As usual, I wake up before Bella. A look at the alarm clock at the nightstand tells me that it's early even for me, only 5:30, but try as I might, I can't go back to sleep. My whole arm itches, and the only thing I can think of that might distract me from that is waking Bella to pick up where we've left off the night before. But I know that she will not really appreciate that - of all the people in the world I have to be madly in love with the worst morning person there is. And as going down on her to pacify her is off limits right now, I decide to let her sleep and jerk off in the bathroom instead.
But of course the tatt is itching just as much when I'm done cleaning my hands and cock afterwards, and slathering the skin with lotion only helps so much. Restless and frustrated I slink back into the bedroom and don my running clothes. It's still dark outside and the heavy November mist is less than inviting, but I have to burn off energy somehow. The sleepy grunt I get in return when I kiss Bella's shoulder underlines the wisdom of my choice.
Until I come face to face with Jazz downstairs I've nearly forgotten about him staying over. Or not quite forgotten, more like having been very successful in ignoring that fact. Before I can stop myself I feel my shoulders tense up in expectation of some jibe or other - while he has probably never said anything to Bella when she stayed over at our house, I've gotten my fair share of snarky remarks from him, and dealt out at least twice as many myself - but he only mumbles a tired "Good morning," around a spoonful of yogurt. At least now the mystery is solved why he hasn't eaten breakfast with us the day before, if his behaviour today is any indication.
Returning his greeting in kind I'm about to walk out of the condo when I realize how strange he is acting - actually it's the first time ever that I've seen him eat his preferred main food group straight from the container, and I'm surprised that the mess of cornflakes that he has left on the counter when he poured them into the yogurt doesn't drive him crazy. What I see when I scrutinize him more closely confirms my suspicion - he doesn't look as if he has slept at all last night, and while I might not be the best judge on that topic, he seems worse off this morning than the evening he has shown up on our doorstep.
The nasty, vengeful part of me cackles gleefully at that realization but I force myself not to gloat at his misery - and instead surprise myself with the words my sleep addled brain comes up with.
"I'm going for a run, wanna join me?"
Jazz stops chewing his mouthful of food, his eyes flitting over my face as if he's looking for any kind of malicious intent there. When he finds none he swallows and shrugs.
"Only if you're doing this out of some other motive than having pity with me."
Snorting, I incline my head in a silent 'touché' gesture.
"And there I thought dragging you out into that weather would seem like an attempt to get back at you."
He's silent for a moment, then offers a hint of his usual bright grin.
"True. I'll be back in a sec."
While he ruts through his stuff to find his running shoes I busy myself with checking my phone. Then we take off into the hostilely cold morning together.
For the first mile neither of us speaks, and I feel myself relax a little more with every block we pass. Over the summer I've gotten used to running alone unless Bella insist on joining me, but while I don't mind slowing down for her, when I run, I want to run. It's my way of shutting down my mind and letting my body finds its limits - I guess most people use sex for that purpose, but as much as I like to play, I can't ever let my guard down. But I can, and do, when I let houses, streets, trees, rivers zoom past me. Only I don't like to be alone all the time, how much so I only realize now that Jazz is along with me again.
I can tell that he has kept up running in the meantime, maybe even worked out more than before. I've always been the faster one of us, longer legs and more time spent outdoors than in the gym helping, but I don't have to slow down at all for him to stay right on my heels. Probably because Alice would have let him go to the dojo without complaints but griped at him playing Halo all night on the xbox, the nasty voice in my head helpfully supplies. And if things were less than stellar between them, he'd probably had to burn off any excess energy through physical exertion, too, as I can't imagine Alice being the kind of woman to put out when she's grumpy. At that I remind myself that Jasper's sex life is in no way of any concern to me, and increase my pace just a little more to shut my brain up from providing any more entertaining notions like that.
There aren't many people up and about yet, and we encounter only a handful of other joggers and dog walkers. Most notable is a pair of women running in the opposite direction - they even stop their animated conversation that doesn't seem to be hampered by their speed to smile and greet us - and I'm surprised that Jazz has barely a look and nod to spare for them. Like the spilled cornflakes incident his complete lack of interest in displaying his usual charm makes me wonder just what is going on in his head. Try as I might I can't stop myself from feeling sympathy for him, and from that moment on the silence between us seems awkward to me. As if I'm deliberately shutting him down out of spite when he probably needs a friend right now like seldom before in his life. Although I'm still honest enough with myself that my motivation behind striking up a conversation is not exactly to let him vent, but for me to stop feeling like an ass.
We have to slow down a little to get out more than a few coherent words, and after several still pressed, single-word answers we finally find a few topics we can discuss - sports, news, video games - and by the time we are back home and spend another few minutes outside stretching talking to him feels nearly natural again. I don't even try to steer the conversation to anything more meaningful or possibly loaded as I guess he will eventually get there if we wants to, but just chatting like that seems to ease some of the strain he is dragging around with him.
Upstairs Bella is awake if looking a little disheveled, her hair still damp from the shower as she fills three mugs of coffee from a freshly brewed pot. I give her a proper good morning kiss before I go shower and dress, hurrying up so that Jazz can hit the shower afterwards before he catches a cold in his sweaty clothes. Because our apartment isn't intended to house guests we have two bathrooms but only one equipped with a shower - the one adjacent to our bedroom - and for the first time I wonder who plans something that impractical.
Bella is silent through most of our breakfast - without Jazz once again as he is still in the shower - until I nudge her elbow gently to get her attention.
The wide-eyed look she gives me tells me more than words ever could, and I sigh inwardly as I reach for my yet neglected coffee.
"What's wrong?"
For a moment it looks as if she's about to deny that there is something bothering her, but at a brief glare from me she drops the pretense, her eyes flitting towards the stairs.
"Did he say anything?"
"About what?"
"Don't be so dense, you know what I mean!" she hisses, but before I can answer - or laugh at the way her cheeks start to haze over with a hint of a blush - Jazz joins us, and after a moment of hesitation takes his cup of coffee over to the breakfast bar to sit down at the end closer to me. I'm a little surprised that he doesn't take the seat next to Bella, but then I catch the stare she is still directing at him.
While ready to offer help, she hasn't actually been very welcoming towards him - not that I blame her, but it only now occurs to me how that must seem to him. In turn I feel a twinge of guilt at my own behavior - shouldn't I have been the one acting the most hostile? - but then I quell the thought before it can start bothering me. I know Bella has had ample opportunity to express any misgivings about my behavior, and I have to admit, she only seems to want to stay distant from Jazz herself, while my attempts not to act up have only gotten me grateful smiles from her. As if she's happy that one of us can at least act civil.
