I never was.

The thought reached her lips, but went no further.

Sean saw the tension of restraint, misinterpreted its meaning, and hushed what he thought would be a cloying endearment. “Let’s”-he huffed for air-“not kid each other. Not now. You’ll make the team. And you’re going for the gold. Even… if you come back to Penn Tech, you’ll be different. Linked. Just want you to know”-he puffed, sucking wind as she picked the pace up-“wouldn’t have missed this for the world. All of this-“

She tried to speak again.

“Bullshit,” he said amiably. “Save breath. Need it. Race you to the bikes.”

He broke into a run. As always, she dredged up strength from somewhere in her reserves to follow him, match him. And as always, especially now, on this last of their days together, she was careful not to pass him.

There were classes scheduled at Pennsylvania Technical University, but no one expected Jillian Shomer to attend them. Not today.

She would wait for the word. Yes, or no. Go or stay.

Arm in arm they returned to her dorm room. They took a hot, leisurely shower together, sluicing away the perspiration, soaping each other’s bodies lavishly. Her long hard biceps femoris muscles tingled as the warm pulsing water dissolved knots of tension.

And as they showered, Jillian’s multifunction personal data Simulacrum Beverly analyzed her run. As always, Bev’s critique was merciless and precise. As always, it was given in a cunningly programmed Southern lilt.

“-compensating for the grade, your stride altered to twenty-three inches.”

Jillian waited for the carefully crafted sounds of disapproval.

“Tsk, tsk, Jill. Is this the best you can do? We both know that twenty-five”-Beverly pronounced the number twenny-fahve-“is optimum for your height and present weight.”

Sean chortled. “Bev slays me.”

“Energy,” Jillian called, spitting water.