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Chapter One

Lydia waited for the numbers on the bathroom scale to register.

No way. No way. There’s no way.

She stepped off the scale and waited for it to clear. When she stepped on again, the reading was the same. She dropped her silk robe and turned to see a full view of herself in the mirror. Her breasts looked even fuller than they did just a week ago. If that were the only change, well, that was something she could live with. But now not a single pair of pants fit comfortably.

Exactly two months to the day since she’d quit smoking, and this was the reward? She hadn’t had alcohol in months, so that wasn’t it. And it wasn’t pregnancy; her husband hadn’t been near her in several months. She tugged at the wedding ring on her left hand. It was now too tight on her finger.

When Kevin returned from work that evening, she told him she needed a personal trainer. He shrugged, and stepped outside to the porch to smoke a cigarette. It was enough approval for Lydia to start looking. Experience told her cost wasn’t an issue for him as long as she was occupied with some sort of project.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out an odd combination of leftovers. They’d started calling it a refrigerator dump dinner when she reheated anything and everything from the prior week’s meals. She took the lids off and began microwaving.

Kevin stepped in from the patio a few minutes later and said, “A guy at work said he goes to a fitness place at a shopping center around here.”

Lydia said over her shoulder, “Where?”

“Dunno,” he said. “But the trainer’s supposedly really good.”

“Well, do you know his name?”

“No. Musclehead, maybe.”

“Do you at least know the name of the gym?”

“It’s a small place, not a gym. And the guy’s supposedly good,” he said.

Lydia started slicing tomatoes for their salads, and waited for him to continue. She turned around and sighed when she saw him sitting on the couch studying the night’s football schedule.

“So there’s some guy at work who works out with some good trainer around here at some small place at some shopping center?”

Kevin stretched out on the couch and turned on the television. “That’s all I know,” he said.

“Whatever,” she said, under her breath. “I’ll find it myself. Like everything.”

***

“This is Blake. You called my training studio.”

“Oh. Wow. That was fast. Thanks for returning my call so quickly,” Lydia said.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

He sounded a bit rushed, and not particularly friendly.

“Oh, um, I quit smoking. I don’t know what’s going on. I mean, I do, it’s just that I had no idea it would happen this fast.”

“That what would happen?”

“It, like, came out of nowhere. The weight gain. It’s as if —”

“When did you quit?” he asked.

“Two months ago,” she said.

“Cold turkey?”

“Well, not really, I guess. I used the gum, and my doctor prescribed an anti-depressant. I mean, I wasn’t depressed, but the drug has been shown to help with ... well, I don’t know how much info you want.”

“We don’t have to go into all of it now, but you will have to fill out paperwork if I agree to train you. I’ll need to know all medications you’re on,” he said.

“Oh, okay, I —”

“People who quit smoking can experience as much as a fifteen-percent decrease in rate of metabolism,” he said.

“That much? You know, it does feel like —”

“Are you eating more?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, but —”

“What about alcohol?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t had alcohol since —”

“Good. Keep it that way. If I agree to train you, you won’t be allowed a single drop of alcohol.”

“Well, I haven’t had any in a while.”

“When can you come in?”

“Does that mean you’ll train me?”

“No. When can you come in for an interview?”

She heard him thumbing through papers, probably turning pages of his calendar. She realized the conversation had already tired her in a strange way, and enduring more of his rapid-fire style that afternoon wasn’t all that appealing.

“I can come in sometime later this week,” she said.

“Why not today? Why is your health not important enough for you to address the problems you’re having as soon as possible?”

“Today? Oh ... well ... that’s so soon. I kind of wanted —”

“Look, Ms. McConnell, is it?”

“You can call me Lydia,” she said.

“There is a great demand for my services, and I only accept and retain the most committed clients. Whether or not my methods are for you remains to be seen. But the only way to find out is for us to meet and discuss your goals, and the only way for you to meet those goals is to stop sabotaging your weight loss.”

“I understand,” she said.

But she could sense in his silence that he wasn’t convinced.

“I really do!”

“What you’re doing isn’t working, Ms. McConnell. Am I correct?”

“As I said—”

“Can you be at my studio at three?” he asked.

