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Kota’s laugh holds no humor whatsoever, so I take that as a no.
“Seriously, how would she know?”
“She’ll know. Do something, do it a hundred more times, then do it again. There’s a big difference between the first and the hundred and first.”
“Not necessarily,” I say slowly, not completely sold on my own argument. It just feels wrong—what she said. Besides, it’s not Kota’s first time doing herkies. I eventually did look up her competition and saw I was right about her killing it.
“What would you know about discipline?”
“I know punishment isn’t the best motivator.”
“Is that prison wisdom?”
“I didn’t go to prison, smartass. I went to jail.” Now there’s a big fucking difference. One, you have murderers who will shank you for looking at them wrong because they’re already serving life and got nothing to lose, the other, you have regular Joes with DUIs just trying to get back home to their families.
“Sorry,” she sneers in the least apologetic way possible. “I didn’t mean to offend the hardened criminal.”
“Actually, I’m limp right now.” I even glance down at my dick.
“Ugh, you’re gross. Go away.”
She stomps into the gym.
I hang back in the doorway. She isn’t really gonna do a hundred, is she?
Once her phone’s synced to the speaker, “How Many Fucks?” by Erika Jayne plays.
All right, Kota. Noted.
She shoots me a look that has me hiding my smile.
An eye roll later, she starts on her stretches.
Crossing my arms, I lean against the doorjamb, mesmerized by the way her body bends and twists into different positions, even the splits, so easily. She’s very flexible. And muscular. I don’t even know how someone so tiny can be so built. All the muscles in her arms are defined, the ones in her legs even more so.
My mouth waters at the thought of sinking my teeth into literally any part of the woman before me.
After that, Kota stands and does a round of jumping jacks before some sort of squat jump. It’s a whole fucking thing but I can’t tear my eyes away from any of it.
Finally, she does a jump, and another, and another.
“That’s a herkie?”
“You tell me. You watched my performance, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what the moves are.”
“You defended my herkie like you did.”
Since I don’t know how to respond without snitching on myself, I let her have that one.
I don’t interrupt again until she gets to fifteen, then I drop my arms and say, “They all look the same, so…I think you’re good.”
Only her eyes acknowledge that I spoke, the rest of her still pumping out herkie after herkie.
“Kota, that’s enough.”
She doesn’t so much as slow down.
