determination. Sweat ringed his armpits and neckline, but
far from being disgusted, the sight of it made me go al
tingly in my pink places. There's something so fucking sexy
about a man who's working hard.
I saw him shoot me a glance, and his machine beeped, but
I saw him shoot me a glance, and his machine beeped, but
he punched the button to go longer. Uh-huh. I got it.
Bound by sweat and bad television programming, we
worked out on neighboring machines and forced each
other to keep going even when we wanted to stop. Wel, I
did anyway. It had become a point of pride to keep
grunting and groaning my way through the treadmil's fifty-
minute program even when I wanted to hop off.
The fact this guy had the body of a god and stopped
briefly to strip off his shirt didn't hurt. Not one bit. Every
time his abs and pecs rippled I thought about how his
sweat would taste if I ran my tongue along the rim of his
ribs and around the concave cup of his bely button. I tried
to be grossed out at myself for thinking such crude
thoughts but couldn't convince my traitorous body that
wanting to ride his thigh was wrong.
I blamed the TV.
This time of night the only shows we could get on the
gym's battered set were reality-TV shows, game shows or
the music channel. The eye candy on the videos was nice,
but it sure did put a girl in an interesting frame of mind.
As much as I might want to grab ahold of Mr. Mystery's
As much as I might want to grab ahold of Mr. Mystery's
ears and ride him like a roler coaster, random, careless
sex was absolutely not part of my plan. Especialy not with
someone from my building. Guys talked. Even now, when
women were supposed to be able to go after what they
wanted with the same passion and lack of emotional
commitment as men, guys stil talked. Peanut-butter legs,
easy to spread. Doorknob, everyone gets a turn. The
good time had by al. I wasn't out to get a renewed
reputation for having round heels.
Instead, I sweated and bit back grunts that would give
away the ache in my thighs as I watched beautiful women
with porn-star tits writhe on red satin sheets to the
oompah-pah-oomp of some badonkadonk-donk hip-hop
song.
Surreptitiously, I watched to see if he had any sort of
reaction to the pseudofucking being played out in three-
minute increments. His profile told me nothing. Staring
straight ahead, I couldn't see if his shorts were bulging.
Sily, I told myself. Who got turned on in the middle of a
workout? Too much blood was being pumped to other
places for him to get a hard-on. Hel, I thought my heart
