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Clarke doesn’t normally make New Year’s resolutions. She thinks they’re stupid. If she wanted to make some dramatic change in her life, she could just do it any time of the year. The fact that people wait until New Year to do these things only proves to Clarke that they really have no intention of seeing them through, and she can’t roll her eyes enough at all the Instagram posts tagged #newyearnewme.
She only made a resolution this year because Monty was having a New Year’s Eve party where he forced everyone to write down a resolution and put it in a jar, which he’s now keeping on the bookshelf in his living room, where it glares at anyone who goes to visit him, reminding them of the promise they made but probably won’t keep. He says anyone who keeps their resolution by next year’s New Year’s Eve party will get free alcohol from him at said party.
Truthfully, Clarke had a million things she could write down, things she wants to achieve, not necessarily this year, but just in general. She even considered writing find someone to date me, but that just felt pathetic, and also a little too out of her control.
In the end, with Monty rushing her, and all rational thought leaving her brain, Clarke had scribbled down take up running. A decision she’d sincerely regretted on New Year’s Day when she woke up with a raging hangover, her head pounding.
Still, she kept her promise, if only for two reasons – the promise of free alcohol, and all her friends telling her that she would absolutely fail to keep her resolution. She’s nothing if not stubborn, and she’s going to make it to Monty’s New Year’s Eve party at the end of the year as somebody who runs.
Except it’s day three, and she’s already ready to give up. She’s up at the crack of dawn, because she actually has to go back to work today, and she knows she absolutely will not do it if she doesn’t do it now.
She grumbles to herself as she pulls on her workout pants, and pulls a large t-shirt and a hoodie over her sports bra. There are people who actually do this for fun. People who like running are definitely psychopaths.
She’d run in the afternoon yesterday and the day before, when the park near her house had been full of people, and dogs, and children. At this time of day, there aren’t many other people around, and there’s this kind of soothing silence, the only sounds she can hear are birds and a distant hum of traffic. It’s also nice that there are less people to see her looking like a sweating, panting, mess. She’s far from in shape.
She does a lap of the lake, which is more like a pond, actually, and isn’t really that far, but Clarke already feels like she’s dying. She pulls her hoodie off as she approaches the drinking fountain, where a man is filling up his water bottle, and she’s not so fatigued not to notice how attractive he is. She notices his ass first, and it’s probably the nicest ass she’s seen in a while, maybe even ever. The kind of firm, round, ass she’d like to sink her teeth into. Which is not a thought she’s had before.
She finds herself turning red as she realises she’s ogling the stranger’s ass, and quickly raises her eyes, only to set her sights on his massive biceps that his shirt does nothing to hide. She’d been parched before, but now her mouth is watering.
He switches off the water, and turns around, putting the lid back on his bottle. He must notice her staring, or perhaps he’s just being polite, because he gives her a smile as he passes her, and Clarke feels like she might faint. She feels like one of those girls in Beauty and the Beast who fawn over Gaston.
Face still burning, she steps up to the drinking fountain and splashes water over her cheeks, though it’s absolutely freezing. It does the job though, and she feels a little less flushed as she gears up for her second lap around the pond. She’s half hoping she’ll see him again as she runs, but he must have left already. It’s probably for the best. Knowing her, she’d just manage to make a fool of herself in front of him.
-
She gets up even earlier the next day, and it’s not even a chore. She also maybe puts just a teensy bit of make-up on, just in case hot water fountain guy happens to be there again. She’s not going specifically because she’s hoping to run into him again, but it is an extra motivator.
She looks around as she stretches by a park bench, her imagination conjuring up a scenario where he shows up and joins her and they run together, and then he asks her on a date. That doesn’t happen, obviously, because when have things ever worked out the way Clarke wants them to?
She assumes yesterday was a one off for him, or maybe she’s missed him, or maybe he’s coming later. So she starts her run, and she doesn’t exactly forget about him, but neither is she actively looking out for him. Which is why she doesn’t notice him running towards her until he’s right in front of her face, and he smiles at her, and she almost trips over her own feet.
She doesn’t think he notices her stumble, since he’s already passed her by then, but she stops and turns to watch him go, checking out his ass again in the process.