Lydia took a deep breath and reconciled herself to the loss of what might have been a relaxing afternoon by the pool.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you know where I am?” he asked.

“My nail tech said you were behind Jemelka’s Market.”

“That’s exactly right. Look for the sign on the side of the building that says BPT Studio. There’s plenty of parking. If the front door’s locked, just knock and wait a second for me to come and open it.”

“Okay,” she said. “Will do.”

“Fine. See you at three,” he said.

“Oh, wait! What do I wear?” she asked.

“I’ll need to see your body. Dress accordingly. See you soon, Ms. McConnell.”

The line went silent. “Hello?” She waited a few seconds. “Hello?”

She looked at the display to confirm he’d disconnected the call. Wow, she thought, snapping her cell phone shut. Someone’s pretty damned impressed with himself. But his approach with prospects obviously worked, she reasoned. After all, she was about to change clothes and go interview with him, even though it was just about the last thing she felt like doing this afternoon. And she wouldn’t be making a decision about whether or not to train with him; it would be the other way around.

Now to find something to wear that still fit.

Chapter Two

Lydia locked her car and walked slowly toward the studio. She was three minutes late, and she expected to see Blake waiting at the front door of his studio, arms folded, holding a stop watch, ready to treat her like some sort of criminal for keeping him waiting. She knew exactly why she wasn’t running to his studio trying to make up for lost time. The guy’s attitude simply bothered her. Must be nice, she thought, to treat everyone as if they were damned lucky to be in his little fitness presence. God but she wished she’d called and canceled. But that would probably have only worked on his voicemail. To have to actually talk to him in order to cancel would surely have brought on another, more strident sales pitch. No, a guilt trip. He’d guilt her. Yeah, he’d make her feel like a low-life for, what was it? What was it he’d said? Not addressing her health concerns immediately, or some such make-your-health-a-priority pitch.

The front of the studio, including the entrance door, was all glass. A window film and dark cloth prevented anyone on the outside from looking in. Lydia tried the door but found it locked. She knocked, and when no one came to the door after another round of knocking, she stepped back and seated herself on a brick planting area that surrounded a shady tree in the middle of the walkway. She thought she heard a woman’s voice cry out in the studio, but when she listened more closely she heard only the faintest sound of rock music.

Moments later, she heard voices somewhere toward the rear of the building, then saw a woman off to her right in skin-tight black workout top and shorts walking toward a line of cars. She held a towel and a water bottle, and Lydia could see the sheen of sweat on her skin even from where she was sitting. Must be one of Blake’s clients, she thought. And there must be a rear exit. And judging by the woman’s body, he must be a damned good trainer. Lydia looked down at her own nylon pants and jacket and felt like nothing more than a middle-aged pudge. She hated it when jealousy reared its ugly little head, but damn ... to be able to have a figure like that blonde woman. Lydia disliked her immediately.

The lock clicked, and the front door didn’t so much open as seem to explode outward. Lydia jumped to attention and, forgetting her manners, couldn’t help but take in his body from head to toe. He wore a black, form-fitting tank top and casual black shorts. Every muscle looked separate ... defined ... hard. He had short, brown hair and eyes so dark they looked almost black. And he was tan. Wow, was he tan. Something about him looked defiant, or maybe entirely confident. Maybe a man with that much muscle had nothing to fear. Like people didn’t dare mess with him and he instinctively knew it.

“You must be Ms. McConnell.”

“You must be Blake,” she said. “And please call me Lydia.”

He continued holding the door open, then cocked his right eyebrow slightly.

“Oh! Right,” she said, as she scooted past him and entered the studio. He closed the door behind her, and she turned to face him.

“Is it always this cold?” she asked, looking around the studio.

“You’re cold. I’m sweating,” he said.

“It’s freezing in here!” she said.

“I was assisting with a work-out. Some require more effort on my part.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Some require my help with motivation,” he said. “Have a seat here in my office, Ms. McConnell, and let’s get started.”

She sat in a hard, unpadded chair by his desk. Being with him was like being in the principal’s office, and she hadn’t even started her interview yet. She wondered what he thought of her. Surely he’d already looked at her figure.

