Perfect for Me by Claudia Burgoa
Chapter Thirteen
Elliot
“Sometimes it seems safer to hold it all in, where the only person who can judge is yourself.” ― Sarah Dessen
“Haveyou noticed that every time we start our morning run, at least one or two women are behind us?” Kyle asks as we approach the intersection. Looking around, I spot two ladies jogging right behind us. Both are wearing tight yoga pants, loose tank tops, and staring right at us. “We should charge for this kind of show, too.”
“Excuse me.” A sweet blonde wearing nothing but a sports bra and a tiny pair of shorts taps my shoulder. I push my sunglasses up, arching an eyebrow. “Do you know where Marina Boulevard is? That’s where I’m supposed to meet my girlfriend for our morning run.”
“Just continue down Lyons until you find the intersection of Marina Boulevard.” I point toward the ocean.
“Thanks! So…do you two want to join us?” She straightens up her posture, pushing her chest up and giving me a glorious view of her round breasts.
Kyle laughs, rolling his eyes. “Like we haven’t heard that one before.” I rub my forehead. The sarcastic tone promises some fucked-up comeback. My best friend is a fucking cynic with zero finesse. The ass will either disclose his rate for a lap dance or give her his card with a coupon for a private show. “Though you look like a fine girl, my partner and I will have to pass. We’re exclusive. Right, babe?” He winks at me, blowing me a kiss.
Or pretend that we’re a couple. Fuck, some days I hate his guts.
“Oh, no. I—that’s …” she stutters, looking back at me. “So just s—straight down Lyons, right?”
Kyle laughs as she hurries down the street without giving us a second glance. When the light changes to green, we cross the street. The two women who followed us now jog ahead of us. He shrugs and mouths,“You’re welcome.”
“Are you for fucking real, ass?” I grunt as we pass the playground and head to the trail.
“Killed two birds with one stone,” he defends himself. “The other two who passed us have been following us for a couple of weeks. Gawking at me while working is one thing, but unacceptable during my everyday activities. It’s uncool. I’m a private person.”
Kyle Maxwell is one contradictory son of a bitch. A man who craves his privacy, but continues stripping. Bringing up the obvious is pointless. He believes that stripping is irrelevant to leading a quiet life. Ignoring his comment, I crank up the volume on my phone, secure my wireless headphones, and speed ahead.
Jogging through the trails where other runners, mothers with strollers, and a few dog walkers race along with us reminds me of Hazel and the future I ruined. I honestly thought that seeing her wouldn’t affect me. That it wouldn’t hurt. But the memories are killing me slowly, like arrows shooting through my heart. I was exhausted from feeling nothing. Yearning for something to pull me out from the hole I fell into so many years ago. But I never expected to drown in nostalgia.
“You okay, Elliot?” Kyle asks as we arrive at our building and head to the gym. “You’ve been out of it since I told that chick we’re a couple. Should I be concerned? Is there something you want to say? Because I’m not gay, dude.”
“Wouldn’t you wish?” I punch him in the arm. “If I were gay, I would choose someone hotter than you to settle down with.”
“I’m a catch,” he retorts, laughing. “Anyone would love to have a piece of me. You’d be proposing after the third date.”
Proposing?
My gut churns because I never did that with Hazel. I just said, “You’re eighteen, we should get married.”
I lay a hand on my chest, rubbing it. The regret sucks all the air out of my long.
He arches an eyebrow, snorting. “Have you heard from Hazel, yet?”
“We’re not discussing Hazel,” I scowl at him.
Kyle doesn’t need to know that I saw her last night, lost in her own thoughts. I wanted her to tell me what was wrong with her. Reach out and band her with my arms, protecting her from the world. But I lost the right to all those things years ago. However, she’s here and I’m planning on winning her heart back. I have hope.
“I’m talking about the contracts, fucker.”
“We should learn something today.” I check the wall clock. “Do you mind calling her if we don’t hear from her by noon?”
“Or you can call her.” He takes a towel from the shelf next to the door, wiping his forehead. “I think it’s time to grow a pair and fix what you broke—you miss her.” He throws the towel into the basket next to him, exiting without a word.
Miss her? Being deprived of her existence deserves a stronger word. Is there such thing? I’ve been half-living since I lost her. Her presence in San Francisco still puzzles me. The hardest part of seeing her again was not being able to touch her. My hands fought against my mind. They only wanted to reach forward and catch the other half of me.
