It’s cold and there’s a crowd here for the group training run. I hate crowds. My brother Liam leans a sneakered foot up on the tailgate of my truck, stretching his hamstring in the parking lot while the sky figures out if it’s going to snow or just look foreboding all day. ”Tell me again why we’re doing this?”

Liam just growls, and I join him in the stretch.

Our father jogs up in an electric blue track suit he probably bought in Cuba when it wasn’t legal for Americans to travel there. ”Hope you drank your protein shakes, boys,” he says, slapping Liam on the ass. ”Corporate team training starts right here, right now. Gotta maintain that Beltane legacy.”

I roll my eyes, not bothering to point out that I have no intention of competing for the company relay team in this year’s marathon. We have this discussion every year, and every year I am bullied into running with my extended family. Meanwhile, I’ve never even gotten to run the full marathon in my hometown. The relay takes place at the same time, with the long distance runners blending in with relayers who switch out every five miles or so.

I always feel like an asshole on the fourth or fifth section, starting on fresh legs while the runners around me have been pounding the pavement for 20 miles.

I feel like I want to explain to all of them that I’m actually a full marathoner. I just have to drive to other cities and run their marathons to feel their masochistic, amazing pain.

Dad catches my scowl, and he says, ”To sweeten the pot, I’ll cover the New York marathon registration fee, since a relay leg isn’t nearly challenging enough for my Brady boys.”

My cousin Orla coughs and glares at my dad. ”Right. Brady FAMILY,” he says, clapping her on the shoulder. ”Well it hardly counts as a challenge for you, dear. It’s not like I can kick you off the relay team for dragging ass.”

”Just what I always wanted,” she says, rolling her eyes. ”To be the token female in a herd of men performing feats of strength.” My brothers and cousin start in on each other, slinging foul comebacks, when the event organizer jumps up on a boulder with a megaphone.

”Good morning, titans of industry!” he shouts, grinning. I groan. ”Who’s excited to be here for our kickoff run?” I tune out his chipper voice and look around, seeing the regular crew. There’s the corporate bankers, the out of shape CPA firm, the doctors, and the academics. And then I do a double take, fixated on a mop of chestnut hair swirling in the gray light.

I cannot stop staring at the woman shivering off to the side with a group of scrawny lawyers from Stag Law. I see their boss stretching his quads, wearing headphones, ready to gallop down the path as soon as the whistle blows. I feel one of my brothers punch my shoulder. ”Ouch!” I glare at him. ”What was that for?”

”Were you even listening? Seasoned runners are supposed to pair up with someone new, to help them pace and work their breath and all that shit.”

”What’s your point? I’m not doing that.” It’s one thing to be here. They can’t make me be coach to an amateur.

The guy with the megaphone jumps down from the boulder and picks up two orange buckets from the ground. Climbing back onto his perch, he shouts, ”Your group leaders have taken the liberty of identifying team members who are beginners, and those with a bit more experience and wisdom to share today.” He starts reaching into the buckets and calling out names, pairing people at random. ”This is what it’s all about!” he says.

I feel my blood pounding in my ears. I watch as people awkwardly team up and start off jogging or stretching. A small voice inside wants me to get stuck with the woman over there, with all the hair. That voice is coming straight from my dick, who keeps reminding me how nice it would be to run right behind her, staring at that round ass moving down the path. ”Shut up,” I mutter to my junk, as if it had actually said those things out loud.

Some of the pairs are doing secret handshake moves and laughing. This is like a nightmare for me. But then I hear the organizer say, ”Zack Brady, you’re going to be helping to coach your new best friend...Nicole Kennedy!”

Nicole Kennedy does indeed turn out to be the woman with out of control hair and ice green eyes. She’s short and curvy and looks like she’s never run a day in her life. My family members all flip me the bird as they tear off down the trail—apparently there were way more experts than beginners needing a coach.

Dad gives me a grin, and then Nicole and I are in a standoff, waiting to see who will approach whom first. She stands with her legs spread wide, arms crossed, eyes seeming to say I do not make the first move in these situations.

