Starting With You

8. Shit or get off the pot.

Jensen

I WAKE UP LATE THE NEXT MORNING with a grueling headache. Groaning against the bright sun assaulting my eyeballs, I throw an arm over my eyes and try to will myself back to sleep. When that doesn't work, I roll out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom for some Tylenol. I wander out to the kitchen and see the empty beer bottles littering the counter, evidence of my stupid life choices last night.

After starting a pot of coffee, I gather the bottles and dump them into the recycling with a loud clang. I pick up my phone where I abandoned it last night to find way too many notifications demanding my attention. I ignore them all except for one text thread. I click on Teddy's name, curious to see what she has to say.

TEDDY: Heading to the farm soon to check on the animals. Mostly Cleo. The stinker has a bad habit of getting loose. Wanna meet after for a run?

Before responding, I check the timestamp on the message and see she sent it 30 minutes ago.

ME: Sorry, just seeing this. Are you still around or did you leave without me?

TEDDY: Just finishing up. I had a jailbreak to deal with.

ME: K. I'll be out in a few.

I'm not really in any shape for physical activity, but the idea of seeing Teddy is too tempting. I try to tell myself it isn't because of her date last night, but the attempt feels flat even to me.

I dress in gym shorts, a hoodie and my running shoes. I sip some steaming coffee before abandoning the fresh pot and jogging down the stairs. The movement hurts my head, but I tell myself to suck it up. I know better than to self soothe with alcohol.

Teddy is walking up just as I exit the building. Her hair is pulled on top of her head in a messy bun instead of her usual braid, and it makes me pause, my eyes stuck on her exposed neck. She's smiling, and it makes me wonder if her cheery mood is in direct correlation to her date last night. I ban myself from asking her about it, though. It's not like she even told me she had a date in the first place. I had to hear about it from my sister. Plus, the last time we talked about the jackoff it got weird between us. Let's try avoiding the awkwardness today, ok, Jensen?

"Hey." Her smile widens when she stops in front of me.

I break into a stretch, grunting my greeting. The burn in my legs feels good. "The usual route?"

She studies me for a moment. "You're hungover."

It isn't stated as a question. She knows it's a fact. I grunt again.

"Oh, Jensen, Jensen, Jensen. You sure you want to run, old man? Hangovers aren't what they used to be in our 20s."

When I glare at her, she huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes. "Whatever. It's your pain, not mine. But don't think I'm going to slow my pace just because you're hurting." With that, she takes off in a sprint toward the path that weaves through the farm and around the outskirts of it before it circles right back to this spot.

I try not to notice her butt in those tight leggings as I run behind her, but my eyes seem to have a mind of their own. I avert them quickly when she glances behind her to track my progress. I wave her off, so she picks up her pace.

The chilled late morning fades to warm early afternoon by the time we round back to our starting spot. Once we stop, I bend over, bracing my hands on my knees. "That was brutal," I begrudgingly admit, my breaths coming out in wheezy pants.

She pats my sweaty back, laughing loudly. "That'll teach ya. Why were you drinking anyway? And where?" Her line of sight makes its way up the building to my apartment, like she knows I was drinking in there alone last night.