1
LUCAS
I’ve been working at this luxury fitness resort since I graduated almost two-years ago. This place has every piece of equipment you could imagine, plus yoga, Pilates, and Jazzercise studios. There’s an Olympic-sized indoor lap pool and multiple leisure pools, as well as hot tubs, saunas, and eucalyptus steam rooms. Add in the rock wall, basketball, tennis, and racquetball courts, tanning beds, juice bars, spa treatments, and social areas. The only thing missing is liposuction, but there’s a doctor’s office two blocks away.
Working here full time wasn’t the plan after graduation, and not the way I want to use my kinesiology degree—and yet it’s not a horrible gig. I get an hourly wage, plus commission on any personal training sessions I book, plus tips. And the people who book my time, especially the fifty-year-old trophy wives hoping to be stretched and worked out by a young buck like me, tip very well.
Growing up on the south side of Spring City, I’ve never met women like them—aggressive with too much money.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been all about it in the beginning. Young, broke stud straight out of college with student loans to pay plus hot divorcee with money, insatiable sex drive, and sports car equals the perfect way to spend a few months.
I draw the line at married women, although it’s shocking how many husbands let it be known that they don’t mind sharing their hot wife or being cuckold. That’s not my style, but there are plenty of trainers here doing it.
Honestly, I like my women thicker with curves I can hold on to, but those kinds of women don’t take me seriously—at least not around here—and not with how I look.
“Who’s on the docket today?” I check in at the trainer’s desk, grabbing my schedule from Allie. She’s a nice girl, my age, but quickly on her way to being someone’s trophy wife. Give her two years, and she’ll be rocking a three-carat diamond and a pair of double Ds like her mother.
“You’ve got Babs in ten minutes.”
“Oh, Babs.” I shake my head. “The woman can’t keep her hands to herself.”
Allie laughs. “But she tips well.”
Yeah, she does. She’s also been asking me out for months.
Twelve minutes later, I’m walking Babs over to a row of treadmills facing a mirrored wall. She has her hand resting in the crook of my elbow, and I brace for the ass pat coming as she steps up on the tread.
Like I said, they are a handsy bunch.
I start her on a low speed with a slight incline. “Ten-minute warm up, then we’ll move to weights.”
Babs smiles, trailing her fingers over my bicep. “Whatever you say, sugar.”
I hear her, but my eyes are glued to a goddess in black textured spandex, three treadmills down. She’s thick perfection, curvy and tight, with long, sandy brown hair and hazel eyes which snap to mine through the mirror’s reflection. She glances around and then back to me, her brows pinching together and lips pursed in question.
“Hey.” I abandon my client and jump on the empty treadmill next to my workout queen. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
She pulls out her earbud. “Excuse me?”
“Here.” I point to the ground. “I don’t remember seeing you.”
“Why would you remember me?”
My gaze trails over her body unapologetically, taking in every inch of her mouthwatering flesh. Christ, I’ve been turned on plenty in my life. I’m twenty-four, a flesh and blood male, so I’ve been sporting wood for well over ten years of my existence, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt lust rush through my veins instantly upon seeing a woman.
Maybe in magazines or on a video before I had control over my body—but in person?
Never.
“I would’ve remembered you.” I tilt my head, really looking at her face. She has long eyelashes and plump, puckered lips like a cherub, perfect for kissing and sucking cock. And yet, something seems familiar, as if I’ve seen her before, but there’s no way it was here. “And you would’ve remembered me, because I would’ve approached you like I am right now.”
“You don’t believe in being shy?” She raises her brow and slows her treadmill to a stop.
“What would be the point?”
She grabs her phone and water bottle, and steps off the treadmill, flashing me a patient smile. “You’re a big guy, intimidating, so maybe you want to slow your roll and play hard to get?”
I’ve been playing hard to get for the last few months, much to my client’s chagrin.