Megan Hart - Switch

held the tweezers. In the other, the shredded paper

wrapper of the bandage.

I didn't strain or stretch to look at his handiwork. "Thank

you."

Twin spots of bright color bloomed on his cheeks. "No

problem."

Before he could say anything else, I grabbed up the

keyboard and left his office with a nod.

Later, in bed, I would fal asleep thinking of two things.

One was the smooth, expensive card and the beautifuly

written list. I wanted that paper, that pen, whatever it was.

And two, the feeling of Paul's fingers on the back of my

knee.

Chapter 09

My Monday-night gyno appointment went as wel as

could be expected for an event that had my legs in the air

and my ass exposed to the entire world. I weighed less

than I had the last time I'd been to the doctor, which was

good, and I found out I no longer qualified for the same

reduced fees I'd been used to getting based on my income,

but that was fine. I had insurance now.

"Wish I could lose ten pounds," said the nurse-practitioner when she read my chart and looked me over. "But I like to

eat too much."

"Me, too. It just takes…" Discipline was the word that rose to my lips, and I was thinking of that note again.

"Work."

She patted her round hips and bely and sighed. "Yeah,

doesn't everything?"

Of course it did. You didn't get very far in the world

thinking you could get away with anything less. But I didn't

say anything else, just took my shot and paid my bil and

went on my way.

went on my way.

I thought about it, though.

Discipline.

I thought about it on the drive home and up the elevator to

my apartment, where I changed into a pair of black yoga

pants and a formfitting white T-shirt with the words

Frankie Say Relax in block letters across the front. It was

a good conversation starter. On my feet I put a pair of

trainers that had actualy cost more than the Madden

pumps and were the most expensive shoes I'd ever

owned. I'd discovered I could deal with sore feet for

fashion's sake, but not when I was trying to exercise.

Discipline.

Today, you wil extend your regular workout by fifteen

minutes.

I grabbed a cereal bar from my snack drawer and wolfed

down the chewy jam center and crust as I cracked open a

can of diet cola and drank it back in a few gulps, then filed

a water bottle with ice and water from the tap. My shoes

might be designer, but my water was generic.

I took the stairs to add a little extra to my workout,

laughing at myself for obeying a command meant for

someone else. My heels rang on the metal stairs as I took

them two at a time al the way to the basement. I flung

open the metal door, too, and it clanged against the wal.

Riverview Manor has a nice, if outdated, gym, though it

was hardly ever used. Not trendy enough, I guess. There

was someone at the eliptical machine when I came in. He

looked up but didn't speak around his huffing and puffing.

It was him.

Of course. Why shouldn't I have to sweat and strain next

to the man, that handsome man, I kept running into al over

the place? I drank back some water to give myself

fortitude and hopped on the treadmil.

After five minutes my legs were screaming, and I shot him

a glance. His mouth had set into a tight, hard line of

determination. Sweat ringed his armpits and neckline, but

far from being disgusted, the sight of it made me go al

tingly in my pink places. There's something so fucking sexy

about a man who's working hard.

I saw him shoot me a glance, and his machine beeped, but

I saw him shoot me a glance, and his machine beeped, but

he punched the button to go longer. Uh-huh. I got it.

Bound by sweat and bad television programming, we

worked out on neighboring machines and forced each

other to keep going even when we wanted to stop. Wel, I

did anyway. It had become a point of pride to keep

grunting and groaning my way through the treadmil's fifty-

minute program even when I wanted to hop off.

The fact this guy had the body of a god and stopped

briefly to strip off his shirt didn't hurt. Not one bit. Every

time his abs and pecs rippled I thought about how his

sweat would taste if I ran my tongue along the rim of his

ribs and around the concave cup of his bely button. I tried

to be grossed out at myself for thinking such crude

thoughts but couldn't convince my traitorous body that

wanting to ride his thigh was wrong.

I blamed the TV.

This time of night the only shows we could get on the

gym's battered set were reality-TV shows, game shows or

the music channel. The eye candy on the videos was nice,

but it sure did put a girl in an interesting frame of mind.

As much as I might want to grab ahold of Mr. Mystery's

As much as I might want to grab ahold of Mr. Mystery's

ears and ride him like a roler coaster, random, careless

sex was absolutely not part of my plan. Especialy not with

someone from my building. Guys talked. Even now, when

women were supposed to be able to go after what they

wanted with the same passion and lack of emotional

commitment as men, guys stil talked. Peanut-butter legs,

easy to spread. Doorknob, everyone gets a turn. The

good time had by al. I wasn't out to get a renewed

reputation for having round heels.

Instead, I sweated and bit back grunts that would give

away the ache in my thighs as I watched beautiful women

with porn-star tits writhe on red satin sheets to the

oompah-pah-oomp of some badonkadonk-donk hip-hop

song.

Surreptitiously, I watched to see if he had any sort of

reaction to the pseudofucking being played out in three-

minute increments. His profile told me nothing. Staring

straight ahead, I couldn't see if his shorts were bulging.

Sily, I told myself. Who got turned on in the middle of a

workout? Too much blood was being pumped to other

places for him to get a hard-on. Hel, I thought my heart

was going to bust right out of my chest. There was no way

was going to bust right out of my chest. There was no way

I could spare any for my clitoris.

His treadmil beeped to indicate the end of his program.

He slowed, grabbed his towel and wiped his face as he

climbed off. He drank thirstily from his water bottle. When

he bent to touch his toes, I groaned aloud. This guy's ass

was like two cantaloupes in a silk bag.

He looked up with a smal grin, as if he could read my

dirty mind. I hoped he couldn't. No, damn, I hoped he

could.

"You al right?"

"…fine…"

I was, in fact, almost a puddle of overexercised goo. My

machine beeped a minute later, my program over. I wiped

my face and drank water, too, but I didn't try any sort of

bending. I'd have passed out.

He'd moved to the tension machine, but hadn't yet begun.

He gestured to me, instead. "C'mere. Try this."

"Oh, I don't think so." I shook my head even as my feet

folowed the siren cal of muscled thighs and an irresistible

folowed the siren cal of muscled thighs and an irresistible

set of back dimples.

"You can't just do cardio," the guy said. "You need to do strength training, too. Tone up."

I thought about being insulted, but let's face it. When

Adonis is critiquing your body, he probably knows what

he's talking about. "Okay."

"Sit."

I did. He adjusted something in the back and puled down