~ 1 ~
“She’s a devious, manipulative, two-faced psycho bitch.”
No matter how many miles she put on the treadmill, Courtney couldn’t outrun the words of her as of this morning ex-husband.
“She’ll make love to you one night and the stab you in the back the next.”
Five miles later and Bryson’s hateful words still rang in her ears.
Bitch–She had no problem owning up to that title.
Making love–Never a word she associated with Bryson.
There had never been anything romantic about their sex life. The two of them had fucked their way through seven years of marital hell.
Billy had been the one wielding the knife into their backs. If he hadn’t lied about getting a vasectomy none of this would have ever happened. It wasn’t that she didn’t love those two little boys. She did. At least the best she knew how. It was just that getting knocked up with twins had knocked her right out of the running for a shot at winning her first Olympia.
At least she had fooled everyone in that judge’s chamber, making them all believe she didn't give a flying flipping fuck. Her life would be a hell of a lot better once she got about two hundred and fifty miles of distance between her and all the Dalton men.
Yanking the towel off the treadmill console, she scanned the floor of Body Perfect, all she had left after signing her life away that morning. The trendy Cool Springs health club was deserted, just her and a guy over by the squat racks knocking off reps with a serious amount of weight on the bar.
Nice tight ass. Impressive lat spread. Short blond spiky hair. Sex in a pair of spandex workout shorts. Exactly what she needed.
“Hey, Ms. Dalton, this place is dead,” the front desk receptionist said between annoying pops of her chewing gum. “Can we close up early? Nobody’s gonna work out on Christmas Eve.”
“Okay, go ahead and lock up.”
“Want me to tell him we’re closing.” The girl pointed at the guy busting through another set of squats.
“No, I’ll take care of him.”
“Oh, I bet you will.” The girl giggled just like she knew exactly what Courtney had in mind.
“Merry Christmas, Lynsie,” Courtney said, remembering why she’d hired the girl for her looks and not her intellect.
Courtney selected the bench closest to the squat rack and popped a couple of twenty-five pound plates on the bar. She breezed through a warm up set of bench presses and waited to rack the bar just as he finished his own set to load on more weights.
“You need a spot?” she asked, sidling up to him.
He didn’t even look at her. Not the reaction she was expecting. Courtney wasn’t the type of woman that got ignored, at least not in her own gym. Unfazed, she stepped between him and the mirror, getting a good look at his face for the first time.
Alex--Vlad’s kid all grown up. His think dark hair had been bleached out and chopped into a harsh buzz cut that accentuated the slant of his brown eyes. His mother had been half-Chinese or was it Japanese, or maybe Korean. She couldn’t really remember. Alex Kafelnikov had never been of any interest to her until now.
The kid had been training hard and packing on the muscle. He looked like a cute little roid rage all ready to happen.
Exactly what she needed to forget about Dalton men, at least for an hour or so.
He yanked out an ear bud and snarled, “What?”
“Do you need a spot?”
“No, I got it.”
He hefted the bar across his back, stepping away from the squat rack to start his set.
Undeterred, she stood behind him for a maximum view of his ass flexing and clinching with each rep. As he racked the bar she pulled her t-shirt even tighter, knotting it around her midriff to play up the line of her abs and the already impressive swell of her breasts.
“Can you spot my next set?” She asked, hoping to sound coy.
He looked around the deserted gym like he was hoping to find someone else to use as a scapegoat. Seeing that he was her only option, he nodded.
She added two more twenty-five pound plates to the bar and laid down on the bench taking her time getting just the right grip.
“Isn’t that a lot of weight for a girl?”
“That’s why I need some help getting it off the rack,” she lied.
One hundred forty-five pounds wasn’t even a challenge for Courtney. Still she pretended to struggle with balancing the weight, causing him to hover over her at the perfect angle to admire the view of her pecs in action.
She pretended to ignore the bulge in his shorts and let him rack the bar,. To further tease him she asked for a couple more ten plates just to drag it out a little further. This time he held his hands under the bar, ready to grab if she lost control. On the last rep she pretended to struggle, letting him take the bar from her again.