“Alright, Killer.” Beck falls dramatically next to me. His hands catching him in a push up position then rolls to his back. “Break it is.”
Dottie lays down in between us as we all slow our heart rates down.
I steal a glance at Beck as he rests his arms over his head and his eyes shut. Running with him should not be so damn enjoyable. I hate that he knew this is what we both needed. I didn’t anticipate the ten miles, but he’s right—this is our normal. Whatever normal is for us, I suppose.
We match each other’s speed so well. It never feels like Beck’s trying to compete with me either. We just turn off our brains and run. It’s the only rational reason I can think of for why I continue to run this route every single Tuesday he’s in town. The same one, I hate to admit, that makes me hate the idea of no longer running together over winter.
The corner of his lips turns up, and I know I’ve stared a moment too long.
“Like what you see?”
I want to point out his eyes are closed, but that straight up admits that I was staring. “I was glaring at you. We usually run five miles on Tuesdays.”
Beck looks back up to the clouded sky. “Hey, you’re a big girl. Don’t act like you didn’t want to keep going. If you really wanted to stop at five, you would have said something.”
Dammit, he’s right. “Maybe I was afraid to say something? Ever think of that?”
Beck lets out a throaty laugh that’s every bit of a turn on that it shouldn’t be. “Jensen, you’re not afraid to tell me anything.”
False. Very false.
This time, I choose to ignore him. I look back up to the sky, slowly finding my breath as I recount waking up in Beck’s bed this morning. It was so annoyingly comfortable, and every part of me hated that I was alone in it. Even if it was a blessing that I did…walking out to find him wearing glasses is a whole new version of Beck I didn’t need to see. It pairs with the reaction of seeing him in his boxer briefs.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” The words tumble out at the memory.
“Don’t always wear them. There are these things called contacts, little more practical when playing baseball. I mostly wear my glasses at home, but if you like them then?—”
Despite my body still feeling this numbing high, I swat at his arm. “Don’t be an ass.”
Beck chuckles. “Well, considering you brought up a reminder of this morning, why don’t you tell me what happened. Why’d you have to crash at my place?”
I swallow down a bit of my pride, I guess I do owe him an explanation, considering Callie and Lucie didn’t give him the heads-up I’d be there.
“My landlord is co-conspiring with my old slimy boss. I can handle myself, but I’m smart enough to know it’s better to leave entirely. So, now, I need a new place to live while also finding a new shop to work at…which also seems to be impossible at the moment, but I’ll figure it out.”
“What the fuck?” Beck snaps. “What do you mean co-conspiring? I feel like you’re glossing over a whole lot of information here.”
I feel every muscle in my body tense with frustration. “It’s fine, Beck. The apartment isn’t exactly worth fighting for when I know I can figure other things out.”
“Okay, so you want me to find out the rest of these details on my own. Should I start at your apartment complex? Tally’s, maybe?”
“Ay dios mío! Look, the guy who did my apprenticeship was a perverted asshat and didn’t want me to leave the shop so he could keep ogling me. When I turned his and his wife’s job offer down, I could tell that it didn’t go over well, but it had to be done.
“I figured, if anything, they would just talk shit about me in the shop, but clearly, I underestimated them. My landlord is one of the asshat’s regulars, so I came home to a letter about raised rent that afternoon. When that didn’t work because I’m busting my ass at Winedown, they decided to implement a new ‘no pet’ policy.”
“Christ, Jensen, that’s why you were working that Tuesday?” Beck doesn’t wait for me to respond to that question before asking a new one. “Keep going. What about the other shops?”
Clenching my jaw tight, this is the one I saw coming the least. “Seems I’ve been put on some form of blacklist for artists. Apparently, asshat’s wife is just as big of a cunt and made up a bunch of lies. What’s worse is, I’m not sure if she’s just bitter that I didn’t stay or that her husband didn’t get what he wanted. I suppose it was all just an insult to injury.”
“I’m going down there.” Beck shoots up from lying on the ground.
My body hates me for it, but I match his speed, catching his arm before he stands. “No. No, you will not. I’ve already talked Hurricane Callie out of trashing the place and convinced Mama Bear Lucie to stand down. Don’t make me fight you on it too—just listen.”
Beck looks at me dead in the eyes. “You better start saying better things then, Jen. You’re telling me you felt so unsafe that you had to leave your apartment. Don’t tell me what lies this bitch is spreading or you won’t stop me.”
I look at Beck, truly look at him, and he’s pissed. Outraged, really. This hyperactive, goofball looks straight up murderous right now and at that I burst out laughing.
Beck tilts his head back. “You think I’m fucking joking? I’m ser?—”
