Tensor

Anna Marie didn't generally mind having to wait a few extra seconds at the water fountain, but the girl standing behind her, impatiently tapping her foot, seemed to think that it was the greatest inconvenience known to man. So Anna did the mature thing and took even longer than necessary to refill her water bottle, screwing the top back on and leaning down to help herself to some more water before finally turning and walking back into the weight room.

Piotr hadn't moved from where she'd left him and she headed over to where he was doing reps on the leg press. He was, as usual, making it look far easier than it should have and she held the water bottle out to him and offered, "Want me to sit on it or something? That would add a little more weight..."

"You asked for rock-and-roll," Clint said with a quick, wicked grin. He reached behind him to snag the motorcycle helmet, tossing it casually toward Marissa.

She caught it with a surprised laugh, dark curls spilling over her shoulders. "I was thinking a little more Brandon Flowers," she said, quirking a brow. "But I guess this will do."

"Hey, I'm just glad you didn't ask for Justin Bieber. Come on," he added, glancing toward the front of the store. Marissa's co-workers were all standing by their cash registers, staring at them. Her manager was already barreling out of his office. "You coming?"

He didn't need to ask; she was already yanking off her Home Depot apron and shoving on the helmet. Clint grinned again, gunning the bike, as she slung one long, shapely leg over the seat and settled her pelvis snugly against him.

"Don't be so smug," Marissa murmured, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. "I was looking for an excuse to get out of here. You were just the first tolerable option to come along."

Clint revved the engine again, and they were taking off, tires squealing, customers staring. A few of them cheered as Clint and Marissa zoomed toward the exit, sliding glass doors parting just in the nick of time. "Guess that makes me one hell of lucky guy," he said, threading them effortlessly into the early evening traffic. Deep inside, his heart was racing at the first thrill of freedom. He didn't know her last name. He couldn't even remember exactly where they'd met.

It didn't matter. She smelled like expensive perfume and sawdust and he could get lost in her eyes for hours. He wouldn't have to worry about things getting messy; she'd been clear from the start that she didn't want strings of any sort, which suited him just fine--he couldn't afford the attachment. He never could.

But he was good at pretending.

Marissa squeezed him tighter, full breasts pressed snugly against him, hands lightly trailing up and down his white undershirt, his leather jacket. His heart gave an odd little lurch and began to pound faster.

"So, seriously," she finally said, shouting to be heard over the blare of traffic. "Who are you supposed to be? Like, Chester Bennington or something?"

The roaring wind made an easy excuse not to answer. Pretending could only go so far.

Sam really should have known better after two years. Not that reading hilariously bad gay porn aloud to Kitty would have been the smartest thing to agree to at the best of times, no matter how funny it might be, but with Bobby actually in the room...he should have known it would go from a 'simple' readaloud to a Dramatic Reenactment, complete with costumes.

"Seriously?" he grumbled, making a face at the ratty, cut-off jeans shorts on the foot of his bed. "You seriously want to do this in costume?" He rubbed his eyes and made a face at the pair of them, but he was reaching for the shorts anyway because yes, apparently he really was that big a pushover. "Y'know, I'm startin' t' think you two just look for reasons t'get me half dressed."