12. Warren
12
WARREN
I swear, with every passing day my life is making me feel more and more like I’m some stupid, hungry horse trotting through a field and Kira is the cowboy on my back, dangling a carrot that I’ll never actually get to eat.
Actually, no. That’s not the right analogy. Kira isn’t dangling anything, I’m just too obsessed with the thought of her riding me that the dumbass horse and carrot schtick is the only thing in my mind.
I’m more like…a dog.
A big, fluffy dog, and Kira is the family cat I’m desperate to befriend. But every time I get too close, I do something stupid like bark (or accidentally insult her home, in a roundabout sort of way) and she whacks my nose with her claws.
I can’t seem to stop fucking up where she’s concerned. It’s killing me, not only because the last thing I want to do is hurt her, but because the lack of control in the situation is nagging at me. Kira is sunshine personified, except when it comes to me. I get hurricane Kira at worst, cold and foggy Kira at best. This deep, powerful urge to be the reason for her smiles is keeping me up at night, but everything I do or say pisses her off further. I don’t know how to make this right.
I’m standing just outside the floor of Spin Sync that houses the instructor’s locker rooms. Though calling the space on the other side of the door a locker room seems a bit insulting to the room itself. I got a tour of the space on my first day here, and like the rest of the building, I was blown away by the size and beauty.
There are lockers, yes, but they’re floor to ceiling, lit and shelved luxury lockers that are bigger than some people’s first apartments. There are several mirror and vanity stations, enough for each instructor to have a place to themselves, as well as one or two to spare. Next to the bathroom that boasts multiple walk-in showers, there’s a shared closet filled with brand-new apparel the instructors can take from a variety of different brands that all want their clothes worn in a Spin Sync class. They have their own sauna, a red-light therapy room, ice baths, as well as a spa room with a rotating schedule of on-site masseuses and masseurs to ease their aching muscles.
It came as no shock to learn that implementing the amenities was Kira’s idea when the company moved into this building. It shocked me even less to find out that it was her suggestion that the locker room amenities be accessible to all Spin Sync employees, not just the instructors. Each instructor has their own changing room and a key code that locks each shower door while it’s in use, so there’s no privacy issue.
Even though I have my own key code that will grant me access to the locker room, I’ve been standing outside, listening to the muffled sounds of laughter and EDM music through the door.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself as I palm the pin pad and type in my six-digit code. The lock turns, and when I enter the room, I’m hit with the scent of lavender. A few of the instructors are stretching out on plush couches around a coffee table in a space that dips below the ground, resembling a conversation pit from a home built in the sixties. They grant me polite waves as I pass by, and I appreciate that while no one seems to jump out of their skin in excitement over my presence, they also don’t feel the need to cut off their chatter or shy away, either.
I allow myself to look around the room, giving the illusion that I’m taking in the space when really, I’m looking for her. I’m always looking for her. If anyone asks, I’m here to take advantage of the amenities, maybe indulge in a massage. Hell, I probably should get a massage. The muscles in my back are twisted into knots from carrying the weight of Kira’s dissatisfaction for weeks.
One of the strength instructors approaches me, slamming a hand into my shoulder. Alex is a really beefy guy with the kind of body that would get him typecast as a dumb jock in Hollywood. But he’s an incredibly kind fellow. I took one of his endurance run classes during my first week here, and I was beat to shit for days afterwards.
“Aye, boss man. What are you doing slumming it down here with us? Are you thinking of jumping off the corporate ladder and trying your hand at teaching? Maybe we can get a Silver Sneakers program going for you to run!”
“Funny, Alex. Give it a few years and you’ll be tucking your own grey hairs under that hat of yours. No, I’m just up here for the goods. Thinking about getting a massage…”
My words trail off as my eyes catch a billow of steam pouring from one of the lux marble shower stalls across the room. From the fog, Kira emerges with a white towel wrapped around her waist and her arm draped over her otherwise bare breasts. Her hair is wild and curly, with soft, damp pieces sticking to the skin on her forehead. She’s not wearing any clothes.
Why the fuck is she not wearing any clothes?
“Has anyone seen my tie-dye halter top? The one with the scalloped edges? I’ve got a whole hippy-dippy playlist going for this recovery ride I’m filming next, and I want to look the part.”
She rummages through a pile of discarded nylon, that damn towel threatening to drop with every wiggle of her perfect hips. My mouth goes dry, a sheen of sweat forming on my skin just from the sight of her. I have the overwhelming urge to cross the room and drop to my knees in front of her so that I can run my tongue over the droplets of water skimming down the divots of her carved abs. I also have the urge to claw the eyes out of every single person in this room who dares to look at the bare, tanned flesh that my heart and my cock seem to think belong to us. My blood heats, every ounce of it traveling to my groin.
Just when I think it can’t get any worse, Kira finds the tie-dye top she’s been looking for, holding it up while calling out in delight. And then, to my absolute horror and delight, she drops her arm from her breasts as she pulls the bra over her head.
I snap my eyes shut so fast, it feels like I nearly tear my eyelids. I didn’t get the chance to see her naked tits when we were together at the wedding. I didn’t get to indulge in a lick or a suck, didn’t get to see if her nipples are rosy and pink like her sweet little cunt or darker, puckered tips that compliment her tan skin. I certainly can’t see them for the first time now. Not if I’m going to hang on to any shred of self-dignity I have left.
But fuck, I caught a glimpse. A beautiful, painful, delicious glimpse, and I think I saw a sparkle. It could have been rogue body glitter, but god fucking dammit all to hell, I think Kira has her nipples pierced. The thought alone is mouth-watering.
With a half-assed excuse of needing to make a phone call, I turn on my heels and make a beeline out of the locker room and up to my office, where I spend the next half an hour alternating between sips of ice cold water and hard pinches to my inner thigh to tame my inconvenient and persistent erection.
Kira
Why were you in the instructor’s locker room earlier today?
Warren
Do my eyes deceive me? Is Kira McKenna texting me of her own volition?
Quick, say something to let me know it’s you and you haven’t been kidnapped.
Kira
Fuck off
Warren
Oh good, it is you. I was worried I’d have to pay a ransom for you or something.
Kira
Answer the question, Warren. Why were you snooping around in the locker room today?
Warren
You’re accusing me of snooping? Little pest, I was under the impression that the locker room amenities were accessible to all Spin Sync employees. I was looking to get a massage.
Kira
Then why didn’t you get one? Kevin is our best massage therapist and he was free all afternoon.
Warren
I had to go. Something big came up and it needed my attention.
Kira
Something big certainly did come up. Looks like you shut down one of those pesky rumors floating around about you. There was nothing micro about the problem in your pants as you were scurrying away.
Nighty-night, TW.
Warren
TW? Another nickname I’m meant to figure out?
Kira
Use your context clues, twat-waffle.
Warren
Fucking Christ, woman.