“Good morning, Hazel,” he says.
“Good morning, sir.”
“You may put the tray down.”
I walk to his desk and place it down at the corner like usual. He pours himself a cup of coffee, but he doesn’t take the paper.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing at the chair.
I hesitate then sit, like he told me to.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
I hesitate a second. “Uh, Philadelphia.”
“You’re local?”
I nod. “Born in a suburb north of here.”
“Which one?”
“Landsdale.”
He nods. “I’ve heard of it. What were your parents like?”
My mind briefly flashes back to my childhood. “Normal,” I say finally.
He raises an eyebrow. “Just normal?”
“Pretty much.”
He watches me for a moment. “Did they pay for your college?”
I glance away. “No. I did that myself.”
“Really?” he asks softly.
I shrug. “Student loans.”
“Did they refuse to pay or could they just not afford it?”
“Refused,” I admit, although I’m not sure why. “Didn’t approve of my painting.”
“Ah,” he says softly. “I see. I can understand that.”
I glare at him. “You understand parents not supporting their kid?”
“I don’t believe parents should support their kid in every single thing, especially when they’re making a mistake.”
I take a sharp breath and let it out. “Getting my degree wasn’t a mistake.”
He doesn’t argue the point. “Did you play sports as a child?”
I clench my jaw for a second. I want to keep arguing about the painting thing, but I know it’s useless. “Softball. Soccer.”
“Were you any good?”
I laugh and shake my head, relaxing a bit. “Not at all.”
“What about now? Do you exercise?”
“Not really. Not enough at least.”
“Start running,” he says.
I frown at him. “Is that part of my job now?”
“If you want it to be. How about I pay you one hundred dollars for every mile you run?”
My eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”
“Very serious. I’ll draw up a contract and we’ll make it official, if you want.”
“Uh, no, we don’t have to do that. I just mean, that’s a lot of money.”
He smiles a bit. “Start running and we’ll see.”
“Fine.” I cross my legs and smirk at him. “You’re about to lose a lot of cash.”
“We’ll see.” He smiles right back. “It’ll be worth it to see you come in sweating and out of breath.”
I laugh and look away. He has no clue how unsexy I am when exercising. It’s an understatement to say that I wasn’t good at sports, and there’s a reason I’m more into art than athletics. I honestly hate running and working out drives me nuts.
But I have wanted to get more exercise lately. It’s one of those things that I’ve gotten away with because I’m young, but I won’t be young forever. Getting into a running habit is probably a really good idea.
Besides, one hundred bucks for every mile sounds pretty worth it. I think I can gut through a few miles every day after work.
“I’ll make sure to shower first,” I tell him.
He laughs but I suspect he wasn’t joking about wanting to see me sweaty and tired.
“Music?” he asks.
“All of it.”
“Movies?”
“Sometimes.”
“Favorite place to eat?”
“Mexican place near my apartment. Super authentic, super cheap. I love it.”
He nods, almost like he approves. “Good. That’ll be all, Hazel.”
I sit there a second, surprised, before standing. “So, uh, was that some kind of job interview or something?”
“Or something,” he says.
“Do I get to ask you all those questions one day?”
“We’ll see,” he says. “Depends on how much reward you deserve, and how much punishment.”
I flush a little at the thought. “Yes, sir,” I say, before turning away.
I can feel his eyes on my body as I hurry to the door. I want to turn back and beg him to reward me, hell, I want to beg him to punish me, but I keep myself under control. He told me that will be all, so that will be all.
Still, I steal a glance back at him. Intense eyes, staring right back at me. I blush again and leave his office, pretty sure I’m going to have to change my panties after all.
I need to bring a few extra pairs, apparently.8MasonI’m running as hard as I can, my chest burning, my legs screaming in protest, but it’s not fast enough.
Ahead, there’s nothing. No plane, no runway. I’m just running along blackness, my feet echoing like I’m stomping in water.
I keep moving, not sure why I can’t stop or what I’m running from. It doesn’t matter. I just keep running.
My legs scream, my stomach drops. I think I might puke, but I push on. I can feel the lactic acid building, the weight in my limbs, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Doesn’t matter. I keep going, running hard, running harder.
It hurts so fucking much. Running always hurts, but it hurts the most when you push yourself past the point of no return. I’m exhausted, in pain, everything’s telling me to slow down, but I don’t.