Beauty And The Bookworm (4 page)

Chapter 4

I Become The Creepy Guy In The Park

I spent the next week being thoroughly ashamed of myself and agreeing with Twyla that I was a worthless shit who didn’t deserve to have any friends, let alone one as good as her. I swore on my life that I would take her advice on any and all things and only allow myself to be sodomized with her explicit preapproval. I also agreed with Gran (Twyla told her
I’d gone home with Glen) that I was a weak-willed little pansy who deserved to have his heart broken since he didn’t have the sense to stay away from guys who break hearts. I swore on my life that I would take boxing lessons and beat Glen into unconsciousness the very next time I saw him. It was further agreed that I would punch him in the throat at least once and in the dick at least twice.

By Saturday morning, I was feeling marginally better about myself
and decided what I really needed was not just any book, but a
great
book. I wanted a book that would teach me something about love and how to be a better man. I spent a few hours looking at titles and reading descriptions, but I just couldn’t find what I was looking for. Then, there it was, the perfect story. It was called
Beauty
. I knew I’d found it just from the cover. It featured a beautiful guy lying on a dock in white shorts. I clicked on the purchase button and crawled into bed, ready to spend the day falling in love.

I still don’t know exactly what drove me out of my room that day. Maybe it was the ray of sunshine that made its way through the crack of my drawn curtains. Maybe it was the laughter I heard coming from our neighbor’s yard. Whatever it was, I could not stay in bed with a book that day. I had to get out and do something. I had to go somewhere
else and (you guessed it) read.

I put on jeans, boat shoes, a gray T-shirt, and the most beautiful lilac cardigan you
’ve ever seen, then headed for Laurelhurst Park. It was still early when I got there. The joggers were thin on the ground and easy to get through. I found the bench where It happened and took a seat, careful that my feet weren’t anywhere near the jogging path. I happily noted that the lilac blooms matched my cardigan and dove into my new book.

I read for about an hour, only half-aware of the world still turning around me.
Beauty
turned out to be a great book about two male models who are actually vampire lovers who can go out into the sun because they always wear heavy makeup. I realized pretty quickly that the book wasn’t going to teach me much about love, but I didn’t mind because there was a lot of staking going on and it turns out vampires
love
to swallow.

The sun was warm and made me a little drowsy, so I put my e-reader on my lap, leaned back and closed my eyes, getting lost in a daydream in which I got turned into one of the gorgeous, supermodel undead. I smiled at the thought of happily sucking for all eternity. My reverie was broken, the way reveries always are
, by the real world crashing in.

I heard a loud clomp as something hit the bench next to me, followed by a deep, sexy voice. “How’s
War and Peace
coming?”

I opened my eyes and looked up at the running man. He was just as beautiful as I’d remembered; tall, muscular, and glistening with sweat I was sure would taste like saltwater taffy if he’d let me have a lick. He was wearing
lycra running shorts that day and it was just not fair. I tried to remember the meaning of the phrase
War and Peace
as I watched him stretching his legs.

The running man finally figured I wasn’t going to answer, so he tried again, “Did you finish it yet?”

“Finish what?”

He gave me a patient smile I’m sure he reserved for slow-witted children and three-legged dogs. “
War and Peace
. You were reading it last week. Did you finish it?”

“Oh, yeah,” I lied, “all done
. I’m… uh… just starting
Anna Karenina
today.”

“Working your way through the Russians?”

“That’s right.”

He dropped in front of me and did the leg spread. Lycra is proof that God exists.

“I wish I could say I’ve read those, but I haven’t even seen the movies,” he said with a grin that made me realize he would have made a great vampire supermodel.

“Do you run here every weekend?”

“Every weekday from seven to eight. I’m usually here by ten on the weekends. I’m training for a marathon.”

I had an encyclopedia’s worth of things to say all jumbled in my head, but all I managed was, “Oh.”

What was it about this guy? I guess I’m on the shy side of things, but you would think with the dozens upon dozens of romance novels I’d read that I could at least participate in a conversation without appearing to be a confused foreign tourist. How had I picked up Glen? How had I picked up any of the guys I’d been with? Oh, wait, they’d all picked me up. I guessed I’d have to cross my fingers and hope the running man would do the work. But, who was I kidding? I might as well relax. No way would a beauty like him be interested in a bookworm like me.

A woman, no, not a woman, an Amazon came jogging up to the bench and looked down at Mr. I’m The Reason Lycra Was Invented. “There you are. You left me in the dust.”

He looked up at her. “You’ve got to speed it up. Are you ready to stretch?”

The Amazon answered him, but she was looking at me
. She had a strange look on her face, like she was trying to place me. “I’ll stretch by the car. We should get going.”

The running man stood, gave me a wave, and walked off with the woman it had taken me just a few seconds to grow to hate with all of my vicious little heart. She didn’t deserve it, of course, but the running man was obviously straight and letting her play with what was under the
lycra, so… I hated her.

They walked a few feet, unaware that I was watching. When they
thought
they were out of range of my well-trained librarian’s ears, the running man said, “
That’s
the guy!”

Amazon answered, “Obviously, I could tell from the cardigan. He was probably
waiting for another wardrobe malfunction.”

The running man laughed. “No, he just likes to read in the park… but he did seem pretty excited about my ass the last time I saw him.”

