American Bad Boy(33)

“Christopher! Mack’s, I mean, Captain Forrester’s prosthetic isn’t called ‘that thing’. Don’t be rude!” Lauren interrupts.

It gives me an excuse to stop and check her out. She’s wearing spandex again, and I’ve been trying to keep my eyes off of her out of respect for her kid. But, damn, if her ass looked any better it would be art. I’d have to throw the boy some change for the bus so I could show her just how much I appreciate the masterpiece she is.

Focus.

Right. Track, Chris, race. I got this.

“Don’t worry about it, Lauren. It doesn’t matter what he calls it, because I’ll still kick his … butt in the race with it.” I smirk at Chris and he’s returning my smirk right back at me.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see,” he puffs out his chest and we walk up to the track.

Lauren stays on the bench, which is really for the best. It’s always a constant struggle with my self-control to be around her. I don’t know if it’s the talk we had in the stairwell, or me hanging out with Chris, but with the way she’s been looking at me.… Let’s just say, my self control would be bleeding out in a shallow grave if her son wasn’t here.

Chris and I take our positions, lining up beside each other on the asphalt. The kid’s got confidence, I can see that. His swagger reminds me of myself at his age. I bet he’s got all the girls on the school yard falling all over him. Well, he would if he didn’t get kicked out of school.

“You ready?” I look over at him. He’s got his game face on. He’s been blessed with his mother’s skin tone and the same stubborn look of determination she gets when she’s trying to prove me wrong.

“You know it,” he answers.

“Ok, we’ll race to that oak tree. Sound good?” I point to the marker at the track’s midpoint.

“Why don’t we just do a full lap?”

You have to admire his bravado.

“I’ll beat you going to the tree first, then, if you want a chance to redeem yourself, we can race as far as you want afterward. Ok?”

Chris rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Whatever, I’ll wait for you at the tree then.”

Yep, I really like this guy.

“We’ll see. On your mark, get set, go!” I yell and we break into a sprint. Chris is out in front of me, pumping his arms and pushing hard.

I adjust my gait for the springy bounce of my blade. I’m still not totally used to it yet. The kid is fast; I’ll give him that. But, I’m faster.

Sucking oxygen deep into my lungs, I propel myself forward until Chris and I are neck and neck. For a split second, it almost feels like neither of us are moving at all. We’re perfectly in step beside each other, making it look like the world is rushing by us, instead of us rushing through it.

“Meep, meep!” I do my best roadrunner impression, like I used to back in my grade school days when I was about to make my opponent eat my dust. Not that someone Chris’s age knows who the roadrunner is.

I pull forward and give everything I have to put some distance between us. Chris is right on my heel though. He’s relentless. Someone has been taking their Flintstone vitamins.

With one last push, I manage to put about a foot of space between us and raise my arm in victory as I soar pat the oak tree. I did it! That was closer than I expected.

Chris and I slow our run into a slow jog, a speed walk, and finally a normal walking pace. I’m trying not to suck wind, meanwhile, Chris is completely fine. He’s not even breathing hard.

“Ok, you got me,” he smiles. “I can’t believe you can run that fast with that thing. I mean, that prosthetic,” he corrects himself.

“Yeah, once you learn how to use it, it’s just as good as having both legs.” I breathe in deep and try to slow my heart back down.

“But, wasn’t it hard to learn how to use that? I mean, running again and all that?” He looks up at me from the side of his eye, like he’s not sure if he should broach the subject.

I was hoping he would.

“It was, Chris. Probably one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life. Physically anyway,” I add.

“How’d you get so fast on it? I really thought I had this in the bag.” He looks me straight in the eye this time, more confident in his questions now.

“You know, it took a long time,” I admit. “When I first lost my leg, I didn’t even really want to walk again,” I confess one of my darker moments to him.

“What? Why?”

“Cause, I was pissed off. I lost something that meant a lot to me and I was angry at the world that I could never get it back.”