He’d mentioned motivation. What motivation? She didn’t even want to be here this afternoon. But she knew the weight wasn’t going to come off by floating around in her swimming pool every afternoon. What would he think if he knew she really wanted a drink and cigarette just then? She’d be out the front door of the studio on her ass, that’s what. Lydia pictured herself being hoisted in the air by him, held above his head as if she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes, then tossed into the flower bed outside. He’d slam the front door and lock it. Interview over. “No fitness for you!” he’d yell at her from behind the glass. Case closed.

Lydia waited as he moved papers and binders around on his desk. The shelves on the wall to his right were stocked with containers of pills and powders with complicated names she couldn’t begin to decipher.

“What is all that stuff?” she asked.

Following her gaze, he said, “Oh. Those are supplements.”

Lydia wondered if he did the illegal kind, whatever those were. But surely he wouldn’t have anything like that just sitting out in the open.

Even his neck was muscular. And the muscles in his upper back and shoulders made her want to reach out and feel them. He had nice hands, too, and though the nails weren’t manicured, they were short and clean. He had a tribal-looking tattoo that wrapped around his left bicep. Damn, look at that bicep. She could see every single muscle in his arm—at least it seemed that way— and she liked the way the veins stood out under his skin.

He was no longer arranging things on his desk, but was sitting perfectly still, watching her, seemingly waiting for her to finish admiring him. How long had she been staring at his body?

“Oh, sorry. It’s just ... your arm,” she said, pointing. “The veins.”

She made a tight fist with her right hand and turned her forearm over and back again, trying to get the veins to stand up like his. Something in his eyes seemed to register amusement. When she smiled at him, his expression turned serious again.

“Those are called collateral veins. It takes a long time to develop them. A lot of work.”

He paused for a moment, then added, “Discipline.”

She nodded, and felt her gut twist a little at his words. Not that she wanted to be all veiny-looking, but she knew she didn’t have that kind of determination. Who was she fooling? And why was she still sitting here? But there was that lady in the parking lot. Lydia adjusted the waistband of her pants with her thumb, noting that she now had annoying little ridges on her skin from the elastic cutting into her waist.

“Okay, let’s get to it,” he said. “Stand, please.”

Lydia hesitated, but did so and turned to face him. The sheer bulk of his physique was unsettling. She took a few steps backward, but the size of the office made being a comfortable distance from him impossible.

“I told you I would need to see your body. Show me.”

Lydia looked down at her body, back at Blake, then lifted her arms to the side and turned in a quick circle. She moved toward her chair to sit down.

“Take off your jacket,” he said.

He held her gaze as she weighed her options. She sighed, stepped back into place and took hold of the zipper. She watched his eyes follow its slow descent between her breasts and down to her crotch. Lydia tugged the jacket off and tried to look nonchalant as she tossed it onto the chair. She waited as he studied her. The air kicked on, and the ceiling vent directly above her dropped waves of icy air around her. She felt her nipples go to full attention under her tank top. When his eyes took in her breasts a second time, she slouched slightly and wrapped her arms around her chest.

“Could you adjust the air? You could store meat in this place.”

“Stand up straight and turn around. Arms at your side.”

“What are you looking for?” she asked over her shoulder. Damn, he was probably looking at her butt. She wanted to clench the muscles so it would look firmer, but she knew he’d see right through her.

“Drop your sweat pants.”

Lydia turned to face him.

“What?”

“I just told you to drop the pants.”

“But I—”

“Take off your pants. Now.”

“But I can’t do that. I’m not wearing—”

“Ms. McConnell. Did I or did I not make it clear to you that I was going to need to see your body at this interview?”

“Yes, but I thought—”

“The answer is yes. Is it not?”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but found she had nothing to say in her defense.

“The answer is yes!” he all but yelled.

Lydia knew she was about three seconds away from being tossed into the planting bed outside. She pictured him being provoked into a rage, and here she was, alone with a man who was obviously strong enough to break her body in half like a twig.

“Yes!” she answered, far more loudly than she’d intended.

“But you arrive bundled up from neck to toe in long sleeves and long pants.”

