Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I didn’t answer. I was considering it.
Someone help me.
“Let’s never do this again,” I rasped.
“Funny, because I was just about to suggest we do this every morning while I’m in town.”
“Oh God, bring out the stretcher.” I managed to straighten up just so I could chug from my water.
He grinned, all flushed and sweaty and way too fit. His soaked tee clung to his skin so I could see the definition of his damn abs.
“Why didn’t you take more breaks?”
I groaned and stepped off the treadmill, and my knees nearly caved. “It was bad enough that you run so much faster.”
At least he was entertained. “Come on, let’s go stretch. Waffles are on me since you insisted on paying last night. I’m still miffed about that, by the way.”
I waved him off and limped toward the corner where I could collapse on a mat. “You’ll live.”
“I made the reservation!”
“And I’m tasting blood. We’re even.” I blew out a harsh breath and dropped my water bottle on an empty mat. Then I grabbed the nearby handlebar for support and bent my knee, hugging my shin to the back of my thigh. I winced. “Don’t worry, my waffle order will set you back plenty.”
All of a sudden, I didn’t feel bad about driving here. We were literally a five-minute walk from my place, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk into the showers at this point, much less the three or so blocks to my condo.
My muscles strained and protested as I stretched, though it was a pain I didn’t mind. Once I’d recovered, in two hundred years, I’d feel great.
“I’m really glad you texted.”
I glanced back at him, almost wishing I hadn’t. Texted, yes. Looked back, no. Because he wasn’t only fit, he was flexible too. He was sitting down on one of the mats, and he was folded in half, squeezing the toes of his shoes. Had I ever been able to do that?
I’d wasted so many years, and I’d heard so many doctors go, “Losing a few pounds wouldn’t hurt,” “Perhaps go to the gym a few times a week,” and “A bit more exercise and you won’t have back issues before you’re forty-five.”
I hadn’t lost a single pound, but I’d turned some fat into muscle. I felt better than I had in decades. I looked better too; I carried myself better. I walked taller. I just wished I hadn’t waited so long.
“I apologize for brushing you off,” I said. “Just…be patient with me too. I’m not comfortable discussing my private life.”
“You mean your love life?” The little punk smirked up at me. “Next time I ask, I’ll make sure you’ve had a few.”
I snorted.
How reassuring.
Jack jumped to his feet and cleared his throat. “I should probably tell you I stumbled upon your Tinder profile this morning.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake!
“Tell me you didn’t.” Mortification flooded my face. Hopefully, it would get lost in the exertion from my run. At the same time, my mind scrambled to remember what I’d put in my profile. Tate had, of course, helped me. I was clueless in this matter. But I did recall requesting something subtle and somewhat vague.
After all, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I knew the picture didn’t show my face, not all of it. You could see my smile from the side, then the suit I’d been wearing. Tate had taken the photo when I hadn’t been prepared.
“How is that a surprise?” Jack chuckled, visibly confused. “We’re less than a mile away from each other. If I downloaded Grindr again, I bet I’d find you there too.”
No, he wouldn’t. “I deleted that app almost as fast as I’d downloaded it.”
He found that funny.
I didn’t want to talk about this. It was too much. Too intimate.
If only Jack knew I’d spent a few days on there letting the app swallow me whole. I’d seen more cocks than faces.
Tinder was a little better. Still a meat market but less…aggressive.
I watched Jack lift his foot to the handlebar and lean forward again. He was sheer strength. Sleek muscles that defined every body part. And he’d seen my Tinder profile in his feed. Thank goodness I’d declined when Tate had suggested I put my “specs” in the profile text.
I may be eager to explore a lot of things, sexually, but I was still old-fashioned enough that I’d prefer to have a beer or coffee before I found out the length of someone’s cock.
I did have my height posted. I’d found out that was important. Six-foot-one was listed, along with single father, Georgetown, the fact that I wasn’t interested in a relationship, and that I was a Caps fan.
Wait.
Oh no.
I turned away from him and barely resisted the urge to check if I still had any fetishes mentioned. I’d removed those, hadn’t I? Christ, I had to look. As soon as we were in the locker room, I’d go to the bathroom and see.