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Wife enjoys working the night shift with two hunks.
But now that she was here, it seemed that was the easy part. She felt alone, overworked, and a little homesick. Maybe she could have a pleasant evening with him. Maybe she could just forget it all for a little while.
He smiled at her smile, an chain reaction that sent him in danger of revealing far too much about his current state of though below the waistline. Instead, he carefully kept the t-shirt in front and nodded.
"Sounds good. Two insomniacs, getting together - I'm sure it will end with us both happy in bed. Give me a minute to shower up and we can go?"
He walked past her...heading for the back rooms...only three steps away did he realize his strangely worded phrase. Hmmm, well...already said. Somewhat innocent, but still - it did not feel innocent in his intent.
Oh, stop thinking already...too much thinking had already threatened to give him something else requiring attention, but that was something which could be done in the shower. As he crossed the darkened gym, he grabbed his gym bag from the floor, realizing all he had inside was a pair of jeans and a rather trashy t-shirt, grabbed at the last moment for its status as being the only clean shirt left in his apartment.
In a moment, he turned the corner into the locker room area - weird how the gym simply had a corner turn into the area, no doors or anything else to notate the beginning and end of the locker room areas. Tossing his bag on the nearest wooden bench near the lockers - he looked up in time to see his reflection...and the rather large and noticeable budge in his shorts which resembled a tepee set up in his crotch.
"Lovely," He spoke to his fully attentive member, "Your timing is - as always - impeccable. I would take care of things now in the shower, but that would add enough time to make her suspicious that I'm in there whacking off while thinking of her, thus making her arm herself with pepper spray for the rest of the night. Or, you could die back down in the cold water and remember that I'm going commando in jeans and tight denim and you are not friends. The choice is yours, sir."
She suppressed a smirk at his words, failing to restrain herself from taking them quite literally. I don't think it will go quite that well, prince charming... Still, the prospect of having someone be with her tonight was tempting. The last thing she wanted was for a prospective boyfriend to only stave off one cold, lonely night. No, she thought tentatively, the pie would have to do, if those characteristic fits of impulsivity never took hold of her. They tended not to let go.
Sighing, she lay prone on the bench, her knees curled to her chest. She grabbed the remote on the end table and flipped on the tiny television in the corner, to the only channel the thing had apperently, CNN. All the horrible things happening in the world bombarded her at once as she awaited the cute boxer's return. The sheer terror of the news was almost comforting, as if the worlds turmoil and her own were at an equilibrium. She dared not call it apathy. Nor resignation. Both of them were nasty words. Letting loose a more hefty sigh, she tried to tame her unruly hair a little further. My idealism is under assault.
Rachel was generally prone to romantic fantasies, and thus was a little vulnerable to men like Deacon. He was handsome, athletic, and at least appeared to be intelligent. She tried not to hold him to unrealistic standards, reducing her suspicions about him to mere hopes that he was the poetic silent type. He had charmed her thoroughly in their brief conversation. Wondering who he was, wondering why she had not spoken to him sooner, and the distant doom and gloom of the news produced a thought-cocktail that had her tired body drifting off into that place between sleep and waking...
He approached her, the girl rubbing her eyes and sitting up, offering him a lethargic smile.