He looked up at her. “I thought we were running together. Isn’t that how this started?”

He had a point.

“Well…” She had no acceptable answer. To be honest, she was embarrassed that she’d treated their jog like the Boston Marathon. She offered him her hand. “Sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what got into me.”

Dean took her hand and rolled up easily, as though he’d been faking being worn out for her benefit.

“I know. You wanted to beat me. Got a real thing about winning, don’t you?” Dean winced. “Maybe we should have jogged together before I got into this bet with you. I definitely need to be on the lookout for sabotage. Right?”

“I don’t cheat.” But winning a race against someone who didn’t even know he’d entered might not be completely honest.

She stared at her running shoes, uneasy with how well he already knew her.

He laughed. “Right. Beating me at a race I didn’t know we were running isn’t exactly cheating.”

She took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m sorry. I just…” She rolled the edge of her T-shirt between two fingers. “Winning is important to me.”

“And to most normal men and women in the world.” Dean took her hand in his, forcing her to stop the nervous habit. “What happens when you lose?”