Foul Play by Janet Evanovich

Hewanted to spend the evening in her house, surrounded by her things, listening to her talk.
    He bonked his head against the door to his office. That was so corny. He was in bad shape. Maybe he should just ask her to marry him and get it over with. Ridiculous, he thought. He’d only known her for forty-eight hours. It was too soon. He’d wait until tomorrow.
    He found Ida Bird and put her in her cage for the night, opened a can of cat food for Spike, and checked all the doors to make sure they were locked. Closing the front door behind him, he jogged across the parking lot to his car, anticipating a longer run, visualizing Amy trotting beside him, panting from exhaustion and adoration while he slowed his pace to accommodate her.
    Nice fantasy, he warned himself. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her, and she was wearing serious running shoes. For all he knew, she could qualify for the Boston Marathon. He slouched behind the wheel of his car and wondered if he was in trouble.
    Nah, he decided, he was much bigger than her, and his legs were at least an inch longer. Of course, those glory days of high school track were more than ten years ago, a voice whispered in his head. You had a doughnut for breakfast, you eat TV dinners, and you drink beer. Then again, you live in a second-floor apartment and stairs have to count for something—don’t they?
    One hour later, Jake knew those stairs didn’t count for anything. Amy and he had started out at a moderate pace, chatting companionably, enjoying the slight breeze that rustled in the trees. After about ten minutes of street running, Amy led them to a good-sized pond and turned onto a dirt path.
    â€œThis is my favorite part,” she called over to him. “I think if we run a little faster we’ll have time to do two laps before it gets dark.”
    Two laps? Was she kidding? He was lucky he’d made it this far; he was a dead man. His calves burned, his feet felt like lead, his T-shirt was soaked through, and he couldn’t breathe. Don’t think about it! he orderedhimself. Just concentrate on the woman beside—wait, passing—you, running with long easy strides.
    She wore silky black shorts that flapped intriguingly at the side vent, displaying a tantalizing sliver of upper thigh when the breeze was just right. It was enough to keep him going. Wait for the wind, he told himself. Keep putting one foot in front of the other and wait for the wind.
    He was relieved when they hit a long downhill grade, then almost groaned out loud when they turned a corner and began climbing. The path stretched endlessly in front of him, leading to what he thought looked like the Matterhorn.
    Please, let the Fates allow him to get around just once , and he’d never eat another doughnut. More orange juice, less coffee. No beer. For the rest of his life he’d never have another beer.
    Things certainly were looking up, Amy thought. She’d always enjoyed running, but this outing was special. Jake was behind her, seeing her favorite lake for the first time, and Amy imagined it through his eyes.
    The setting sun flickered through holes in the tree roof, not quite strong enough to pattern the shaded path. It cast the lake in deep-hued pastels of mauve and teal, encouraging birds to roost and tree toads to commence their evening song. The ground smelled damp and fresh, sometimes surprisingly sweet with honeysuckle, sometimes pungent with fallen leaves and felled trees.
    Amy ran effortlessly, relishing Jake’s company, realizing that she’d never enjoyed male companionship like this. Jake was real. She could hear him breathing, hear the steady thud of his footsteps. There was none of the artificiality of her other dates.
    Even with Jeff and their brief engagement, there had always been a distance, a formality she never could break through. That relationship had burned so bright and so fast, it seemed a lifetime ago. Maybe it had been; she felt