Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Chloe shakes her head, the begonias long-forgotten.
“No, not at all. I’m not much for the gym. It’s intimidating with all those mirrors.”
“Go to a Crossfit gym then,” I say in a reasonable tone. “They’re called “boxes” and there are no mirrors there. They focus on what an athlete can do, instead of how an athlete looks.”
Chloe giggles.
“Well, I wouldn’t call myself an ‘athlete,’” she says in a wry tone. “Far from it, actually, because I can’t play any sport. I’m way too uncoordinated. I just try to stay active by walking whenever I can, and doing a couple sit-ups every now and then. It’s the most that I can handle.”
I shoot her a grin.
“I’m sure you can handle more than that. You’re what? Nineteen? Twenty?”
“Nineteen,” Chloe affirms with a sweet smile.
“Listen,” I say, inspiration striking. “Let me take you to a gym and show you some exercises. There’s no need to be intimidated because people are really friendly, and everyone is an athlete. I work out at the local Crossfit Mayhem on the other side of town.”
“Mayhem?” Chloe asks with a tremor to her voice. “That’s the name of the gym? That sounds scary.”
I laugh.
“No, it’s not. Most boxes pick out intimidating names, like Crossfit Savage, Crossfit Titan, or Razor Crossfit. But it’s just a name. The people inside can be animals when it comes to working out, but don’t worry: I’ll protect you.”
A beautiful smile breaks out on Chloe’s face then.
“Okay, I trust you, Mr. Jonsson. To the gym we shall go, even if it’s against all my natural instincts. Tomorrow around noon?”
I wink at her.
“You’ve got yourself a date, sweetheart. I’ll knock on your door around then, and we can take my truck.”
“Sounds good! Looking forward,” she sings. Then, picking up her watering can, Chloe prances out of my trailer and back outside to fiddle with the flowers. I watch as her blonde hair bounces, that body tight and delectable in her skirt and top. Then, I remember who I am, or rather what I am, and curse myself. Any other guy would be in Seventh Heaven, ecstatic about a date with a gorgeous goddess like Chloe Mackie. But I’ve got my double-dicked anatomy to hide… and I can’t risk letting someone as promiscuous as Chloe Mackie in on the secret.
5
Chloe
I’m not sure what to think of Carl Jonsson. He’s gruff, abrupt, and very much an intimidating alpha male with his powerful frame and sculpted chest. But at the same time, he’s smart. He talked to me about horse-racing and seemed concerned about the lack of parental oversight in my life. But that’s the thing. I don’t want him to be worried because I don’t want him to see me as a child in need of guidance. I want the handsome man to see me as a woman, and not just some little girl whiling away her days.
Plus, I get the feeling that our age gap is significant. There are a couple clues here and there: Carl seems to be very worldly, with refined tastes. I never thought I’d believe that about a guy who lives in a trailer, but when I stepped into his home, I could see that it wasn’t a man cave littered with empty pizza boxes and beer bottles. Instead, Carl actually had tasteful art on the walls, and shiny copper-colored pots and pans displayed in his kitchen cabinets. A lot of furniture looked custom, too. Of course, there was the massive Barcalounger in one corner, but it looks like he got some custom millwork done to round out his furniture set, and the flip-top table and accompanying bench seat were definitely products of an artisanal woodworking shop.
Then again, what do I know? My own trailer is pretty terrible décor-wise. It still bears the signs of Trekko and Bezimba, and I know I should have cleared my parents’ colorful wall hangings and faded Persian rugs out ages ago. But I’ve never gotten around to it. I guess I’m still attached to Trekko and Bezimba, even if I haven’t seen them in years. Yet living in their shadow isn’t the right thing to do either because I want Carl to see me as an independent, sassy young woman, and not as a wishy-washy dependent who’s unexpectedly been abandoned.
Now, we’re at Crossfit Mayhem, and my handsome neighbor smiles at me as we enter the gym. The space is cavernous. It’s maybe 15,000 square feet, and like he promised, there are no mirrored walls. Instead, there’s a football field full of exercise equipment, as well as a strip of empty mat space running down the length of the gym, bordered by two parallel strips of wood flooring.
“What’s that for?” I ask, curious.
He grins.
“Lifting weights. You’ll see. Some of the dudes like to slam their weights down, and the wooden surface absorbs the impact.”