It had been a while. I had split up with my last girlfriend months earlier, and since then, there had been basically nothing. My love-life had been a complete drought.
So when I saw her, while I was jogging through the park, I couldn’t really help myself.
It was like I saw her before I saw her. That weird peripheral vision a guy has for good-looking women, that only sharpens as time goes by. Like you detect them even before you see them, somehow.
She was standing by the side of the trail, on the grass. Wearing workout clothes, those tight yoga pants that make women’s asses look so amazing, along with a sports bra as a top. She had her long dark hair pulled back behind her head in a ponytail that swayed with her movements as she stretched. Maybe she was doing yoga poses; I don’t know enough about yoga to tell. But she looked good. And I wasn’t trying to stare, but I couldn’t help myself. The closer I got, the harder it was to resist. Especially when she bent forward to touch the floor, the perfect round shape of her ass straining against the skintight yoga pants.
And then, straightening up, she turned her head and saw me.
I looked quickly away. But I already knew it was too late. She had seen me looking, and really, she shouldn’t blame me, but I know it doesn’t work like that. I should have just increased my pace, just sprinted away. But I was coming to the end of my cardio workout anyway, and I was tired.
“Gymrat wannabe alpha.”
“What?”
As she spoke, I slowed my pace.
“You heard me. Put a shirt on, loser. No one wants to see your glamor muscles.”
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