Chapter 3
Atlanta, GaCharles
Atlanta, GaCharles
ABOUT THIRTY MINUTES into my run, I began to calm down, and, more or less resigned to my fate, I headed back to the town house to get ready for what I expected to be the ordeal of the evening. Lance, as always, trotted easily beside me. It had taken months of training before he’d learned to repress his natural urge to surge ahead, pulling me with him.
Back at the town house, I paused in the laundry area long enough to strip, tossed my running gear into a waiting basket, and padded naked upstairs, while Lance headed for the kitchen and his water bowl.
Standing before the bathroom mirror, I took stock of myself—smooth body, thirty-four-inch waist, fairly broad shoulders, nicely proportioned and muscled, without even a hint of love handles