“It’s a workout suit! I thought it would be okay!”

“Drop your pants now, Ms. McConnell, or this interview is over.”

Heat rushed to Lydia’s face and tears stung her eyes as she pulled her pants down. She yanked hard to pull the material over her tennis shoes, then hurled the pants at the chair where her jacket lay. She turned to face him. Her heart was pounding and her breathing was heavy with anger. Wearing nothing but a tank top and a lacy thong, she stared him directly in the eyes and pushed her shoulders back.

“Good. Now turn toward the wall.”

He’d spoken quietly this time. Lydia told herself she’d stare at that wall for ten hours if she had to, but she was not going to let this bastard get a rise out of her again. She faced the wall and waited for his appraisal of her body to end.

His voice was again quiet and almost soothing. “Good girl, Ms. McConnell.”

She turned to face him.

“Good girl? Did you just call me a good girl?”

“Remember this when I instruct you,” he said. “You’re a good girl when you do what I say.”

Lydia grabbed her clothes and purse from the chair and yelled, “I tell you what, you can just kiss my good girl ass!”

As she ran to the front door, she forced her arms into her jacket, not caring that it was going on inside-out. She wrapped her pants around her hips and threw her body up against the press-bar that opened the door. Within seconds she was buckling herself in and starting the engine of her car.

***

Lydia collapsed on the bed and covered her face with her arms. Her cat, Mojo, stepped onto her stomach and waited patiently for affection.

“Christ, Mo. You wouldn’t believe what just happened,” she said, scratching his head.

“This guy ... oh, man ... you should have —”

Her cell phone rang. She sat up, accidentally flipping Mojo off her stomach and onto the floor, and began digging through her purse to find it. Just before the final ring, she pulled it out and read the display. It was her husband, calling from work.

“Hello,” she said, flatly.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she replied.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just laying here.”

“Just laying there?”

“Yes, Kevin. That’s what I said.”

He was silent for a few moments. She felt guilty, as always, for talking to him as she did, but damn, no one and nothing annoyed her more lately than he did. She softened her tone and tried to temper her anger.

“Okay, look ... I’m not in the best of moods, okay? I just got back from meeting with that personal trainer.”

“Oh. You didn’t tell me you were going.”

“Should I have? I told you I needed a trainer, and you didn’t seem to mind.”

“No, it’s just that I didn’t know, that’s all,” he said.

Feeling her impatience rising again, she sat in silence, waiting for him to get to the point of his phone call. She sighed, then waited.

“So how did it go? Did you like the guy?”

“I’m not going back,” she said.

“Did something happen?”

“He’s just not for me, okay? I know you heard he was really good and all, but I think I’ll look around for someone else.”

“Tell me why you didn’t like him.”

“I really don’t feel like talking about this,” she said, her voice rising.

“Well, I mean, do I need to call the guy or something?” Kevin asked.

“Call him? Call him and do what? You want to yell at him for not being the right trainer for me?”

The conversation went silent again. Lydia thought of how simple it would be to go to the cooler in the pantry, pull out a bottle of wine and go to it. In a few minutes, her impatience and anger would dissipate, and maybe she could even have a civil conversation with her husband. Or a cigarette would do it too, maybe. All she had to do was get up, open a pack of her husband’s Marlboros, and she could hide her hostility under a cloud of smoke. She thought of how the smoking might even cause her to lose the weight she’d put on, and then she wouldn’t even need a damned personal trainer.

Tired of staring at the ceiling, she sat up and said, “I’m not really in a chatty mood right now.”

“Just checking in,” he said. “I should be home at the same time tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Bye,” he said.

Lydia snapped her phone shut and tossed it toward her purse. She laid down again and called Mojo to her. He didn’t budge from the doorway.

“I’m sorry I dumped you off the bed, okay? C’mere and I’ll pet you.”

He responded by raising a paw and licking it.

“You know you want it, Mojie. Come on, I’ll scratch your head. Just the way you like it.”

Mojo turned and walked away. Lydia considered the wine and cigarette option again. It would be so easy. Just a glass or two.

