I’m sure you are attempting (very poorly, I may add) to be witty.
Life must be pretty boring at your end.
Good luck in your dating ventures, Miss Leroo. With pick-up lines such as yours, you’re going to need it.
Keep chasing that sun.
Edgar Moffatt.
I click on his profile.
Name
Edgar Moffatt
Height
4ft2
Weight
Snack size
Appearance
Very handsome
Hobbies
Playing with my small dick
Favorite pastime
Watching porn
Profession
Garbologist / dick fondler
Hair color
Bald as a badger
Eyes
Green
Skin
All over my body
A goofy smile crosses my face and I slump back against my headboard as I reread the message.
Keep chasing that sun.
That’s what I’m doing, Edgar Moffatt the dick fondler, that’s what I’m doing.
I sit my head back against the wall as the sweat runs down my chest; it’s around 8 p.m. on Wednesday night and after the longest day in history, I’m in the sauna at the gym.
It’s hot and steamy and I let out a relaxed sigh.
The door opens and Elliot Miles appears with a white towel wrapped around his waist. He’s naked from the waist up and tanned skin and muscles are all I see.
Oh crap.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
He glances up and his step falters as he sees me. “Kathryn.” He takes a seat.
“Hi,” I squeak.
The door opens and a man goes to walk in.
“This is full,” Elliot snaps. “Come back later.”
Chapter 3
I stare straight ahead. Shit . . . Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him.
“I didn’t know you used the gym at work?” he replies casually.
“Uh-huh.” I smile awkwardly as I keep my eyes straight to the front. What is the correct etiquette for saunas? I mean, I’ve been in here a few times already and never once have I had to concentrate on not looking at anyone.
The air is thick and hot and I find a piece of wood on the back of the door and stare at it. Elliot’s presence is all-consuming and taking up the small space; I can almost feel his nakedness under that towel from here.
Look straight ahead, I remind myself.
Don’t give him the satisfaction of drooling over his muscles. Dammit, why does he have to have them?
“How was your day?” he asks.
“Fine thanks.” I smile. “How was yours?”
“It just got a lot better, thank you.”
My brow furrows, what does that mean? Does that mean it got better when he got in here with me? I run my finger in a circle on the wood on the bench beside me, unsure what to say or where to look.
Or what to think.
My mind wants to go to a dark place and glance over at the golden muscles that I can feel taunting me from my peripheral vision.
But I won’t, I’ll continue to stare straight ahead.
“Do you come to the gym often?” I ask to try and fill the awkward void between us.
“Not often enough,” he says. “I have a gym at home and usually run there at night. But it’s late tonight and I know once I get there I will want to relax. I did a quick half an hour on the treadmill.”
I get a vision of him running, and the sweat dripping down his . . .
I grip the seat beneath me with white-knuckle force. “Oh” is all I can force out of my mouth. I glance down at myself: my black bikini top is covering all my bits.
Just.
What must he think?
“Do you always stare at the wall in the sauna?” Elliot asks.
“Well, it’s a square wooden box.” I shrug. “What am I supposed to look at?”
Elliot lets out a low chuckle and I bite my lip to hide my embarrassed smile. He knows that I’m avoiding looking at him with all my might.
“I don’t know, perhaps the person you’re talking to?” he replies.
I drag my eyes over to him.
“That’s better.” His eyes hold mine and then he gives me a slow, sexy smile.
I feel it in the pit of my stomach as the butterflies flutter.
What the hell is going on here? I swear to God he’s different, but I can’t put my finger on why.
If I didn’t know better, I would even say he’s more than friendly, perhaps a tad flirty. It’s like I’ve missed part of the conversation, but I’m really not sure what it is.
“Why would you like me to look at you, Elliot?” I ask as I focus on looking at his face.
It’s been a long time between drinks for me, and by drinks, I mean sex. I hate to admit it, but after seeing Elliot Miles in his black dinner suit last week, he’s run naked through my mind more than once.
Unable to help it, my gaze drops. Just as I suspected, a thick, broad chest with a scattering of dark hair, chiseled shoulders, and a fifty-pack of stomach muscles. His skin is a beautiful glowing tan. It makes the towel look fluorescent white.