Chapter 14 #2
I take that back. I feel terrible. Running feels good.
Is this the runner’s high I’ve heard so much about it?
Maybe I’ll be able to run the whole thing.
That’ll impress Aaron. It’d be the first time that I’ve gotten through a run without a walk break.
No matter how many times Aaron tells me that walk breaks are an essential part of the plan, I’m pretty sure he’s lying.
He has to be. I once asked how many of his runs he walks.
He mumbled his way through some bullshit answer before landing on rarely.
Rarely my ass.
Another ding sounds. At this point, I’m ignoring everything it has to say. It doesn’t matter what’s going on or what it has in mind. I’m doing this my way.
By the time I reach the point where I usually turn around, I’m starting to feel the lack of walk breaks. I’m too stubborn and mad to give in, though. I turn around, but only because of the wind. Since it’s been in my face this whole time, I should get some boost on the way home.
That doesn’t happen. I swear the wind switches direction the minute I do, hitting me squarely in the face the whole way home.
By the time I get back and the final bell sounds on my app, I’m huffing and puffing.
I step inside, letting the worst of the wetness drip off of me onto the floor mat before making my way to the elevator.
I just ran two miles, there’s no way in hell I’m taking the stairs. I earned this laziness.
As soon as I’m in the elevator, a wave of nausea hits me so hard I fear I might end up painting the walls with my lunch. I manage to hold back, but only barely.
In my apartment, I throw myself on the ground in the kitchen along with a water bottle.
Dramatic? Perhaps, but I’ve earned a few minutes of drama.
Plus, I desperately need a hot shower. The combination of rain and sweat is making my skin itch.
In a few minutes, I’ll start shivering. I need a second to pull myself together.
A second turns into several minutes. Eventually, I can’t avoid the inevitable any longer. In the bathroom, I strip off the sopped clothing and toss it on the floor. They’re too dirty to go with the rest of my laundry, so I’ll need to throw them in the washer on their own. More laundry. Joy.
In the shower, I let my mind wander as the warm water brings my body temperature back up.
Fuck, I’d give anything to have Aaron here with me tonight.
I haven’t gotten the opportunity to take a shower with him.
Watching the water fall over the well-defined planes of his body is a big fantasy of mine.
Maybe whatever date we go on this weekend can wind up back here.
Or in his shower. Honestly, I’m not picky about the details. What’s important to me is that it happens. My dick twitches, attempting to get hard. Except I’m tired, cold, and sore. Even my cock is disappointed.
Fuck. I turn off the water and step out, still feeling a deep cold in my bones.
After toweling off, I find my fuzziest pajamas to pull on and tuck myself into bed.
I think I’ve earned a night of laziness and relaxation.
Fully intending to turn on my latest Netflix obsession and binge-watch for the rest of the evening, I get comfortable, pulling the pillows in tight around me to make a little nest.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I’m tempted to ignore it.
I’m off the clock for everyone, work and personal.
It’s too much temptation. I look over at the notification to see who it’s from.
Or, I should say notifications, because I have five, all from Aaron.
The vindictive part of me wants to ignore them, leave him on delivered for the rest of the evening.
That’s not the mature way to handle things.
At some point, I’ll be the one who has to cancel a date because of work.
While I don’t have the same level of responsibility or coworkers, there are always things that come up at the last minute.
Sometimes I can see them coming and prepare in advance, but often I’m stuck scrambling to make sure something is uploaded correctly before a deadline.
Groaning, I grab my phone and open the notifications.
Aaron
What the hell?
I get that you’re mad, but don’t do stupid shit like this.
Beneath the message is a screenshot from the running app with my information.
I stare at it for a moment, trying to figure out why he sent it to me.
I didn’t bother to look when I got home, too tired and nauseated to care about anything other than getting horizontal.
It takes me a second to process the information.
That’s fast. And far. Shit. I have a brief moment of elation.
Maybe I’m making progress. I thought I’d be stuck being a slowpoke forever.
Apparently, all it takes to speed me up is a bit of rage.
Aaron
You’re going to hurt tomorrow.
I’m sorry.
Oh. That makes sense. My body is already tight and heavy, my muscles still complaining about those two and a half miles.
Me
Oops
I add the little monkey covering his eyes emoji, as though that’s going to let me off the hook. I’m not so much mad as frustrated.
ME: Not mad. Just a lot of pent-up energy.
I hold off on telling him that it’s primarily sexual energy. Not only have we not been on a date, but we also haven’t had sex since we officially switched to a beta relationship.
Aaron
Please stretch and foam roll. It helps. I promise.
Ugh, to both of those suggestions. I’ve been glaring at the bright orange roller Aaron gave me every time I walk through the living room. That thing is pure evil. No matter how much Aaron insists that it feels good, I’m pretty sure it belongs in a torture dungeon—and not the good kind.
I give his message a thumbs up, even though I have no intention of doing either of those things.
The least I can do is acknowledge that it’s good advice.
Instead, I make a beeline for the freezer and return to my bed with a pint of my favorite chocolate mint ice cream.
The label says it has protein, so at least that should help.
If I roll the carton over my aching thighs a few times, that’s like a bit of massage.
Aaron
I’m sorry.
I sigh. That’s the second time he’s sent me that message. I’m upset, but there’s nothing either of us can do about it right now. I need to sulk for a few hours, gorge myself on ice cream, and get it out of my system.
Me
I know. I’m going to head to bed. Have a good shift.
It’s early, but I want an excuse to put my phone on do not disturb and tune out for the rest of the evening.
Aaron
Sleep tight.
I put my phone face down on my nightstand and pick one of my comfort watches, a sitcom I’ve seen a few hundred times, and curl up to wallow.
I’ll be over it tomorrow, I’m sure of it.
I need time to sit with my feelings. Once I’ve had enough ice cream, I get up to put the last half—fine, quarter—of the carton back in the freezer and lock up the place.
I glance around the living room a final time, giving the foam roller a good glare, before turning off the lights and making my way back to bed.
Under the covers, I pull the duvet over my head and listen to the background noise of the TV as I drift off to sleep.