Read Online Thomas & January by Fisher Amelie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Fisher Amelie
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runner.”
I took in her jogging outfit and thought the same. “Neither did I. You - that is, I meant to say, I didn’t know you ran.” Smooth. Very smooth.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, but amended, “but I don’t talk when I run. That’s when I listen to a lot of new music, actually.”
“Same here,” she said, holding up her iPod. This girl was all surprises.
Without another word, we began our jog. Since I’d been in Dublin before, for several weeks actually when I traveled with The Ivories (we’d had a crazy following here for some reason) and I was familiar with the strange cobblestone streets, I signaled for January to follow me. We jogged the River Liffey past Temple Bar for approximately two miles before crossing the bridge over the river and jogging Liffey the way back to Anchor House. The buildings were a pretty mix of old and new architecture. It fit Dublin so well. A city of old, cherished tradition but the people weren’t afraid of progress either. God, I loved Ireland. The last half-mile or so, I slowed down some to slow our heart rates. I was extremely impressed that January could keep up with me. It certainly explained the shape her legs were in. I’d yet to really see them, since it was dark at The Bowery, but their long, lean shapes definitely couldn’t be hidden by the pair of jeans she’d been wearing the night we’d kissed. I’d noticed. I hated that I did but, all the same, I did.
I looked over at her transiently throughout the run. I found her to be one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met and that included Kelly, I was loath to admit. I couldn’t deny it anymore, not when every male within a five-mile radius could sense her coming and would have jumped in front of a bus to make way for her. Every guy we passed, I wanted to punch in the gut for glancing her way. God, I’m a mess . For her, I was a slobbering mess. I hated it and loved it all at the same time.
She was a good five feet ten inches, possibly taller. She met my chin, which was practically unheard of. She had ridiculously long dark brown hair and blue eyes the color of the Atlantic. She was lean and beautiful and apparently talented according to Jason. He said she’d given up a full scholarship to Berkeley for piano. I was beginning to become enthralled with her and I absolutely hated it. I had to fight it. Had to.
When we reached Anchor House, we both leaned against the wrought-iron railing to catch our breath. We sat for a good five minutes before we were able to acknowledge each other.
“You’re kind of a hoss,” I admitted.
“So are you, actually,” she said, wrapping the cord of her earbuds around her iPod. “Hear anything good?” she asked, gesturing to my own iPod.
“Maybe. I was partial to a couple of indies who were too good to want a label’s interference, I think. There was one,” I said, thinking, turning her way. “A band in Paris. Feel like crossing the channel?” I asked with a slight smile.
“Uh, um, of course,” she said too cheerfully, even for January.
“ Okay ,” I said, skeptical.
“What’s their name?” she asked, changing the subject.
“All The Pretty Girls,” I admitted.
“Lame,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, but if all bands with terrible original names were turned down, we wouldn’t have The Beatles or even Led Zeppelin.”
“Yeah, Johnny and the Moondogs and the New Yardbirds would probably be playing pathetic hotel lounges right about now,” she said, then snorted, shocking the shit out of me.
“You - how did you...?”
“How did you ?” She rolled her eyes and jogged up the steps into the Anchor House and up to her room, leaving me with my jaw flush on the concrete below.
Zap .
After dozing off a bit after my run, I woke flustered to someone pounding on my door. I turned on my back, tired as hell from the time difference, and pulled my cell out. Eight-thirty. Damn . Wait, I wasn’t supposed to meet January
I took in her jogging outfit and thought the same. “Neither did I. You - that is, I meant to say, I didn’t know you ran.” Smooth. Very smooth.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, but amended, “but I don’t talk when I run. That’s when I listen to a lot of new music, actually.”
“Same here,” she said, holding up her iPod. This girl was all surprises.
Without another word, we began our jog. Since I’d been in Dublin before, for several weeks actually when I traveled with The Ivories (we’d had a crazy following here for some reason) and I was familiar with the strange cobblestone streets, I signaled for January to follow me. We jogged the River Liffey past Temple Bar for approximately two miles before crossing the bridge over the river and jogging Liffey the way back to Anchor House. The buildings were a pretty mix of old and new architecture. It fit Dublin so well. A city of old, cherished tradition but the people weren’t afraid of progress either. God, I loved Ireland. The last half-mile or so, I slowed down some to slow our heart rates. I was extremely impressed that January could keep up with me. It certainly explained the shape her legs were in. I’d yet to really see them, since it was dark at The Bowery, but their long, lean shapes definitely couldn’t be hidden by the pair of jeans she’d been wearing the night we’d kissed. I’d noticed. I hated that I did but, all the same, I did.
I looked over at her transiently throughout the run. I found her to be one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met and that included Kelly, I was loath to admit. I couldn’t deny it anymore, not when every male within a five-mile radius could sense her coming and would have jumped in front of a bus to make way for her. Every guy we passed, I wanted to punch in the gut for glancing her way. God, I’m a mess . For her, I was a slobbering mess. I hated it and loved it all at the same time.
She was a good five feet ten inches, possibly taller. She met my chin, which was practically unheard of. She had ridiculously long dark brown hair and blue eyes the color of the Atlantic. She was lean and beautiful and apparently talented according to Jason. He said she’d given up a full scholarship to Berkeley for piano. I was beginning to become enthralled with her and I absolutely hated it. I had to fight it. Had to.
When we reached Anchor House, we both leaned against the wrought-iron railing to catch our breath. We sat for a good five minutes before we were able to acknowledge each other.
“You’re kind of a hoss,” I admitted.
“So are you, actually,” she said, wrapping the cord of her earbuds around her iPod. “Hear anything good?” she asked, gesturing to my own iPod.
“Maybe. I was partial to a couple of indies who were too good to want a label’s interference, I think. There was one,” I said, thinking, turning her way. “A band in Paris. Feel like crossing the channel?” I asked with a slight smile.
“Uh, um, of course,” she said too cheerfully, even for January.
“ Okay ,” I said, skeptical.
“What’s their name?” she asked, changing the subject.
“All The Pretty Girls,” I admitted.
“Lame,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, but if all bands with terrible original names were turned down, we wouldn’t have The Beatles or even Led Zeppelin.”
“Yeah, Johnny and the Moondogs and the New Yardbirds would probably be playing pathetic hotel lounges right about now,” she said, then snorted, shocking the shit out of me.
“You - how did you...?”
“How did you ?” She rolled her eyes and jogged up the steps into the Anchor House and up to her room, leaving me with my jaw flush on the concrete below.
Zap .
After dozing off a bit after my run, I woke flustered to someone pounding on my door. I turned on my back, tired as hell from the time difference, and pulled my cell out. Eight-thirty. Damn . Wait, I wasn’t supposed to meet January
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