Drowning Instinct by Ilsa Bick

Author:Ilsa Bick
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781467709125
Publisher: Carolrhoda Books
Published: 2013-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

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By the time we made it back to Faring Park, the sun was nearly gone and the woods were black. Mine was the only car in the lot. As Mr. Anderson pulled up alongside, I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Thanks for lunch and . . . for helping me.” Then I blurted, “I had a really good time.”

“Me, too.” In the failing light, I couldn’t make out his expression, but he sounded sincere. “So are we running tomorrow?”

My heart surged. “Sure.”

“Great. Nothing huge, though. We’ll save huge for a couple days from now. How many tempo runs you done in the last month?”

“None? I do mainly distance.”

“That’s not good. Endurance is great, but you ought to be doing tempo runs to improve your speed. How about we do that tomorrow? Say, forty-five minutes?”

Ah. The magic words: endurance, speed, tempo. I knew where he was going. Never too late to join the team, especially when your lead runner’s having the crappiest season of her life. Well, why not? The season was two-thirds over; I needed the exercise; Danielle could suck it up. “Okay.”

“Excellent. I want to clock you at peak for a 5K. You do well with that, we’ll go to an interval run day after. Of course, when school starts back up . . .”

“I join the team for workouts.”

“That’s the idea. We’ll move indoors when the really bad weather hits, but I run outside most days unless it’s downright dangerous. If you want . . .” He hesitated then continued, “You could keep running with me.”

Was it my imagination, or did I hear a note of worry, that I might refuse? “Okay.”

“Good.” He sounded the tiniest bit relieved. “So, how about tomorrow morning? Early, like eight? I’ll pick you up and we can have breakfast after. Promise, I won’t cook. We’ll go to a café I know. The pancakes are to die for.”

“That would be great.” I popped the door. The dome light flicked on, washing the interior of the Prius with light. Scooting out, I turned back to lift my pack from the footwell, except Mr. Anderson had bent and was already handing it up. Our gazes met. I don’t know why, but we both went still. Neither of us looked away, and there was something there. I know he felt it because I saw some emotion chase across his face. My mouth had gone so dry, I had to slick my lips. “Thanks again. Really.”

“No.” He let go of my pack. “Thank you.”

He waited until I had my car started and then he followed, not turning off at his house the way I expected but staying with me all the way to the main road, like he wanted to be sure I got out okay, or that nothing happened. We met no other cars on the road and I went slowly, mindful of deer which would start moving around once the sun went down and the temperature fell. By the time I saw the sign for the interstate, it was full dark and the deer were out, their eyes bright as green coins in my headlights.

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