Alex woke to the sharp crack of the front door shutting, then the quick tap-tap-tap of Mia lacing her sneakers in the hallway. He didn't bother checking the clock. 6:15. Same as every training morning. She never slept past six, and she never missed a chance to rub it in.
"Still in bed, loser?" Her voice bounced down the hall, half tease, half edge. "Sun's up. You said you'd keep up today."
He groaned into the pillow. Sheets twisted around his calves like they'd fought him all night. The room carried yesterday's laundry smell, damp sweat mixed with that cheap detergent that never quite rinsed out. He rolled over. A thin stripe of light slipped under the blinds and cut across the wall. Too bright already.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled, voice thick.
"Three. Or I leave without you."
He pictured her shifting her weight in the hall, probably pressing one foot flat against the wall, calf stretched long. Her breathing came steady, already warm, already in gear, and it made the whole quiet house feel tighter, like the air belonged to her first.
Alex pushed up slowly. Rubbed crust from his eyes. Dragged on the same running shorts and faded gray tee from yesterday. No sense in clean clothes; twenty minutes from now they'd both be dark with sweat anyway. The fabric felt stiff against his skin, still holding a little of yesterday's run.
In the hallway she stood waiting. Arms crossed. One hip cocked. Black shorts clung to her thighs, the kind that inched higher with every step once she got moving. The cropped tank already stuck in places. Thin enough he could trace the faint outline of her sports bra underneath, the way her breasts lifted slightly each time she pulled in air. Weeks of outdoor practice had left her skin that even, sun-warmed brown. Her ponytail swung sharp when she tilted her head.
"Ready?" she said. Bouncing once, lightly, on her toes.
He nodded. "Let's go."
They stepped out. Sidewalk still cool underfoot. The neighborhood hadn't woken yet, curtains shut tight, sprinklers spitting in lazy arcs on a couple lawns, one car rumbling low down the next street over, headed to an early shift. Mia eased into the lead inside the first block. Pace smooth. Legs long and sure. Hips rolled with each stride, the tight curve of her ass flexing under the spandex in a way that felt almost deliberate.
Alex fixed his eyes on the pavement at first. Counted cracks. Breathed through his nose. Tried to lock into rhythm, footfall, breath, footfall, instead of the way she moved just ahead. But peripheral vision never plays fair.
She threw a glance back, ponytail flicking. "You're already dropping. Thought college made you tough."
"Savin' it for the finish," he called. Kept his voice even, even as his lungs started to pinch.
She laughed, short, bright, the kind of sound that hooked under his ribs and pulled. Made him want to shut her up by closing the gap. "Liar."
Same three-mile loop they'd run since high school: down Maple, cut through the empty park, circle the retention pond, climb the hill back to their street. Mia always turned the last quarter into a silent race. Today she held off until the park path, gravel crunching under their shoes, then opened up.
Her stride stretched out. Arms pumped clean. Abs drew tight under the cropped top with each inhale. Sweat had started darkening the fabric in a stripe between her shoulder blades, another down the center of her chest. When she looked back her eyes caught the light, sharp, daring.
Alex pushed. Legs felt heavier than he'd admit, quads already talking back, but he closed until they ran shoulder to shoulder. She nudged him once, quick, intentional, her bare arm brushing his. The contact zipped through him, bright and gone before he could decide what it meant.
They rounded the pond side by side. Feet hammered gravel. The hill rose ahead like it always did, steep, mean, no mercy. Mia leaned in, mouth open now, breathing loud. Her breasts moved with each stride, light bounce the sports bra couldn't quite kill. A thin line of sweat slid down her neck and vanished between them.
His own shirt plastered to his spine. Shorts rubbed raw against inner thighs. His cock, half-awake since the hallway, stirred by the sight of her ahead, gave another slow, lazy pulse inside the compression fabric. He clenched his jaw. Told himself to focus on the burn in his calves. Mostly worked.
At the crest she dropped to a walk. Hands on hips. Chest rising and falling hard. He matched her. Both of them hauling air.
She bent forward, palms braced on thighs. The position yanked the shorts tighter, every curve outlined clean. Sweat glistened across her lower back, catching the slanted light in tiny beads.
"Still think you can take me?" she panted.
He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. Stomach flashed for a second, cool air hitting damp skin. "Next time."
She straightened. Smirked. "Next time you'll still eat it."
They walked the last block quiet. Breathing eased. The house appeared, low brick, same chipped paint on the mailbox, same crack in the driveway concrete. Mia hit the drive first. Stopped. Bent to stretch again. Tank rode up. Bottom ridges of her abs showed, then the pale strip where tan ended at her waistband.
Alex slowed a few steps back. Couldn't not look. The way her ass rounded, the small flex in her thighs when she shifted weight, it pulled at him, steady, insistent. She straightened and caught him. Turned.
"What?" Low. Almost a challenge.
"Nothing."
"Bullshit." She stepped closer. Close enough he caught her smell, clean sweat, that citrus body wash she used, underneath it the faint metallic bite of hard effort. "You've been staring the whole run."
He held her eyes. Pulse still hammering from the hill. From her. "Hard not to."
A beat. Nothing moved. Her pupils had eaten most of the iris. Cheeks flushed deeper than the run accounted for. Then she snorted, soft, dismissive, and turned toward the house.
"Shower's mine first," she tossed over her shoulder.
Inside she peeled the tank off right there in the living room. Casual as breathing. Like she'd done it a thousand mornings. Sports bra underneath was soaked dark, molded to her. Nipples pressed clear against the thin fabric, tightened by the sudden cool of the AC. She raised her arms overhead to stretch. Back arched. Abs snapped into sharp lines, small muscles flickering under skin.
The shirt landed warm and damp against his chest. Her scent rose off it, sweat, citrus, her.
She didn't wait for him to react. Just walked down the hall. Hips swaying easy. Leaving him standing there, fabric still clutched in his hand.
Alex let out a slow breath.
His pulse hadn't dropped from the run.
And it wasn't going to. Not yet.
He stood a moment longer in the quiet living room. The house ticked around him, fridge humming low, distant sprinkler still hissing outside. Her shirt felt heavy in his fingers. Warm from her body. He brought it closer without thinking, inhaled once, quick, guilty, then dropped it on the couch arm like it burned.
Down the hall the bathroom door clicked shut. Water hissed on.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Skin still hot. Thought about the way her laugh had hooked him out there, the quick brush of her arm, the way she'd stepped close enough at the end that he could feel heat coming off her. Thought about how none of it was new, and how that somehow made it worse.
He peeled off his own shirt. Let it fall. Walked to his room, door half-open so he could still hear the shower running. Sat on the edge of the bed. Elbows on knees. Stared at the floor.