Me:Nope. Sweet dreams, Speedster.
Betty:ducking hell
Chapter 13
Josh
What fresh hell have I brought upon myself?
I open my door at exactly 5:30 a.m. to find Betty waiting in the hall. Her light brown hair is in braided pigtails that makes her look younger. She’s wearing a bright blue half-zip running jacket and navy crops. Both are slim fitting and hug her generous curves. Her brand-new sneakers complete the look. How is it possible for anyone to look so cute and sexy at the same time? She’s cutely sexy, or maybe sexily cute. It doesn’t help that she’s vibrating with excitement. The smile that spreads across her face when she sees me almost stops my heart.
“I know that I really didn’t want to do this, but now that we’re doing it, I’m actually really looking forward to it! I bought an entirely new running wardrobe and headphones for when you say I can use them and then I got an Apple watch. I wasn’t going to get one, but I was talking about running with the salesclerk at Lulu and she said that the watch tracks all her runs and I thought that sounded really helpful! Do you have an Apple watch?” She’s speaking quickly, and it’s hard to know where her sentences begin and end.
“No.” We exit the stairwell and walk to the main entrance. I can feel her nervous energy as we exit the building.
“Oh. Well, that’s okay, because this one will record both of our runs! I haven’t figured out all the bells and whistles, but I think that you can use it to set goals for yourself and challenges and you can even get texts!”
The air outside is damp and heavy from last night’s rain. There were already cars on the road, but very few pedestrians on the sidewalk.
“Alright,” I say, giving my shoulders a roll. “Let’s do this.” At my words, Betty takes off in a full-on sprint up the sidewalk. Once I get over the initial shock of what just happened, I jog after her, calling her name. She turns, looking confused and already a bit winded. “Slow down. We’ll start with a couple of minutes of walking to warm up your muscles.”
“Right. Sure. That makes sense.” She nods sheepishly, already having lost some of her energy. We walk at a brisk pace for five minutes, and I explain the plan.
“We’re going to alternate running and walking,” I tell her. She immediately starts to protest, but I talk over her. “It’s the best way for you to build up some endurance. Running without proper training is hard on a body, Betts. We have to do this gradually if you don’t want to get hurt.”
“Fine.” She pouts, still looking cutely sexy. Her pillowy lower lip juts out and I wonder what it would feel like to graze it with my teeth.
“Good. We’re going to start to run now.” Before she can leave me in her dust again, I add, “Slowly.” We start a nice easy jog. She’s got a nice running form. Her body picks up the rhythm easily as we make our way down the sidewalk. I give her a few breathing tips and instruct her to relax her arms a bit. After two minutes of running, I ease us back to walking.
“That was perfect. Great job,” I tell her, and she beams at my praise. Her cheeks are already flushed and she’s the slightest bit breathless. My mind starts to picture us in an entirely different scenario, still flushed and breathless, but I push the fantasy away. “Are you ready to run again?” She nods and off we go. We complete a circuit of running for two minutes and walking for one, and then we start again. I do most of the talking because she’s focused on keeping her breathing steady. When I tell her how I found two eighth graders making out behind the bleachers yesterday, she bursts out laughing.
“What did you say to them?” She gasps, trying to keep her breathing steady.
“I just told them to get to class.” I grin. “The boy looked like he wanted to dig himself a shallow grave right there on the field, but his girl just shrugged and dragged him off.”
“Those kids need The Outlook.”
I stare at her, open-mouthed, and try not to trip over my own feet. “When did you ever go to The Outlook, Betty St. Claire?” The Outlook was a well-known hook-up spot back home. Really, it was an abandoned field that no one monitored. Kids would drive up there to fool around in their parent’s cars, or occasionally as a group to drink a few beers with friends. I’d been there a few times for the latter.
“Never.” Her laughter comes out as a wheeze. We slow to a walk again and she catches her breath. “I did get invited once, though.”
“By whom?” I demand.
“Tanner Avery.”
“Tanner?” I demand.
“One time in freshman year,” she says, nodding sheepishly.
“That miserable asshole.” Tanner invited Betty to The Outlook. I should have never helped him with algebra. It hadn’t been uncommon for sophomores to date freshmen at our high school, but I’m still furious to find out that one of my friends propositioned my… Betty. I don’t remember her dating anyone when we were teenagers and I find the thought of someone feeling her up in a fogged-up Camry to be very upsetting.
“He was nice enough, but I didn’t like him that way,” she says without looking at me. “Why do you care? You and Eleanor probably had a permanent parking spot up there.”
“I never went there with Eleanor.” I scoff and Betty looks up at me, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “I’m serious. She thought it was tacky.” I don’t mention that Eleanor’s parents both worked long hours, so we had plenty of unsupervised time at her house. Betty says nothing in response, and I let the subject drop.
I’ve planned our route, so after the ten running cycles are complete, we have a ten-minute cool-down walk back to our building. By the time we get there, her breathing is under control again and our easy conversation has returned. She walks up the stairs ahead of me and I try not to ogle her ass. I fail. Her ass is a masterpiece.
“So that’s it?” she asks when we reach the top of the stairs. “That’s running?” She leans back on her apartment door.