He smiled at her. Does that he means he remembers her from yesterday? But he smiled at her yesterday too. So maybe he thinks she’s hot. Or maybe he’s just polite and smiles at everyone he passes. Or maybe he thinks she runs funny, or he’s laughing at the way her hair sticks to her sweat-covered forehead.
She takes a deep breath, and starts running again. She’s overthinking this.
She passes him again on her second lap, and he smiles again, wider this time, and Clarke doesn’t smile back, mostly because she’s puffing too hard, and running is the worst, and she couldn’t smile about this god-awful experience if her life depended on it. But she does like seeing his smile, so she does another lap, even though she’s dying, and sure enough, she’s treated to another of his breathtaking smiles.
She’s still thinking about it as she trudges home, wishing she brought her car so she didn’t have to walk the three blocks back to her apartment.
-
The logical thing would be to just walk up to him and introduce herself. Even if he’s not into her the way she’s into him, she could at least make a friend out of it. She’s fairly confident he recognises her by now, after five days in a row of casually running past him, or standing near him, or watching him pet an old man’s dog. And he always smiles when he sees her. Still possible it’s just because he thinks she’s weird, or he’s noticed her staring at him every chance he gets, but she’s done enough staring to know he doesn’t smile for everyone. For the old man and his dog, yes, but not for every random person running through the park at six in the morning. Just Clarke. And the old man and his dog.
But somehow, in Clarke’s mind, it’s past the acceptable point where she can just introduce herself out of nowhere. It would have been fine on the second day, or third day. But the sixth day? That’s out of the question.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Monty tells her, after she’s explained to him her current predicament, and informed him she’s in dire need of his help. “Why is there a time limit on when you can introduce yourself to a hot runner in the park?”
“There just is.”
“You’ve never had trouble introducing yourself to people before,” Monty points out. “He’s not going to think it’s weird.”
“Monty, you haven’t seen this guy. He’s so hot, okay? He’s so hot I want to die, and I just know he probably has girls fawning over him all the time, introducing themselves to him out of nowhere and trying to flirt with him. He’s probably sick of it. And if I just walk up to him and go hey, I’m Clarke, he’ll know that I’m just another one of those mindless bimbos who wants to get into his pants.”
“So much for feminism,” Monty mutters. Clarke ignores him.
“And that’s why I need your help, because I need to look like I don’t want to lick his balls, okay? Or at least look like it’s not the first thing I want to do.”
“Gross, Clarke.”
“This is what I’m reduced to.”
Monty sighs. “So you want me to what? Write you a list of conversation topics?”
“No,” Clarke says. She looks to the fat, golden Labrador laying at their feet, who immediately starts wagging his tail as soon as he realises Clarke’s attention is on him. “I want to borrow your dog.”
-
The plan is simple. Hot running guy clearly likes dogs, right? Clarke had watched him as he’d literally changed course as soon as he spotted that old man and his dog. And then he spent like five minutes gushing over the mutt. Not that Clarke can blame him, it was a pretty cute dog. But Monty’s dog, Einstein, is even cuter. And the Labrador could do with a workout just as much as Clarke.
She starts her run around the pond, which is even slower than usual because Einstein isn’t really capable of keeping up with her usual pace. She hasn’t seen the hot runner yet, but she’s still hopeful.
She makes it a lap and a half before Einstein has had enough. The Labrador stops mid run, almost pulling Clarke’s arm off as she tries to keep running, still holding the leash. She stops, panting, tilting her head at the dog.
“You’re worse than me,” she mutters. Einstein ignores her, and instead starts making his way towards the pond. “You’re thirsty, okay, fair enough.” Clarke follows him to the edge of the pond, but instead of taking a drink like she expected him to, Einstein keeps walking, straight into the pond.
“Einstein, no!” Clarke yells, but the dog keeps going, pulling on the leash, which Clarke hastily lets go of, lest she be pulled into the freezing water too. “Great, just great,” she huffs, watching Einstein wade through the water, gathering mud and reeds on his fur. “Einstein!” she calls. “Here, Einstein!” He continues to ignore her.