I roll my eyes and approach her. ”Isaac Brady,” I say. ”Zack.” I offer her my hand, and she raises an eyebrow, keeping both hands on her rounded hips. God, I love when women wear tight leggings to go running. Jesus, the ass on this woman. What the fuck am I doing here? ”So…we’re doing this I guess,” I say. ”What’s your typical pace?”

She cocks a brow at me. ”If I knew what typical pace meant, I wouldn’t be in the beginner group, would I?” So that’s how this is going to go, I guess.

”Ok,” I say, gesturing down the trail. ”Today’s run is 2 miles, and the plan is to do a steady pace. So why don’t you start running at a pace where you feel comfortable talking.”

”Talking? How will I know if it’s a comfortable talking pace?”

This is going to be harder than I thought. ”You’re going to have to talk to me to test it out.” This gets, if not exactly a smile, at least an amused expression. I get a definite no-nonsense, don’t-fuck-with-me vibe from Ms. Nicole Kennedy. I like it. I don’t want to be fucked with, either.

We start running, faster than I thought we’d go. Everything she’s wearing looks brand new, like she went out shopping for this experience. Certain she’s going to burn out, I test the waters and talk to her. ”Tell me how you wound up here today.”

She falls into step beside me and snaps that her boss is making her be here. ”What are the consequences if you refuse?”

She keeps her eyes straight ahead when she tells me, ”He’d be a miserable asshole and a bear to work with. Which I’m now re-evaluating, since my alternative is apparently training with you.”

She’s sparring with me, and I am shocked to discover I like it. A lot. I don’t spend a lot of time with women, apart from my cousin. There aren’t a ton of women in geotechnical engineering, and I spend all my free time trail running.

The women I do encounter aren’t like this one. She…sizzles.

I’m not sure what comes over me, but I nudge her with my elbow. I’m never playful with women. I’m not even interested in being playful with this woman. Am I? But then she turns and smiles, a real smile. I feel my heart change course, which makes me feel ridiculous. Is it possible to have a stroke in response to a beautiful woman smiling? I speed up a bit to course correct, just to see if she can keep up. ”Still able to talk?”

”Fuck. This. Shit,” she huffs, her breath coming out in white puffs of condensation. ”Happy?”

I grin. I am happy. She might be complaining about a January run—who wouldn’t? But she’s not quitting. She’s not slowing. She’s just grouchy about it.

I hear her breath coming a little faster, but we’re a mile in at this point. ”We’re almost at the turn around,” I say, and sure enough, we start to see runners headed back from their training loop. ”Oh shit,” I mutter, noticing my brothers.

”Hey now!” Cal says, stopping on the path and causing Liam to crash into him.

Orla runs on ahead like she doesn’t know any of us, my dad hot on her tail. ”Don’t fall behind, Cal. You know better than this,” Dad says.

”Who’s your new training buddy?” Cal pivots on the path and starts running next to Nicole, who is starting to sweat. I try not to stare at the sheen on her upper lip, despite the frigid air outside. She is probably wearing too many layers. Shit, now I’m thinking about peeling her out of her layers. I can’t stop picturing her round ass and thick thighs melting out of those leggings. I start wondering how heavy her breasts would feel in my hands when I zipped her out of her fleece.

”Nicole Kennedy,” she says, offering a hand to Cal. It’s good to hear she can still talk. ”Reluctant relay runner in training.”

”Well we’ve got that in common,” Cal says, falling into step beside her. I can see him turning up the charm and while the logical response would be for me to embrace this, take the attention from myself, I can feel rage simmering in my stomach at the thought of Cal putting the moves on Nicole.

”You don’t seem too reluctant, considering you’re running extra along with us,” Nicole says. Interesting how her voice is softer with him. Friendly. I don’t like that, either.

”My brothers would rather be training for the full marathon, but our father makes us do the relay corporate challenge.” I shove him when he tries to swerve in closer to Nicole.

”Don’t act like you wouldn’t rather do the full, too, man.” He shoves me back and I stumble. I reach a hand for Nicole to steady myself before I face plant on the trail, and I gasp at the electric current I feel when my skin connects with her waist.

I feel a seismic tremor roll through my body as she turns around to look at me. I’m in serious trouble.