I’m so glad I stayed, because for the first time in a long time, I actually enjoyed myself and wasn’t constantly looking at my watch, or looking over my shoulder. With Dixon, I felt safe, and I also felt alive.
I switch off the lights and lock up. Living in New York, you just get used to dealing with a trillion locks, and it takes me about two minutes to figure out which key goes into which lock. I’m halfway done when someone taps me on the shoulder, which has me screaming in absolute terror.
“Madison, it’s me! Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” says a familiar voice. I turn around so fast, I nearly fall flat on my ass.
“Dixon?” I wheeze, my hand poised over my beating heart. “What are you doing here?”
I watch as he averts his beautiful blue eyes and shame-facedly replies, “I said I would drop by. I’m sorry I’m late,” he adds.
“Did you run here?” I stupidly ask.
“Well, I would call it a brisk walk,” he confesses with a lopsided smirk as he rolls a stone under his sneaker.
The damp hair at his temples reveals he more than just walked, and I try not to bask in the fact that he ran all the way here just to see me. Mentally giving Mary an “I told you so,” I turn my back and finish locking up, needing a minute to center my raging nerves.
I can’t help but wonder where Dixon has been, as he doesn’t appear to be dressed up, and I dare say, he ran here from his house. So what was he doing till 2 a.m.? And more importantly, who was he doing it with? That thought has me envisioning distasteful scenarios and positions, but I tell my distrustful mind to quit it with the conspiracy theories for one night.
“Well, I hope you didn’t give yourself a stitch,” I taunt, wanting to lighten the mood.
Dixon scoffs. “I’ll have you know I was a track athlete in high school.”
“The operative word being ‘was,’” I say as I turn around to face him. “And high school was a lonnng time ago for you.”
“Want to put a wager on that?” He smirks, and my God, he is handsome.
“Sure,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest in hopes my beating heart doesn’t explode from my ribcage.
“You said you run every morning, well, I challenge you to a race,” he smugly declares, raising an eyebrow.
“Name your time and place, Dr. Dixon,” I boldly reply.
“Tomorrow. 6 a.m. Central Park. First person to run a mile in the shortest amount of time is the winner.”
“Let’s make it two miles,” I cockily say, but quickly curse my confidence.
Dixon looks impressed. “Very well, two it is. Meet at North Meadow?”
“Sure. What does the winner get?” I ask, my competitive streak shining through.
Dixon taps his chin, deep in thought. “The winner will be treated to a lavish breakfast by the loser.”
“Well, you already owe me a breakfast, Doc. And I can’t eat two breakfasts in one day.”
Dixon chuckles at my self-assurance. “Okay, let’s make it dinner then.”
“Dinner it is. I hope you’ve saved your pennies, ’cause I’m gonna order the lobster,” I tease, rubbing my hands together.
“We’ll see.” He grins, and I’m thankful he appreciates my bad humor.
“Well, on that note, I better go home and get some beauty sleep. Night, Dixon.” I search through my bag for my keys.
“Where’d you park? I’ll walk you to your car,” he quickly offers.
“It’s okay. I’m just around the corner.”
“Please, I insist,” and before I have time to argue, he’s leading the way.
With a small smile, I follow, feeling strangely happy that this amazingly hot man wants to walk me to my car—a car that I don’t need, but have, thanks to my fears.
We walk in reflective silence as I desperately want to ask him where he was tonight, but it’s not really my business. I mean, we just met. We’re not even really friends, as I hardly know him, but the thing is, I want to. From the moment I met him, there was something there, but I’m sure a man like Dixon isn’t short of female attention, and has women, not inexperienced, scarred virgins, to satisfy his needs.
“Everything okay over there?” Dixon asks, disturbing my thoughts.
“Yeah, why?” I ask, suddenly worried my thoughts are transparent.
“You’re awfully quiet, which can’t be a good sign.”
“I was just thinking about where I would like to go for dinner,” I tease, hoping to disguise my insecurities as I sound the alarm on my Fiesta. “Well, this is me. I’ll see you in a few hours.” I fiddle with the strap on my bag, not knowing what to do next.
This is the second time there has been some weird static bouncing between us, and I know he feels it too because he totally just checked out my boobs. But this is not me. I’m not one to feel so comfortable with the opposite sex, or care if they like me or not. But with Dixon, that’s exactly how I feel. And I don’t understand why.
“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’ll see you in the morning,” and I cringe, hoping he doesn’t want me to fist bump him again.
However, he surprises me as he unexpectedly reaches forward and brushes a stray strand of hair off my face. Normally, I would shy away, but in this instance I find myself wanting to lean into his touch. But I don’t.
“Night, Dixon,” I whisper.
“Night, Madison.”
And with that, he turns his back on me, and only then do I breathe.
9
Dessert
MADISON
It’s now 5:30a.m., and I look like utter shit. Why I agreed to such an early morning run, on a Sunday I might add, is beyond me. But I have a feeling Dixon could ask me just about anything and I would say yes.
I’ve dressed for comfort, not style, as I intend to run like the wind across that finish line. I’ve been blessed in the boob department and actually have a decent rack for a small-framed girl. However, while most girls would be ecstatic to have boobs the size of mine, I see them as a curse.
Reaching for my water bottle and keys, I lock the door behind me and make my way downstairs. I hit the pavement at a brisk pace, as it always freaks me out being up this early with no one around. But I’m twenty-three and I’ve decided this is the year I won’t allow the skeletons in my closet to haunt me any longer.
For more than half of my life, I’ve lived with a secret I’ve never told a single soul, not even my mother, who I love more than life itself. Even though those secrets can never be told, I feel in some sick, twisted way that they’ve shaped me into the woman I’m determined to become.
Crossing the street, I stop with the nostalgia and focus on finding Dixon. I search the main entrance, but he’s nowhere to be found. Maybe he’s running late.
Starting my warm-up, I turn my head to the left to stretch out my neck muscles. From the corner of my eye, I see Dixon. Someone who’s just about to go for a two-mile run shouldn’t look this good, but he does. He’s in loose running shorts and a tight white T-shirt, and although it doesn’t sound like anything special, on Dixon it looks like he’s dressed for Milan.
His muscular physique is a lot more obvious now that he’s not wearing a suit jacket and pants, and oh my God, as he stretches his arms above his head, his T-shirt rides up, exposing a hardened slab of sculptured abs and toned obliques. My eyes may have deceived me because he’s a few feet away, but I’m quite certain I saw a hint of ink tattooed on his side.
The thought has my toes curling, as that image has just made Dr. Dixon a truckload sexier.
Deciding to stop with the drooling, I make my way over to him and will my racing pulse to calm down, as I haven’t even started running yet.
“It’s not too late to back out, ya know?” I chirp, stopping a few feet away.