Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Chapter Five
My head is pounding. I drank way too much last night. I don’t normally drink on a Monday or while I’m working long shifts, but I needed something to wash away . . . I shake my head irritated with myself for even thinking twice about Constance much less thinking about her the minute I wake up.
Women don’t affect me. Not usually. But there’s something about her, something different that made me want to spend time with her, still kind of do. Fuck. I enjoy a good morning tug, but she’s got Big Richard all screwed up. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s all fucked up over her too. My annoyance with his floppy behavior is unsettling on many levels.
I reach over and pop some Ibuprofen, then down a bottle of water from my nightstand. Lying on my back, I stare up at the ceiling. It’s still dark out. If I can get my ass out of bed, I can run the bridge while the sun is rising.
Motivation is key when it comes to me. Watching the sunrise while on the Brooklyn Bridge is something I like to do at least once a week. One reason is there’s nobody on the pedestrian path at that time of day. Another, I get to laugh at the poor saps commuting into Manhattan. I’m so glad I don’t have to report to an eight-to-five five days a week. I did that for years and I never want to do it again. Seeing the suits stuck in their cars and cabs reminds me of how good I have it.
Motivation, my friend. Mot-i-vation.
I flip the covers off and head to the bathroom. After shaking the snake, I pull on a pair of tighter than a duck’s ass compression pants and then loose athletic pants. I’m not letting anyone see me in tights, but they keep me warm, so two layers it is.
Three layers on the upper body, gloves, thick socks, sneakers, and a hat and I’m out the door running. My headache has subsided and pounding the pavement beats my head pounding. My breath comes out in puffs of white air as I work my way through the neighborhood and up toward the bridge. It’s a sea of red brake lights on my approach. I smirk, feeling mighty proud that I’m choosing to be awake at this hour instead of forced to be. There’s a difference, and I worked hard to have the option.
Pumping my arms, the slow incline becomes easier as I pick up speed. I see my stopping point ahead and run faster. I hit my mark and stop, bent over, out of breath. When I look up at the Manhattan skyline, I’m in awe of the way the sun rises giving the world a golden hue, even if just for a moment in time. If the run hadn’t, the sunrise would have taken my breath away.
My heart rate evens and I stand there at the mercy of its beauty. Forget last night and troubles that aren’t really troubles. Look at the hope that rises in the east and sets in the west. Today is a new day, wiping our slates clean again.
I start to get cold standing there, so I continue jogging the rest of the bridge enjoying the view with the slower pace. I cut right, heading for the Manhattan Bridge to loop back to Brooklyn. Stopped at a light, I push the button impatiently ready to carry on with my run and get back.
“Hardy?”
I swear I heard my name. Looking over my shoulder, nope. No one there.
“Hardy?” Glancing over my other shoulder there’s a yellow cab. The passenger window is up and the cab driver looks half asleep. My gaze follows further back. Looking too beautiful for hers or my own good, I smile just from seeing her. Constance. Shit. It’s not Constance. I forgot. It’s Virginia. “Hi,” she says as if I’ve just made her day.
I’m still smiling like a loon when I realize I’m supposed to be mad at her. “Hey,” I reply, checking to make sure the light hasn’t changed. That sinking feeling from last night sits solidly in the gut of my stomach. “You live in Brooklyn?” I ask, making casual conversation since we’re both stuck awkwardly at the same light. “I figured you for a Manhattanite.”
“I am.” Her expression falls, reading mine. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m sorry.”
“No need,” I reply, waving the apology away so I don’t have to accept it. The pedestrian signal gives me the go-ahead, so go ahead I do. “Have a good life.”
“Bye,” I hear behind me as I jog forward.
Here’s the problem with the city—too many damn lights. Not twenty-five yards later and we’re both stuck at a light right next to each other again. When I spy her cab next to me, I start debating: should I say hi again or pretend I don’t see her?