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I quickly clean the treadmill and head to drop off the supplies before picking up my bag. It’s a good thing I don’t have to check the locker rooms tonight. I checked the women’s locker room one last time for good measure and they are good to go. I’m done.
As I head to the front desk to clock out, Jerrick, my manager stops me.
“Can you just do a sweep of the men’s locker room to make sure nothing was left behind?” He asks, without looking up from his phone.
Why me?
Oh, because I’m the only one working tonight.
“Yeah, sure.” I agree begrudgingly.
I’m a pushover.
I know I am. It’s why I’m working this shift in the first place. It’s only me and Jerrick left for the night. Which explains why he asked me to do it.
Jerrick would never do anything himself.
Why would he do any actual work around here?
He’s the face of the gym. Greets the customers by showing off what they could look like by working out. He sits at the front desk intimidating people to sign up for memberships and maybe does some filing and flirting.
That’s it.
I stormed into the men’s locker room, annoyed with Jerrick and myself for not standing up to him. He could have cleaned the machines and checked the locker room himself.
Why did I say yes?
Technically I already clocked out. I don’t have to do anything, especially not check the men’s locker room. We usually left that to the men that worked here. Jerrick should be checking it.
Not me.
All my training is abandoned, I walk right in and check the aisles for anything left out, I’m not checking the lockers.
Fuck that. Someone else can do that.
As I turn the corner there he is. Nick Miller in all his glory.
Naked.
He unwraps the towel from around his waist to wipe the water dripping from his hair down his forehead and over his eyes.
I freeze.
Like a deer caught in headlights staring at the magnificence that is Nick Miller’s gorgeous plane of utter perfection.
Rippling muscles through his chest and abs down to his firm and plump ass and thick thighs. And, ohdear god…
Shit.
“Oh my god! Sorry, so sorry!” I stumble back and run out the door.
I should’ve knocked when I entered and announced that I was there. Just like I had been trained to do for closing shifts. To be fair, the last time I had a closing shift was over two months ago. Even then I didn’t have to enter the men’s locker room. I let my annoyance get to me and forgot the simple steps I knew I should’ve done.
My chest heaves as I stand against the wall outside the room waiting for him to come out. I close my eyes, and all I see is the image of Nick Miller’s perfectly round tight ass and his thighs.
Oh boy, those thighs. They'rehuge. Normally they’re covered by his track shorts, butwow.They’re bigger and better than I could’ve ever imagined. Full of pure muscle from squatting in front of a net all the time.
Not that I fantasize about his thighs. I mean, who wouldn’t wonder what the wonder boy and future legend of the NHL looks like under all that gear?
