OLIVER
Running is stupid.
Rain is stupid.
Cold is stupid.
Running in the cold rain is fucking ridiculous. What kind of sociopath invented this shit? And why am I standing in my building lobby, staring out the door at the pouring rain, attempting to convince myself that this is a good idea?
Because Aaron told me to, which is possibly the worst excuse known to man. I can practically hear my mother asking me if I’d jump off a bridge if someone told me to.
And yes, I would have done precisely that in high school if someone I wanted to impress asked me, especially if they were cute and had cheek dimples like Aaron.
For better or worse, the people I most wanted to impress didn’t know I existed, so the situation didn’t come up. Or, I guess that exact situation. My siblings had me doing all sorts of crazy things, but mostly they were the ones who got in trouble for it. Perks of being the baby.
Before I can talk myself out of it completely, I hit start on the app Aaron had me download to track my runs and tuck my phone into an inner pocket, where I hope it will be safe from all the rain.
That’s the little push I need to get out the door. The first steps are terrible; water seeps into my shoes, squelching with every step. I could turn around, but Aaron would know. Even if I left the program running on my phone, he’d look and see that I didn’t go very far. At best, it’s been less than a tenth of a mile. That’s not enough. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I can hear him lecturing me about proper training. Worse, I can hear the disappointment in his voice if I don’t go out.
A ping goes off in my headphones, signaling that the warmup is over. Time to speed up a little. Well, my app can fuck right off with that. I was supposed to spend the evening running with Aaron, which I don’t hate, and then going on a surprise date he had planned.
A date that I’ve been looking forward to for a week. Fine, I’ve been looking forward to it for months, ever since that first night. I thought it would never happen, so the excitement has been building a little bit at a time since then, especially since he kept teasing me and refusing to tell me what was going to happen.
Part of me worries that the whole thing was part of an elaborate prank. There was never a planned date. Instead, it was all a joke. Something to make me feel better about myself. When he came close to getting caught, he used work as an excuse.
I know that’s not true. At least the rational part of my brain knows that. The less rational part? Yeah, that part is being a real asshole right now. About everything.
Another ding sounds in my ear, signaling the start of a walk break. Fuck it. I don’t want to walk.
Even though I’m soaked through and can barely feel my legs, I feel good.
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 latestNetflixobsession 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 ondeliveredfor 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 Ican 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.