Chapter Three

Lydia could tell Cathy was transfixed by her story. She drew out the details and added a few embellishments, enjoying the widening of her friend’s eyes and the sight of her fork still poised in mid-air. They were at their favorite soup and salad restaurant, and their lunches were still untouched in front of them.

“Then, get this!” Lydia said. “He tells me to take off my pants!”

Lydia waited for her friend to react in total shock. “Can you even believe that?” Lydia asked, laughing.

“Okay,” Cathy said. “Then what?”

Lydia’s smile faded slightly. “What do you mean, ‘then what’? Have you ever had to strip in front of a trainer?”

“Well, come on. . .it’s not like he was asking you to strip, right? I mean, you were kind of at an interview with him, and he did tell you he’d need to see your body.”

“Oh, you can’t be serious, Cath! How would you feel, standing there in nothing but a tank top and a thong while a man you’ve never even met before looks your body over up and down and sideways?”

“Okay, look, I’m not trying to be argumentative or anything, but didn’t you say this Blake guy told you before you even arrived that he was going to need to see your body?”

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side with this! I was standing there in a tank top. No bra, and —”

Cathy put down her fork and sighed. Lydia recognized the expression. An opinion was about to be voiced, Lydia wasn’t going to like it, and her friend was trying to form her words very carefully. Lydia had always wondered if Cathy was like that with everyone, or if the real reason was because she secretly thought Lydia was just too damned sensitive. She didn’t really want to know the answer. Lydia readjusted the napkin in her lap, stirred her iced tea again, and waited.

“He’s a trainer, right? He deals with bodies—physiques, or whatever you want to call them. You were there for an interview. The guy even told you what to expect.”

“No way did I expect —” Lydia said.

“Of course he needs to see your body! Are you going to wear a potato sack during your workouts with him?”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t feel the same way if a guy told you to—”

“Or maybe a burqa. Yeah! How about that?”

Lydia saw in her friend’s expression that this was an argument Lydia was about to lose.

“I’ll tell you what,” Cathy said. “If a trainer tells me he’s going to need to see my body, I dress accordingly. If I don’t like his request, I don’t agree to the interview and I find someone else to train with. And I sure as hell don’t go braless and wear some Fredericks of Hollywood underwear, for chrissakes! What the damned hell were you thinking?”

“It wasn’t Fredericks . . .”

Lydia felt the fight go right out of her. When she saw two women at the adjacent table looking over to see what the noise was all about, she picked up her fork and began playing with her food.

Cathy was right, Lydia admitted to herself. What the damned hell was she thinking? She’d wasted her own time, she’d wasted Blake’s time, and to top it all off had probably made herself look like a complete and total fool to him. She pictured herself in Blake’s office, standing before him in a tank top and thong. The memory caused a very real contraction in her crotch, and she shifted in her chair, trying to get comfortable again. And what must he have thought of her damned nipples standing up at attention like that? Damned nipples.

“Well, you’re probably right, Cath. And then he told me I was a good girl for doing what he said. Don’t you think that’s really weird? You may not agree with me on the other, but you have to admit that’s weird.”

“Well, you’re going to have to do what he says if you want results.”

“I won’t be training with him, believe me. He probably thinks I’m a complete and total idiot now.”

Cathy winked at her and said, “A good girl. I think that’s kind of cute. I bet he thinks you’re hot.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Believe me, I’m not his type. You should see this guy.”

***

“This is Blake.”

Lydia saw him in her mind as clearly as if she were in his office. She pictured him sitting at his desk, the shelves of supplements were to his right, and he had that particular intense, rushed look about him as he held the phone.

“Blake. Yes,” Lydia said.

Even knowing what little she did about him, she was sure he was going to make this difficult for her, regardless. He struck her as the kind of man who didn’t mind a little female groveling when it served his purposes.

“This is Lydia McConnell.” When there was no response, she added, “Do you remember me?”

“Yes, I remember you, Ms. McConnell. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Well, there is, actually. You can accept my apology.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Perhaps I can recommend a trainer more suitable for you. She’s a personal friend of mine, and women seem to like —”

“No. I don’t want another trainer. I want to train with you.”

