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Fuck. She’s hot.
She continues to sit up and lie back down, and I get an image of her lying down for me in the same position, naked.
Legs up, stomach contracted, cunt…
Fuck. Stop it.
I shake my head to snap me out of my wayward thoughts.
She finally notices me and quickly pulls her earphones out.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” I say, holding her keys up and jiggling them in the air.
“Oh, thank you.” She smiles warmly.
Her voice is husky and sexual, and damn if my balls weren’t already paying attention, they are fucking now.
“I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.” She breathes, and then frowns as if not knowing what to call me.
Or… you could get your head screwed off. “I’m Brock.”
She smiles, and then says something but I don’t hear her properly. The only word I did catch was, “Pocket.”
I frown. “Your name is Pocket?” I ask in surprise.
She laughs. “No, my name is Tully. I said I need a pocket.”
“Oh.” I smile, feeling stupid. “I kind of liked the name Pocket.”
She smiles up at me. “You wished my name was Pocket?”
“Kind of. Haven’t you ever wanted a friend named Pocket?” I tease as I raise my eyebrows. Cock pocket to be exact.
She laughs freely, and I clench my fists at my sides. There is definitely something about this girl.
“Thanks, Brock.” She reaches up and takes the keys from my hand.
“You’re welcome, Tully Pocket.”
She smiles warmly up at me for calling her Tully Pocket and she bites her bottom lip, leaving a heavy silence sitting between us.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” I say.
“I only joined last week. This is my first visit.”
“You’re here late,” I say as I look around the gym, noticing that we are the only two left in the place.
She looks around as if having the same sudden realisation. “Yeah, I guess. I like to come when nobody else is here.”
“Me, too.”
Out eyes linger on each other’s for an extended moment.
I point to the weight bench behind me with my thumb. “I better get back to it.”
“Okay.” She smiles again. “Thanks again, Brock.”
Damn it, I don’t want to get back to it at all. I want to stand there and listen to her husky voice and imagine it saying filthy, perverted things to me. I walk back over to the weights and begin a set of arm curls. My workout should be over by now, but fuck it, why not stay here and admire the scenery? Can’t hurt, can it?
We both continue to exercise in silence for another half an hour, our eyes intermittently flicking to each other. I can tell she’s into me.
Fuck it, I’m just going to ask her out. This is so not my usual form, but she’s seriously gorgeous. She’s back on the treadmill again now, running before she finishes, no doubt. I’ll go and get on the rowing machine next to her and ease into the conversation from there.
I take my position on the rowing machine and begin to move. I can feel her eyes on my back.
My legs straighten as I row harder and harder, and perspiration begins to run down my face. Should I just ask her on a date or should I make it more casual and suggest we go for a drink now? Hmm, it’s Tuesday night. She probably has work tomorrow. I can feel her watching me, so I really give it to the rowing machine. Suddenly, the rope of the rowing machine breaks and I fly backwards and hit the wall. A piece of the rope breaks away and it flies onto her treadmill, making her trip and fall spectacularly to the floor.
“H-holy shit,” I stammer as I jump up.
“Ouch,” she hisses.
“Oh my God, are you all right?” I ask. I grab her two hands and pull her from the floor.
“Not really.” She rubs her hands over her thighs in embarrassment.
I look down to see her knee has a deep burn from the treadmill belt and blood is running down her shin. I point to her leg. “You’re bleeding.”
She looks down at her leg and frowns. “Great.” She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “This is all your fault.”
“My fault?” I say, surprised.
“Yes. You’re fault. If you weren’t showing off and trying to be Superman, this wouldn’t have happened. You broke the rowing machine cord by being stupid.”
I put my hands on my hips. “I wasn’t showing off,” I snap. “It was obviously faulty.”
“Oh, that’s crap and you know it.”
“I’m telling you right now, I wasn’t showing off. I train hard.”
“I train hard,” she mimics.
I begin to get ticked off. “Obviously, Tully Pocket, you were always the child who got angry and blamed other children whenever she got hurt.”
She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. “Well, obviously you were the child who was always trying too hard to be a superhero.”
