see my face she fusses, “I mean it. ¿Entiendes?”
A large sigh falls out of me. “Si.”
“Now, I have to go finish getting ready for my da-, um...evening out.”
Was she about to say date? Who the fuck is she dating? On one hand that's fucking amazing since I haven't seen her look at another male since she divorced my father decades ago and on the other, who the fuck is he and why haven't I met him?
I try to hold my voice steady. “Be safe.”
“I will. And you....call your father back.”
Helplessly my face scrunches.
How the hell does she know he's been calling more often lately? Guess that's not really saying much considering how little he's called in the past. I don't know what mid-life crisis has sparked an urge to want to reconnect with his only son, but can't he just fuck a college student or buy a Bentley instead? I would appreciate it.
“Luca Larson-”
“I'll think about it, Ma. Go enjoy your night out. I'm gonna grab a quick work out.”
After a long pause she gives up on the previous subject. “Te aAmo.”
“Te aAmo.”
**
“Have a good workout?” Joss, one of the trainers at Push It To The Maxx, the gym I work out at, asks on my way towards the front door.
“Yeah. Last set pushed me just far enough,” I reply.
He braces his arms across his chest. “You training for something?”
Confused by the question I lift my eyebrows.
“You've been in every day for the last week, sometimes twice in one day, which is a little more than usual for you unless some of the games happen to fall on the same rotation. But they didn't this week, so just wondering if you're training for something. Marathon? Triathlon? Iron man?”
Guess if I say training my dick to become less dependent on pussy wouldn't be the right answer. Being the only one to touch my dick for the past week is like being locked in a room with only one specific recorded game to watch. One recorded game you don't necessarily love but damn sure don't hate. At first you don't mind. It's not so bad. Then the day passes and it becomes harder and harder to enjoy. You start yelling at the players in boredom. Hoping something exciting happens even though you know it won't because it's going to end the same way every time. It's the same plays over and over again. Eventually you boycott it. Refuse to watch. Decide to nap or count your teeth instead. However, at some point, the senses win, and you force yourself to watch once more. That's pretty much what masturbating is like.
“No. Just uh...trying to deal with some personal shit. Working out clears my head.”
“Yeah. I know that feeling.”
I give him a head toss and finish making my way to the exit. As I stroll towards my car, I pull out my phone and send Alexxa a text.
Time to check on the only other woman in life that fucking matters.
Me: Your place or mine?
“Excuse me,” a faint voice says from over my shoulder.
I turn around to see an attractive short blonde in a pink sports bra and yoga pants.
No shirt already? Talk about making shit easy for me .
“Yeah?”
“You're the guy from the skating rink last week,” her tiny voice croaks. “Right? You did a race across it with your co-worker or girlfriend or something.”
“Co-worker,” I quickly inform. “Friend.”
“Yeah.” She pushes her hair behind her ear. “Right. Her.”
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Alexxa: Mine. But I'm having dinner with M & G. Give me two hours.
Looks like I have time to spare.
I lift my eyes back to the fidgety blonde and grow a devilish grin. “I'm Luca.”
“Jillian.”
“Got a body that's toned like Ms. Micheals.” The compliment makes her blush. “You just finished yoga with Haan or Mary Ann?”
“Haan.”
He's known for getting women into the harder positions. Chicks who take his yoga class are always more
A large sigh falls out of me. “Si.”
“Now, I have to go finish getting ready for my da-, um...evening out.”
Was she about to say date? Who the fuck is she dating? On one hand that's fucking amazing since I haven't seen her look at another male since she divorced my father decades ago and on the other, who the fuck is he and why haven't I met him?
I try to hold my voice steady. “Be safe.”
“I will. And you....call your father back.”
Helplessly my face scrunches.
How the hell does she know he's been calling more often lately? Guess that's not really saying much considering how little he's called in the past. I don't know what mid-life crisis has sparked an urge to want to reconnect with his only son, but can't he just fuck a college student or buy a Bentley instead? I would appreciate it.
“Luca Larson-”
“I'll think about it, Ma. Go enjoy your night out. I'm gonna grab a quick work out.”
After a long pause she gives up on the previous subject. “Te aAmo.”
“Te aAmo.”
**
“Have a good workout?” Joss, one of the trainers at Push It To The Maxx, the gym I work out at, asks on my way towards the front door.
“Yeah. Last set pushed me just far enough,” I reply.
He braces his arms across his chest. “You training for something?”
Confused by the question I lift my eyebrows.
“You've been in every day for the last week, sometimes twice in one day, which is a little more than usual for you unless some of the games happen to fall on the same rotation. But they didn't this week, so just wondering if you're training for something. Marathon? Triathlon? Iron man?”
Guess if I say training my dick to become less dependent on pussy wouldn't be the right answer. Being the only one to touch my dick for the past week is like being locked in a room with only one specific recorded game to watch. One recorded game you don't necessarily love but damn sure don't hate. At first you don't mind. It's not so bad. Then the day passes and it becomes harder and harder to enjoy. You start yelling at the players in boredom. Hoping something exciting happens even though you know it won't because it's going to end the same way every time. It's the same plays over and over again. Eventually you boycott it. Refuse to watch. Decide to nap or count your teeth instead. However, at some point, the senses win, and you force yourself to watch once more. That's pretty much what masturbating is like.
“No. Just uh...trying to deal with some personal shit. Working out clears my head.”
“Yeah. I know that feeling.”
I give him a head toss and finish making my way to the exit. As I stroll towards my car, I pull out my phone and send Alexxa a text.
Time to check on the only other woman in life that fucking matters.
Me: Your place or mine?
“Excuse me,” a faint voice says from over my shoulder.
I turn around to see an attractive short blonde in a pink sports bra and yoga pants.
No shirt already? Talk about making shit easy for me .
“Yeah?”
“You're the guy from the skating rink last week,” her tiny voice croaks. “Right? You did a race across it with your co-worker or girlfriend or something.”
“Co-worker,” I quickly inform. “Friend.”
“Yeah.” She pushes her hair behind her ear. “Right. Her.”
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Alexxa: Mine. But I'm having dinner with M & G. Give me two hours.
Looks like I have time to spare.
I lift my eyes back to the fidgety blonde and grow a devilish grin. “I'm Luca.”
“Jillian.”
“Got a body that's toned like Ms. Micheals.” The compliment makes her blush. “You just finished yoga with Haan or Mary Ann?”
“Haan.”
He's known for getting women into the harder positions. Chicks who take his yoga class are always more
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