his eyes. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
    “Let me change,” I looked at the thin sweatpants I’d had on since the night before, “and find sunblock. I’ll be quick.”
    Sacha tipped his head to the side. “I have some—”
    Of course he did, with that clear skin that somehow managed not to be pasty.
    “—get dressed and I’ll grab it.”
    Grabbing semi-clean shorts and a sports bra from my backpack, I changed into them as quickly as I could and threw my T-shirt back on. I also grabbed some cash that ended up getting stuffed under a bra strap. If we were going to suffer from heat exhaustion, I was stopping to get something to eat at some point afterward; he just didn’t know it yet. After letting Gordo know that I was leaving since he was the only one who hadn’t taken off, I found Sacha waiting outside of the bus with a small tube of aloe vera-based sunblock in his hand that he tossed over.
    I’d like to say that I focused on putting the sunblock on my own body, but I didn’t. Correction: I couldn’t.
    When Sacha peeled off his shirt and began smothering the cream onto his freckle-spotted shoulders, arms, chest, neck and even the shell of his ears… I was entranced. It was like seeing a meteor shower. Or having candy for the first time after you’d tried going on a diet.
    Except way more magnificent.
    Sacha even had these small light-brown moles dotting his abs and back. He had a trim, muscular frame that I admired from the corner of my eye every time he was shirtless. He had the body of those swimmers that Laila and I groaned over every four years, and he was putting lotion all over himself. It was better than watching porn. Hell, better than watching Robby Lingus porn. Good grief. I finished slathering myself sloppily while he put his shirt back on.
    “Do you know where you want to go run or are we figuring it out as we go?” I asked as I bent over to stretch my hamstrings.
    “East. There’s usually less people in that direction,” Sacha said.
    I hummed like I knew what direction east was without searching out the sun and chirped up an, “okay.”
    Five minutes later, we were both stretched and ready to go. He tipped his head to the left with a playful smile and asked, “Are you ready, Jesse Owens?”
    I snorted. “I was born ready.”
    Sacha snickered before nudging my forearm with the back of his hand.
    We started off with a slow jog to warm up for what seemed about a mile. He tempered his step so that he wasn’t twenty feet in front of me considering his legs were almost a foot longer. He shot me a glance over his shoulder once and I nodded. Then we took off.
    He wasn’t kidding when he said he was fast. He really was. He had the stride of a long distance runner but the potential, restrained speed of someone who possibly ran sprints for fun. Luckily for me, I’d been a sprinter in high school, so it didn’t kill me too much to catch up with him.
    At first.
    One mile.
    Two miles.
    Three, four and five miles.
    My lungs started to get tight.
    Six miles.
    Seven miles.
    My calves began cramping.
    By the eighth mile, I was struggling with my breathing and my cramps passed “aching” and went straight to “cramping.”
    Honestly, I had no clue where we were, much less where the venue was. What made it worse was that Sacha looked sweaty but not nearly winded enough. What the hell was he? A cyborg?
    It was probably another half a mile before