It's Tony, a guy I've been, well, I don't really know what I've been doing with him. Chatting? Yes, in passing, here at the gym. Flirting? A bit, I guess. Fancying? Kinda. Sort of. I haven't quite decided yet.
Because he's not unattractive. Slim and toned, and a few inches shorter than me, he has a sort of mature twink vibe about him with his perfectly combed blond hair, his shorts that are honestly a little too short for certain exercises, and apparently a whole wardrobe of T-shirts that all shrank in the wash. He has a big smile, like, really big. Almost like it's a bit too big for his face and he hasn't quite figured out how to control it, but it's not unappealing, just a bit surprising. As is the way he flutters his eyelashes a lot during our brief conversations, which nearly always start with him saying exactly what he just said.
“Hi, Tony.”
“Shoulder day?” he asks and his eyes roll over my body, nowhere near my actual shoulders.
“Actually, I've just finished up with arms. But want to keep the back and shoulders warm too.”
“I can think of a few ways to keep you warm,” he says with a cocked eyebrow.
I see. Going straight for the jugular today.
My blush deepens and I hope Tony puts it down to my workout.
“I'm sure you can,” I say and I do try to sound flirtatious but perhaps it doesn't work when I shift my gaze back to the cable machine and lean forward to put the pin in my chosen weight. When I straighten back up Tony is looking up at me with narrowed eyes.
“Am I actually going to get your number one of these days? Or do I have to keep wearing my best gym clothes each time I come here? I've never done so much washing these last few weeks.”
Yes, definitely going for the jugular and I almost feel the discomfort of my main artery being poked and prodded. A wave of nausea lifts my stomach and I feel a little light-headed.
Which is silly because Tony is... nice. He's got a good job – as cabin crew for British Airways, if I remember rightly – and he's only a few years younger than me. He works out, he clearly takes care of his skin and hair, and he seems to be keen on me.
What's not to like? But of course this isn't the real question I should be asking myself.
Do I really want to do this,again?
Do I really want to swap numbers, go on a date or two, end up fucking and then have yet another guy immediately lose interest and then walk away from me? Or just want it to be a no-strings sex-only arrangement?
Didn't I say after the last, I don't know, twenty-plus guys I dated that ended up like this that I was going to stop? That I was going to just not date. Just not fall into this trap again.
Because it never makes me feel good. Never.
“You don't need to impress me,” I say.
“So you'll give me your number?” Tony lifts up on his toes.
“I... I'm not really interested in seeing someone new right now,” I reply.
Tony's eyebrow lifts again. “Oh? Already spoken for?”
“Well, no, not exactly.”
“Then what is it?” He puts a hand on his hip. “Don't like what you see?”
I let my eyes roam the length of his body up and down and it feels like I do it more for his benefit than mine. “You're a very attractive man. Great calves.”
“Iknow,” Tony says and kicks up his foot behind him as he flashes me that too-big grin.
“But I'm just not dating right now.”
Tony steps in closer. “Who said anything aboutdating?”
While this comment helps confirm I'm rejecting his advances for the right reasons, a small part of me knees myself in the balls, because it has been a while since I've felt another under me or, not wanting to make assumptions about Tony, above me.
I pull in a deep breath. “Thank you, Tony, but no, thank you.”
Tony leans back and I can see he's finally got the message.