Their voices faded. I realized that my face was very, very hot. My body was ahead of my brain again, and I had to sit for a minute to realize how truly embarrassed I was. I was the creepy guy in the park, the one who the kids stay away from, the one who sits on benches looking out for no-nos. Not only had the running man recognized the fact that I wanted to lick him all over, but he’s also told people about it. The fucker.

Gran made pancakes on Sunday morning. I picked at mine until she started pointedly staring at me, then I shoved a big forkful into my mouth. If Gran cooks – I eat. It saves us both from a conversation about why I insist on being thin and why she insists on being a controlling harpy.

“What are you doing today, Gran?”

“Going to a bike rally.
I
have a date.”

I grinned. Gran is such a player. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“You remember that gal Millie?”

“No.”

Gran looked impatient. “The one who knits? She made you that nice Harley scarf for Christmas.”

Oh. The Harley Scarf. The scarf that was no doubt now decorating the neck of a homeless person since I’d put
it in the Goodwill bin on December 26
th
.
“Oh, Millie, sure. She’s nice.”

“She’s a lot more than nice,” Gran said with a leer, “after our last date, I came home with my face looking like a glazed donut. That gal’s juices are
flowing.
She must be on some kind of hormone replacement therapy.
”

“Gran!”

She just laughed and I kept my mouth shut. If I protested too much she’d just give me more details and I did not want to hear about a hot session between two geriatric lesbians. I’m sure there are people who are into that sort of thing, but I am not one of them.

“You’re such a little prude. What are you going to do today?”

“Think I’ll stay in and read.”

Gran knows me best, and she read my face easily. “Doesn’t look like you want to stay in and read.”

“I do, but I’d also kind of like to go to the park.”

“So, go to the park.”

“Can’t.”

“Did you go cripple overnight?”

“No, it’s just…”

Gran looked like a real cookie-baking grandma for a second. “What is it, Mason. Did someone give you a hard time at the park? Do you want me to come with you?”

The way she asked the question reminded me that I was not five years old and did not need someone to come to the park with me. But I did need to unburden myself of the details of the latest embarrassment involving a certain long-distance runner. I told Gran everything.

After laughing for an unnecessarily long time, Gran shared some kind words. “You are such a pussy, Mason. Does this guy own the park? No. Are you ever going to get into his pants? No. Besides, if he looks like you say he does, he’s probably used to little
nancy boys like you staring at him.”

“But he
told
his
girlfriend
about it.”

“So what?”

“So it’s embarrassing.”

“I don’t think so. You didn’t show him
your
ass… Did you?”

“No!”

Gran stood and put her meat hooks on her considerable hips. She’d had it with me. “Then go to the park! If he talks to you today, you’ve got no reason to be tongue-tied. He’s not interested in your tongue, anyway.”

There was, as usual, a kernel of wisdom, in Gran’s emotional abuse. Since the running man was totally
ungettable, I might as well not worry about him. I got dressed and headed to the park.

I’d just gotten settled on
my
bench (that’s right, Mr. Lycra,
my
bench) when I saw a flash of hunter-green go streaking by. So, he’d switched back to the green shorts; which meant he was probably wearing the green…
no, don’t go there. Just read your book.

A half an hour went by and
I had just finished
Beauty
when I looked up to see Mr. Lycra hopping toward me on one foot. The pain on his face was obvious as he half-sat/half-fell onto the bench next to me.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Twisted my ankle. Hurts like a motherfucker. I hoped you’d be here.”

Hoped I’d be here?
“What can I do?”

It must have really hurt. The pain in his voice was obvious. “Could you help me get to my car? I can’t walk on it.”

“Do you want me to go and find your girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yeah, the Amaz… the girl you were running with yesterday.”

He shook his head. “Not my girlfriend. She’s a client.”

I knew it! He’s a high-end prostitute! I wonder if he does men? I’ve got a lot of money saved…
“Okay, let’s get you to your car. Can you drive?”

“
I don’t know.”

I stood and pulled him up, hooking one of his arms over my shoulders. It was awkward, because the top of my head was level with his armpit, but we managed to take a few awkward steps. I tried to ignore the sexy slickness of his skin and how delicious he smelled – like a sweaty butt-crack.

We got to his car and it quickly became obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to drive. I had him sit in the passenger seat so I could look at his ankle. It was a swollen, ugly purple. “I think it might be broken.”

He shook his head. “Don’t even think that. I’ve got the marathon in two weeks!”

“Let’s just get you to the hospital.”

I hadn’t driven in years and kept the fact that I didn’t even have a license to myself. I only killed the car twice before he asked, “Do you know how to drive… what’s your name?”

“Mason.”

“Do you know how to drive, Mason?”

“Sort of. I do much better when I’m drunk and driving an automatic.”

“Oh, boy. Well, just take it slow. I’m Shane, by the way.”

“Shane?” I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud.

I was keeping my eyes on the road, but I could feel him looking at me as h
e said, “You don’t like my name?”

“Oh,” I tried to laugh, “Shane’s a nice name. I just had you figured for
Pierce
or
Bolt
or something like that. You know, runner’s names.”

“I don’t know any runners named
Pierce
or
Bolt
. You sure you didn’t get those names from books? They sound kind of made up.”

Of course he was right. “I’ve been calling you
The Running Man.”