‘I saw your trainers in your room. They’re wrecked. You’ll damage your knees if you keep running in them.’ He stands with his arms folded, waiting for me to change.
It’s the crack of dawn. I’m not even awake yet, and he wants me pounding the pavements and puffing myself out through the streets of London before I’ve even done a day’s work?
Unreasonable!
He sighs, walking over to the sports bag and pulling out all sorts or running paraphernalia. He hands me a sports bra on a smirk. Oh, he really has thought of everything. I snatch it from his hands and remove my lace bra, replacing it with a reinforced shock absorber. My boobs aren’t so big that they need strapping down. Next, he passes me a pair of black running shorts – the same as his but the ladies version – and a fitted, pink running vest. I dress myself under his watchful eye. I can’t believe he’s dragging me out for a run at this time of day.
‘Sit.’ He points to the bed. I sigh dramatically, plonking myself on the end. ‘I’m ignoring you.’ he grumbles as he kneels in front of me, lifting one foot at a time to put breathable running socks on and a rather swanky pair of black, Nike, running shoes. He can ignore me all he likes. I’m not happy, and I want him to know it.
When he’s done, he pulls me up, stands back and runs his gaze up and down my sporty clad body. He nods his approval. Yes, I certainly look the part, but I’ve always just thrown on my baggy sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. I don’t want to look better than I actually am. I’m not bad, though.
‘Can I use your toothbrush?’ I ask, sidestepping him and heading for the bathroom.
‘Knock yourself out.’ I hear him call, but his toothbrush is already in my hand.
After brushing my teeth, I feel instantly more alert and even more determined to wipe the smugness from his face. I’ll run, I’ll keep up and I might even finish with a few sit-ups. I’ve been meaning to get back into the habit and there’s no time like the present. I walk back into the bedroom, back straight and raring to go.
‘Come on then, lady. Let’s start the day how we intend to finish it.’ He takes my hand, leading the way downstairs.
‘I’m not running again today!’ I splutter. This man really is mad.
He laughs. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Oh, what did you mean?’
He flashes me a dark, dirty grin. ‘I mean by being out of breath and sweaty.’
I gasp slightly and shiver. I know which way I would prefer to get out of breath and sweaty, morning, noon and night. And it doesn’t involve this get up. ‘You’re not seeing me tonight.’ I remind him. His hand tightens around mine and he grunts a few times. I spot my handbag by the door. ‘I need a hair tie.’
He releases me and goes into the kitchen, leaving me to retrieve a hair tie from my bag. I scoop my hair up into a high ponytail and re-arrange my shorts. They’re chaffing. I need some pants on. I delve through my bag and come across my Little Miss Stubborn knickers.
Oh, no! I flush, cringe and die a thousand deaths all at once. He must have had a real good rummage to find these beauties. I’ve never worn them. They were Mum and Dad’s idea of a joke stocking filler and have been living at the back of my underwear drawer for many years.
Resigning myself to a fate full of continuous blushing, for as long as Sam’s in my life, I whip my shorts off to pull them on.
‘Ha! Let me see those.’ He grasps my hips, bending down to have a good inspection. ‘Can you get these in Little Miss Drive Jesse Crazy?’
I roll my eyes. ‘I don’t know. Can you get Mr Unreasonable Control Freak?’ He digs his thumbs into the hollow space above my hip bones, prompting me to fold over in laughter. ‘Stop!’
‘Get your shorts back on, lady.’ He smacks my bum.
I pull my shorts back on with a big grin on my face. He’s in a really good mood today. But, then again, I’m conforming.
We make our way down to the foyer, finding Clive with his head in his hands.
‘Morning, Clive.’ Jesse nods formally as we pass. He’s far too alert for this time of day.
Clive grumbles to himself, waving an absentminded hand at us. I don’t think he’s getting the hang of all that equipment.
Jesse stops us in the car park. ‘Stretch.’ he instructs, releasing my hand and pulling his lower leg up to his backside to stretch his thigh. I watch as it bulges under his running shorts. I c**k my head, more than happy to stay right here and watch him do that. ‘Ava, stretch.’ he orders.
I throw him a disgruntled look. I’ve never stretched in my life – only in bed – and it’s never done me any harm.
On an over exaggerated sigh, I turn my back to him and spectacularly, and oh so very slowly, spread my legs and bend down to touch my toes, thrusting my backside in his face.
‘Oh!’ I feel his teeth sink into one of my cheeks, followed by a swift sting of his hand colliding with my bum. I turn back around and find an arched brow on a peeved face. The man is serious about his running, where as I just do a few miles now and again to keep the wine and cake from creeping onto my hips. ‘Where are we running?’ I ask, mirroring Jesse stretching his thighs and calves.
‘The Royal Parks,’ he answers.
Oh, I can do that. It’s roughly six miles around the circumference and one of my regular runs. No sweat.
‘Ready?’ he asks.
I nod and make my way over to Jesse’s car, while he makes his way to the pedestrian gate. What’s he doing? ‘Where are you going?’ I shout over to him.