Page 46 of The Sun and Her Star

“I know. Long week. Is George in?” I ask.

“Yeah, he’s in his office, I think. But, G …” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, and his eyes dart away. “You can’t go in there looking like that. He’ll lose it. You know how he is …”

“I’m not here to work. I just need to ask him a question. I won’t see any clients.”

“He won’t care.” He gives me a knowing look. But I’m too tired, too stressed, and too desperate to pay attention to him right now.

“Okay, I heard you,” I say and then walk through the doors that lead to the management office.

When I started working here a few months ago, I felt like I’d hit the jackpot. The money was great. It meant I could cut back on my other job and still have enough to pay tuition, help my mom with rent on her place, and save a little.

But, now it’s not enough, and I pray like hell I can get George to give me some more clients. Instead of making my usual study of the portraits of the famous people who’ve been members here in the past, I stare straight ahead and try to think about exactly what I’m going to say.

“Hello, Graham,” the membership manager, Nanette, says as I walk into the employee break room. I was so caught in my thoughts that I almost walked past her. Not that I would have stopped. She makes me uncomfortable. But, I always say hello to be polite.

“Hey,” I say with a small wave without stopping.

“Graham, wait,” she calls after me. I suppress my sigh and turn to face her.

A smile spreads across her face as she walks toward me. Actually,walksis the wrong word. Nanette kinda … prowls. Her blouses are always unbuttoned just enough that her cleavage is visible. She wears a pendant with a green stone that nestles right where I shouldn’t be looking. And with each step, her black pencil skirt clad hips sway in time with her blonde ponytail’s swish.

I’ve always thought she looked like a cat. Her face’s oval shape is contoured by high cheekbones and a pointed chin. She has a tiny nose that turns up at the end, and her almond shaped green eyes are either wide with surprise, or at half-mast with … who knows what to callthatlook. I just know I try to avoid her.

“Graham.” She purrs my name and glances down at her Cartier watch and then looks back at me with a raised brow. “Do you have a session now? I thought you weren’t due in until tomorrow.” Her pale pink lips curve up at one corner as she gives me a smile that always looks more like a suggestion than a greeting.

I feel a flush creep up my neck, and I rub my hand on the back of it as I look at the ground and try to collect my thoughts.

She always makes me feel this way.

Flustered, young, naïve.

“Uh, no, ma’am …” I stammer.

“I’ve told you, don’t call me ma’am.” She slaps my chest playfully, but hard enough that it stings.

I give her an apologetic smile.

“I’m not yourmother.” She tinkles out an amused laugh. I almost tell her that according to her client card, she’s actually old enough to be my mother, but think better of it.

“Or your teacher … even though, I’dverymuch like to teach you a thing or two,” she drawls before she lays a hand flat on the center of my chest and drags her white tipped, long fingernails down my stomach … slowly, until she reaches my belly button.

I don’t like it, but my body always responds to her and the other women. My dick twitches a little, and I adjust my stance to try and disguise it.

I’ve learned to tolerate her touches. She’s never done more than that, and I’ve seen her fire other trainers for not smiling at her widely enough. I need this job, now more than ever. I’m never less than friendly when I see her.

“Uh, no, I came to talk to George about picking up some more sessions or clients. I’ve just had to withdraw from school for this semester, so I have more time on my hands and …” I trail off, too embarrassed to finish my sentence.

“What?” she prods, but she’s smiling like the cat who’s got her canary just where she wants him.

“Well, I could really use the extra money,” I finish, shame forcing my blood to rise, and I know my entire face and body are bright red.

I have the most annoying inability to control my blushes.

Her lemon-scented sigh of regret doesn’t feel sincere. I feel foolish and pathetic, and her casual dismissal of my shameless request makes me feel two feet tall.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Graham. Unfortunately, I don’t think our membership has the need for more personal training hours.”

My hope withers and sits like a ball of lead in my gut. I close my eyes to try to tamp down my panic.What the fuck am I going to do?

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