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“Done!” I yelled, as I jumped up from my last rep.
Brad, my favorite trainer at my Crossfit box, noted my time. “Not bad for 46,” he joked.
“Best looking 46 year old you know,” I quipped. No matter how old I got, this conversation always played out the same.
“That you are,” he agreed, just like I knew he would.
I’m sure Brad knew women both better looking and more fit than me, but he never admitted it. And it’s one of the many reasons I adored him and kept coming back to get my ass whipped into shape.
“See ya Monday,” I called on my way to the women’s dressing room. I passed out a few high fives along the way. I loved seeing so many strong women working out just as hard as the men, sweating their asses off, and not worrying about makeup or hair. The place was gritty and in your face, and I was addicted to it by the end of my very first visit.
Once showered and changed, I left the dressing room in clean workout gear and my hair in a messy ponytail. My makeup was history, and I didn’t care.
I slung my pink Under Armour bag over my shoulder and hit the door. The warm Savannah night wrapped loving arms around me, and I breathed in the scent of spring. Spring in Georgia was its own cultural phenomenon. From the St. Patrick’s festivals in Dublin and Savannah to the Masters in Augusta, no place in the world was as loaded with sweet colors and even sweeter accents.
I crossed the parking lot, careful to stay in the glow of the security lights. When I reached my car, I tossed my bag across the seat and slid into my Audi R8. The engine rumbled to life, and I cranked the stereo. The car wasn’t practical, but it was black and sexy, and since Cassie had moved off to college two years before, I didn’t see the point of having amom caranymore.
As I dipped into traffic, I glanced at the boarded store front next to my gym. This part of town was going through a renaissance, with coffee shops and used book stores as well as some high end consignment shops and a couple of swank art galleries. But the building next door still looked like a sad old lady in thrift store rags.
I almost looked away, but just when I started to sing along with Thrice, my eyes snagged on him. Six and a half feet of sex, wearing an MC cut and roped with muscles that filled out full sleeve tattoos. Details escaped me, except for dark hair and massive size. He looked delicious.
And he was leaning into the brick building, caging in what my grandmother would have called alady of the evening.
I dodged the car in front of me as I lost interest in the eye candy. He was almost worth a fantasy over a glass of wine and my Hitachi Magic Wand. But not with a hooker. I’d had enough ofother womento last a lifetime.
*************************
Talon
Talon sat on his bike in the shadows and watched her hit the door of her gym.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her. Thick ass. Great tits. Long, curly hair. Ponytail this time.
He’d jerked off thinking about her body so many times, he felt like he already knew it intimately. Like he should already know the taste of her. The best way to make her come. But he’d never seen her face. Had no idea how old she was.
Her body said late twenties, early thirties. She had afuck youbounce in her step that made him grin. But her confidence threw off the whole equation. That made her seem much older. Old enough that Talon wondered if maybe she’d know what the hell to do in bed with a man like him.
Then she got into that wet dream of a car, and Talon reminded myself what she was. No matter how old she was, she was someone’s diva. No matter how bangin’ her body was, someone spoiled her ass rotten. And Talon never wanted that shit again. Getting burned by a trust fund beauty queen once in his life was enough.
Talon heard footsteps coming from the alley and glanced at his watch.Right on time.
He left his bike and stepped into the light of one of the refurbished street lamps. They were electric but looked like something out of Victorian England. One more way the city council was trying to pull money back into the town.
Rosie scuttled forward and hugged the brick building, face down. She clasped her shaking hands in front of her.
Something’s wrong.Talon’s sixth sense for depraved shit screamed. He pulled a nine and leaned in, scanning the street before facing the hooker.
Talon braced a hand on the wall above her head. “Look at me, Rosie.”
She glanced up, revealing bloodshot eyes. Her lip was cut, and her cheekbone was an ugly yellow-green.
“What the fuck?” Talon growled.
Rosie sniffed, “I got nothing for you. I tried. Honest, I did.”
“Fuck the money, Rosie. What happened to your face?”
Rosie finally steadied her gaze on the massive biker in front of her. “You take care of us. We know it. We wouldn’t cheat you, T.”