“Need some help?”
Clarke whips her head to the left, heart pounding, because she already knows it’s him, because his voice happens to be just as hot as the rest of him.
“Oh,” is Clarke’s intelligent response.
“Is that a yes or a no?” He looks vaguely amused by her situation. He’s obviously paused mid-run to help her, because he’s covered in sweat, and Clarke has never found sweat so attractive. Licking the sweat off a stranger’s body is a normal thought to have, right?
“I’m not sure you can help,” Clarke says, finally managing to find her voice. “Unless you want jump into a freezing pond to pull out my friend’s dog.”
He grins. “I don’t think we know each other well enough for that yet,” he says. “And it’s not even your dog?”
“I was borrowing him,” Clarke says. The hot stranger raises an eyebrow, and Clarke realises her mistake. “I mean, I was looking after him. As a favour to my friend.”
“His name is Einstein?” Clarke nods. “And yours is…?”
Clarke almost laughs. She ducks her head to hide her smile. So maybe her plan hadn’t worked out exactly like she rehearsed it, but he’s talking to her, and asking her name, so it kind of worked, right?
“I’m Clarke,” she says.
“Bellamy,” he returns, and then she knows his name.
“Pretty name,” she says. He laughs, and her heart squeezes. God, he’s adorable and hot. She’s so screwed.
“Yours too,” he says. “Glad I finally know it. I’ve seen you around a bit here recently.”
“Why’d it take you so long to introduce yourself then?” Clarke teases, as if she hasn’t just manufactured an excuse to talk to him so she wouldn’t have to do the same thing she’s admonishing him for not doing.
Bellamy shrugs. “Thought it might be weird. I didn’t know if you’d taken any notice of me.”
Clarke’s eyes bulge. Is he serious? “You literally smile at me every day,” she points out. “How could I not notice you?”
“You never smile back!” Bellamy says defensively. Oh. Is it possible she’s accidentally been putting out please don’t talk to me vibes?
“That’s because running is the worst,” Clarke says. “I promise if I had the ability to smile while running, I would have smiled back.”
Bellamy beams, and true to her word, Clarke smiles back.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” Clarke agrees, and she feels like she may have accidentally let on that she likes him. But seeing as he seems like he might like her too, it’s not the worst thing in the world. She’s just not sure what happens next.
Einstein makes his way back towards them then, clumsily dragging himself out of the pond, wet and muddy. Monty is going to kill her. Einstein looks very pleased with himself, tail wagging, dripping with water. And then he gives himself a good shake, sending water droplets and mud splattering all over Clarke, and to her dismay, Bellamy as well.
She grimaces. “Oh god,” she says. “I’m really sorry.” She quickly picks up Einstein’s soggy leash before he can run off on her again.
“It’s okay,” Bellamy laughs. “I have to shower anyway.”
“Me too,” Clarke agrees. “We should probably do that.” They meet eyes for a moment, and she realises she’s inadvertently implied that they should shower together. Which she does want to do, but it might be a bit much to admit to him when she doesn’t even know his last name. “Oh my god,” she says hurriedly. “I didn’t mean, you know—together.”
“I mean, we should probably at least have coffee together or something first, you know?” Bellamy says, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle.
“Like a date?”
“Exactly like a date.”
“Okay,” Clarke says, not caring anymore if she sounds too eager.
“Maybe not today though,” Bellamy says, looking down at his mud-stained shirt.
“Agreed,” Clarke says. “I have to get Einstein home to Monty anyway… he’s going to be so annoyed I let his dog get all muddy.”
“Tell him it was my fault.”
“He already knows it’s your fault. I may have—borrowed this dog so I could get you to come and talk to me,” Clarke admits. To her relief, Bellamy is amused by her confession, rather than scared off.
He hands her his phone and she puts her number in, and Clarke tries to tone down her giddy happiness when he immediately texts her that he’ll see her at the park tomorrow.
One year later, Clarke is wishing she had written find someone to date me as her New Year’s Resolution—even Bellamy couldn’t motivate her to keep running for an entire year. He does, however help her write her new resolution, something a little more realistic – get a dog of their own.