“If you’re not willing to do things my way, then I really think you —”

“I will. I’ll do anything you say. Just give me a chance to prove myself. Just one chance. Just once, I swear. If I don’t live up to your expectations, tell me to get lost and I’ll try someone else. It’s just that I think you’re probably what I need. I don’t know why, but…I obviously need someone to kick my ass a bit. I mean, I’ve thought about it the last few weeks, and I can see, like you said, my way isn’t working. And so I figured if you’ll just agree to train me even for an hour, then maybe I can prove to you that—”

“You have an hour.”

“What did you say?” she said.

“I’ll give you an hour.”

“You’ll do it? You’ll really do it?”

“Well, I sure won’t do it for free. But, yes, I’ll give you an hour to prove that you have the willingness and the discipline to do what I say.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much! I promise you won’t be sorry!”

“Can you be here tomorrow morning at 9:00?”

“I have an appointment with my ... never mind ... nine it is.”

“And I suppose we don’t have to talk about the proper clothing this time, do we, Ms. McConnell?”

“No, no. I get it, I really do.”

“See you tomorrow.”

***

Lydia’s closet looked like the dressing room of a department store after a Midnight Madness Sale. Every item of clothing that could pass as a possible work-out option was scattered around her on the floor.

She pulled her padded cycling pants out of a drawer and considered them.

“Yeah, right,” she said. “Go in there wearing padded crotch pants.”

She considered wearing them under some jogging shorts.

“For god’s sake!” she yelled, throwing the pants at the wall.

But she’d at least gotten the idea to wear some skin-tight-but-stretchy black, spandex-type shorts with jogging shorts over them. Her sports bras were now too small, so she put on a too-tight tank for a little support, and then a larger jogging shirt over it.

Not that she’d ever jogged even once in her life. But the motivation to start was there long enough one afternoon to go to the local sporting goods store and buy what she thought were some adorable work-out clothes. And so they’d stayed in the drawer, with the tags still on, while she outgrew them.

“Damn it, Lydia!” she said, running to the bathroom for scissors. “Why don’t you make yourself later than you already are?”

She turned a few times in front of the mirror to make sure she’d removed all tags and labels. She picked up her hand mirror and viewed herself from behind. What the hell was there to be so damned worried about, she wondered. The man had already seen her half-naked, hadn’t he?

“Good enough. It’s gonna have to be.”

She found her purse on the bed, shoved her phone in, and checked to make sure she had her car keys tucked in the side pocket. She groaned when she saw the time on the clock by the bed.

***

“I’m sure we agreed on nine o’clock this morning.”

“Am I late? Am I really? Oh god, please tell me I’m not late.”

Blake stood in front of her, his arms folded on his chest. He’d let her in the front door of the studio, locked the door, and then stepped in front of her to address her. She was once again taken back by the sheer bulk of him. He seemed to look even more muscular than he did the first time she met him.

“Nine o’clock means nine. Do we understand one another?”

Lydia couldn’t meet his eye. She looked down at his shoes and said, “I’ll be here on time from now on. I’ll really try, I really will.”

“Let’s get one thing straight before we start. I’m not real big on the word try.”

“I’m sorry, I meant —”

“Sorry doesn’t do it for me either. If you’re going to be late, extend me the courtesy of calling.”

“But I was only going to be a few minutes late, and—”

“So you knew you were going to be late.”

Lydia’s eyes met his and she was surprised to be able to hold his gaze after being berated by him. She noticed for the first time that there was a hue of gold mixed in with the brown of his irises. What made this man so unforgiving? Or was he just strict? Was he this strict with every client? But he’d just caught her in a lie. She looked back down at his feet.

“I need you on the treadmill for ten minutes. I’ll show you how to step on and how to set the speed.”

Lydia held onto the bars by the display and straddled the belt as instructed. Blake removed a wire with a clip on it and attempted to fasten it to the bottom of her shirt. It was unsettling to have him touch her.

“Just how many shirts are you wearing today?” he asked, trying to attach the clip.

She wondered if he noticed she was wearing two pairs of shorts.

“This is a safety clip. It will shut off the machine should you lose your balance.”

“Oh, sure. My treadmill at home has one.”

