“Shit,” I hiss to myself when I see that there's somebody already on the only treadmill. I don't always run but when I’m feeling like this – antsy, in my head, a little unnerved by myself – it always does me good to mindlessly pound on the treadmill and feel sweat trickle down my back. The other machines are free, so I quickly decide to do a cycle to warm up before lifting and if I still have the energy after and the treadmill is free, then I’ll do a...
“Fuck,” I say when I see who is running on the treadmill. I freeze about ten, maybe fifteen metres behind Marty and watch him, trying not to let the way the muscles ripple in his back melt my insides.
Looks like I didn’t work this attraction out of my body with those seven orgasms. Despite wanting to stand there and watch him for as long as I can get away with, I force myself to look away. The attraction is still there, absolutely, but so is my embarrassment and that’s not the kind of heat I enjoy feeling.
I turn to jog away, but not before my bottle of water slips out of my hand and lands with a loud thump on the gravel near my feet.
Chapter Ten
Marty
Ican't believe what I'm seeing.
Admittedly, it's a beautiful sight - her backside round and shapely as she bends down to pick up her bottle - but I’m still a little perplexed about what that beautiful backside is doing. Especially when it starts to sway as Jenna takes quick bouncing steps up the path away from the gym. I hit stop on the treadmill and jump my feet to the sides.
“Are you running away from me?” I call out.
Jenna freezes where she is, one hand raised as if in the beginning of a sprint. Finally, she turns, and I see that the front view of her in her workout clothes is just as good as the back, the shape of her body completely revealed to me in black clingy Lycra.
“Hi!” she says with a limp half-wave as she walks back up the path. The colour in her cheeks is undeniably not from the sun.
“Hey, Usain Bolt.” I come off the treadmill and stand with my hands on my hips, watching her.
“I wasn't running away.”
“Liar!”
“I forgot something,” she tries again.
“Liar!”
“I was just annoyed that someone else was on the treadmill already,” she rushes to keep talking. “And I really wanted to do a quick run, so I thought I'd just do it the old-school way.”
“Liar!” I bark.
“It wasn't because I saw you,” she says, now a few metres away from me.
“Liar,” I say, softer, because I'm laughing now and so is she.
“Alright,” she says, her hands on her hips, and it does nothing to make me stop wanting to stare at her body. Right now, it's the subtle narrowing of her waist above her generous hips that has me feeling things.
She continues to talk. “Okay, so Iwasrunning away. But it's also true that I did want to go on the treadmill and well, there's a great big six-foot piece of Irishman currently hogging it.”
“Six foottwo,” I say and then I wink because it would be criminal not to. “And I'm sure you agree that two inches can make all the difference.”
She shakes her head at me, but still she smiles. “It's not even eight in the morning. Are you really going to start saying things like that already? And,” she rakes her eyes up and down my body, “while you're wearing that?”
I'll admit it's not my best look. I'm currently barefoot with only a pair of black cycling shorts and a baseball cap on. My top was discarded thirty minutes ago, and my cap is turned backwards on my head, a head that is probably very sweaty and red thanks to me running immediately after Dad dragged me around mountain climbs for ninety minutes. It seems I'll do anything to avoid a conversation with my mother these days, including burning 1500 calories before mid-morning.
“Unlike some people, I don't run away from a challenge.” I point my finger at her. “I rise to the occasion!”
“Well, there's no chance of me missing that,” Jenna mutters, but it’s loud and clear enough. I watch her lower her gaze to my crotch and slowly lick her upper lip. It's impossible to take my eyes off the slickness it leaves behind, but because I can indeed feel other parts of me reacting - in the most painfully and deliciously ironic way - I turn away and give myself the excuse of reaching for my water bottle.
“I'm sorry. That was possibly a bit too much.” Jenna makes that short, sweet coughing sound she did a lot last night.
“Are you done with it?” She nods at the treadmill.
“Your device of torture awaits.” I step to the side and squeeze the water bottle above my head, letting the spray wash over me. She blinks her eyes open wider watching me do it, then she looks away. We fall quiet for a few seconds, her staringstraight ahead at the view, and me gazing straight ahead at her breasts. I watch them rise and fall right in front of my eyes and it’s an effort to lift my eyes to her face.
