"You say that like I won't be out there ahead of you."
Called up after him, the disappearing footsteps, making her jog into the living room to snag her tote and shimmy out of her shirt. There's no one out here, nobody likely to glance through the windows, so she shucks her jean shorts and replaces them with light running ones, pulls the sports bra over her head and tugs out the other, stuffs it and the tanktop back into the tote, a little haphazardly. Wrinkles can be steamed out -- it's more important to keep up with Steve, who she can hear upstairs. No shirt needed -- in this heat she'd rather have bare skin than the added layers, even with sun. That's what the sunblock in her bag is for, and the water he says he'll bring, right?
She's tugging on her running shoes when he comes back down, feet feeling strange in ankle-short cotton socks and sneakers, hopping on one foot with an index finger tugging the shoe over her heel.
"Better hurry up, or I really will beat you out there," she says, all grins and bouncing hair that will need to get tied up in a second. Not that Steve has actually lost his edge, but it's part of the play: the bullshit, the banter, the way they push each other to go faster, harder, take on more.
no subject
Called up after him, the disappearing footsteps, making her jog into the living room to snag her tote and shimmy out of her shirt. There's no one out here, nobody likely to glance through the windows, so she shucks her jean shorts and replaces them with light running ones, pulls the sports bra over her head and tugs out the other, stuffs it and the tanktop back into the tote, a little haphazardly. Wrinkles can be steamed out -- it's more important to keep up with Steve, who she can hear upstairs. No shirt needed -- in this heat she'd rather have bare skin than the added layers, even with sun. That's what the sunblock in her bag is for, and the water he says he'll bring, right?
She's tugging on her running shoes when he comes back down, feet feeling strange in ankle-short cotton socks and sneakers, hopping on one foot with an index finger tugging the shoe over her heel.
"Better hurry up, or I really will beat you out there," she says, all grins and bouncing hair that will need to get tied up in a second. Not that Steve has actually lost his edge, but it's part of the play: the bullshit, the banter, the way they push each other to go faster, harder, take on more.
"Come on, sailor. We're burning daylight, here."