The Miles Read Online Free PDF Page A

boyfriends. And even that was a tired, old pattern that he wished he could change. Or at least he wanted to believe that he did. His entire sexual life lately involved going out with Monroe and other friends to the bars until last call and seeing who wanted to sleep with him. At times, it could amusingly bolster his self-esteem to see a parade of guys scope him out from the corners of the bar. Occasionally, he’d even find someone who provided a hot night and a satisfying release but no one that Liam ever wanted to latch on to, or build something with. Mixing things up definitely couldn’t hurt.
    â€œWell, good. We need a change of pace here in the club too, and something tells me that you’re going to move us in that direction.”
    â€œOkay now, boys. Save some of that energy for the hut-huts.” The coach pointed directly at Zane as he spoke and then ushered everyone into the interior of the track to start the workout.
    â€œSo what’s with this hut-hut business?” Liam sensed Zane taking him under his wing and decided that someone as well connected and central to the club as Zane would be beneficial as an ally.
    â€œIt’s politically correct speak for Indian relays. We all run single file and when the leader raises his hand the person in the back has to sprint to the front and then set the pace for the run until he lifts his arm and then the person in the back flies up and on and on. It sounds easy but after doing it for a few miles, it can be a real bitch. You’re lucky in that you’ll be one of the fastest guys. The slowpokes suck major wind—choke on our exhaust—in this type of group workout.”
    A little dismayed by the fact that his one strong finish in a 5K led to such great expectations, Liam nervously bundled himself into the middle of the pack and hoped for the best. The track was a-rumble with fast runners. As the group of Fast Trackers strode around at a pace faster than Liam had ever run on his own, sinewy men from other teams pressed by without showing the slightest bit of effort. After a half mile, Liam realized he was the last in line, and when the guy in front waved his arm up high, it would be his turn to sprint. He felt both severe anxiety and a nascent swell of pride. And when the hand went up, Liam focused on making his body as efficient as possible, on looking only at the person at the head of the line and propelling himself toward that position—and beyond—to capture the lead spot. It took all of about twelve seconds, but the force and power lit Liam with a thrill and left him with the deep desire for more.
    About fifteen minutes into the workout, six of the ten runners in Liam’s group had quit in hunched-over dry heaves and spells of light-headedness. With only three other runners battling it out, the sprint portion of this exercise came around with increasing frequency. Liam knew he could complete the second half of the workout; he embraced the pain that now tested him over and over again. Gene suddenly raised his hand—for the only other runners left were Gene, Zane, and Marvin, whose thick calves were rife with batches of bright red hair—and Liam edged into the outer lane and revved up his leg turnover. He straightened his back and leaned forward just slightly, mimicking the suggested running form that all the magazines touted for optimal performance. As he passed Marvin and Zane, Liam noticed that Gene only grew farther ahead in the distance. The coach had specifically stated that everyone should run at a consistently hard pace throughout the workout and should only pick up speed when sprinting to the front of the line. Liam turned his head to silently question Gene’s motives with Zane, but Zane had trained his gaze toward the track. And so Liam strained to increase the rate of his foot turnover until he was shoulder to shoulder with Gene, who had begun to squint with pain and wheeze as he thrust his arms faster