Page 6 of Sitting Pretty

But how dirty will my dreams get?

3

LUCAS

Icouldn’t sleep last night.

I’m too excited about my date with Aila, and my patience with my clients’—both past and present—overt insinuations are non-existent. Lately, I bide my time training them with a smile on my face, occasionally throwing out a veiled innuendo or two to string the ladies along and let them believe there’s a chance for something more. Let’s face it, any promise of future orgasms means bigger tips. And considering most of these ladies were trophy wives in their early twenties, shacking up with their older, self-absorbed men, they’ve gone most of their lives not being sexually satisfied.

Not that I’m some Don Juan or anything. Maybe it’s my generation, but according to the older women I’ve been with here, I’m more in tune with their needs than their ex-husbands ever were.

Sadly, I’m not built for this lifestyle long term, and being a woman’s boy-toy took a toll on my self-esteem. Especially when she passed me on to her friend before calling us quits. After the last time, which was a couple of months ago, I stoppeddatingmy clients—if that’s what you can call it.

Or as Chaz likes to call them, the bored housewives of Spring City.

My phone beeps in my pocket at the same time my client and I walk over to a row of cardio equipment. Setting up Mrs. Henderson on the stair step machine, I pull my phone out to find a message from Aila. I refrained from texting her this morning because I didn’t want to wake her, but the fact she’s willing to meet me halfway and text first puts a huge smile on my face.

“Good morning, handsome.”

“Good morning to you.” I type out while Mrs. Henderson warms up on low. “How did you sleep?”

“I might have had a dream or two.”

I imagine her pouty lips curling into a wicked grin, and I harden at the vision. “Did you?”

“Maybe.”

“Will you tell me about them tonight?”

“Maybe.”

I’m grinning ear to ear, lost in my phone, oblivious to the surrounding people. “Are you teasing me?”

“Definitely.”

I glance at my watch—almost nine hours until seven. Fuck, I can’t wait that long. “Any chance you can meet for dinner early?”

“What time?”

“Any time after three,” I type out with one hand while hitting the button on the machine to bring my client to a stop.

“Can’t wait to see me, huh?”

I can almost hear the teasing taunt in her voice.

“No.”

“Pick me up at four.”

Wow. There is no bullshit with this woman. I might be in love. “Perfect. See you then.”

“You are absolutely glowing, Mister.” Mrs. Henderson coos as she steps off the machine. She’s one of my cool clients. Happily married, two grown kids—she wants to get in shape to comfortably globe trot with her husband when he retires in three months. “What young lady has you so smitten?”

“Smitten?” I chuckle and shake my head.

“Whatever word the cool kids are using these days.” She follows me to a row of equipment and takes a seat at the leg extension machine.

“Smitten sounds right.” I grin, setting up her weight. “I’m crazy about a woman I barely know.”

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