Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.
But he’s right.
We run half a mile in silence. My eyes trained on the horizon, my
mind trained on the rhythm. Step, step, step, breathe. Our footfalls
are perfectly timed. Step, step, step, breathe. From the corner of my
eye I see his chest rise and fall in time with my every breath. Step,
step, step--
“You’ll get over being mad at me.”
“Not likely.”
Step, step, step—
“I promise not to gloat about it when you do.”
“I won’t.”
Step, step, step—
“Because I want to be with you so badly I don’t care if you’re
screaming at me the whole time as long as I’m with you.”
I stop dead in my tracks.
Two steps later, Griffin notices I’ve stopped and jogs back
to me.
“We have another mile to go,” he says, as if I’ve stopped because
I think we’re done. Then his face wrinkles up in concern. “Did you
hurt your ankle again? I thought you said it was completely . . .”
“Did you mean that?”
“. . . healed. What?”
“Did you mean what you just said?”
“Of course I did.” He kneels down and inspects my ankle. “Now
tell me—”
I grab him by the arm and pull him back up. “My ankle is fine.”
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