“Are you using your home treadmill?”

“Occasionally.”

“How often might that be?” he asked.

“Not nearly enough,” she said as the belt slowly started to move.

Blake reached in front of her and set the timer for ten minutes. His elbow brushed against her and she pulled her arm back in response.

“The machine will notify you when you’re finished. Press this button to stop. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

She watched his reflection in the window in front of her as he walked away. Why don’t I just keep my mouth shut for once? she wondered. This guy isn’t going to be fooled by anything I say about exercise. The voice inside her head started mocking her in the sing-song way it employed when she was particularly disgusted with herself. What exercise would that be, Lydia? Treadmill? Oh, yeah…you mean that thing with dust on it that’s been sitting in the back bedroom since last Christmas? That? Is that what you mean, Lydia?

She noticed he could see her from his desk, so she tried to act as if being on a treadmill was an everyday occurrence.

“You doing okay?” Blake called out.

“Just fine,” she answered. She sneaked in a deep, extended breath through her mouth.

Damned smoking. After only a few minutes, her lungs were already rebelling. The speed registered 3.5 m.p.h. She knew that wasn’t a terribly fast pace to maintain. Was there an incline? She scanned the display to see if he’d set it to have her walking uphill at all. The reflection in the window showed Blake looking up at her for a moment from his desk, then going back to whatever he was working on. She tried to control her breathing to get more oxygen while not sounding like she was already out of breath. Clients like her probably bored him to hell, she figured. The likes of her were probably just tolerated to pay his rent. She wondered what kind of women he dated. She studied his reflection and pictured him naked. She laughed and shook off the mental picture.

“Did you say something?” Blake called out.

“No, sorry!”

A huge, chilled salad for lunch. Glasses and glasses of icy tea. A few cigarettes afterward. A cold beer or two or three by the pool while sunbathing this afternoon. A half bottle of the cabernet she loved so much with dinner tonight. It would be so easy.

Ah, the pool. His body naked and hard, oiled and tan, dozing on one of her chaise lounges. She walks toward him. When her nearness blocks the sun from his eyes, he opens them and smiles slightly, pleased with her and what she has brought for him. She extends a large drink to him, its glass wet with condensation in the summer heat. Blake smiles slightly and takes the drink from her. He sets it on the table between their chairs. He sits up and pulls her close. The gauze-like material draped around her waist falls away as he undoes the tie. She stands before him, admiring the cock now twitching and growing huge before her. Never taking his eyes from hers, he pulls her closer and slowly moves her bikini bottoms down to her ankles. He leans back, stretching out his body once again. She gracefully extends a tanned, muscular leg over him, positioning her hips, straddling him. She balances herself by leaning into him and holding his massive, muscular shoulders. Her breasts swing slightly, full and heavy. Blake reaches up and pinches her nipples hard, knowing how much she loves it. As she lowers herself onto the tip of his…

The treadmill timer sounded a loud BEEP...BEEP…BEEP at the very moment Lydia cried out “Stop!” to shake the vision from her mind. Blake was beside her in an instant.

“These don’t stop automatically.”

Not knowing what he was talking about, she stared at him vacantly. Her breathing was bordering on labored, and she tried to calm herself with deep, controlled breaths.

“What?”

“The treadmill. Weren’t you yelling ‘stop?’”

“No, no, it wasn’t that…”

“Probably just a little different from the treadmill you use at home,” he said.

“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know. It’s fine, really.”

Lydia tried to steady herself as the treadmill belt slowed and finally stopped.

Blake regarded her for a few moments, shrugged slightly and said, “Let’s get you some water and a towel and we’ll get started on your workout.”

He took her arm and helped her step down from the treadmill. His hand was warm and strong.

Blake went to his office and opened a small refrigerator on the wall behind his desk.

“I keep the towels on this shelf over here,” he said. “Use as many as you need.”

Lydia didn’t pay attention to the location of the towels. She was just glad to be physically apart from him, however temporary. She was sure she’d given him just one more reason to think she was a complete and total idiot, as if she’d freaked out because of a treadmill timer.

Let’s just get this over with and I’ll go back to being my out-of-shape self. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

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