Page 17 of Gym With Benefits

"I assume you've discovered the upgrade.”

"What did we agree about going through each other’s things?"

David didn’t give a shit about personal boundaries, and his little chuckle hammered home the point. “Do you have it on? Send me a picture.”

The tiny bra dangled from my finger. “I don’t have it on. Mainly because you forgot to pack the rest of the fabric.”

“Quit being a prude.”

“Quit going through my stuff!” I shot back. “What am I supposed to do now? I’m standing in the locker room with nothing to wear.”

“Correction, Jess, you have a full outfit right in front of you,” he said, putting on his grown-up voice. “Now get your sweet ass into those tights and send me a goddamn pic already.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Are they on?”

“You owe me a month’s kitchen duty. I hope you know that.” I started with the tights. It was a tight, sweaty fight, the fabric gripping my calves and thighs like a second layer of skin.

“Well?”

“I’m pretty sure I clocked a full round of cardio just getting into the tights.”

"Premium compression tech,” he said, sounding mighty pleased with himself. “It holds, it molds, it doesn’t kiss and tell. Now the top."

“There is no top. All I see is a skimpy bra that looks about two sizes too small.”

“Miss Seymore, if you make me come all the way over there—”

“Okay, okay. Jesus.” I ripped off my shirt and bra, the sudden chill puckering my nipples into stiff peaks. “I want to hear you agree to the terms and conditions, though.”

David gave a drawn out sigh. “A month’s kitchen duty. In fact, I’ll do the dishes for a year if you throw in a few pics right now.”

I pulled the structured crop over my head, huffing and puffing like a little piggy in a fight for her life. “Who. even. designs. these… things? Aargh!”

The crop suctioned onto me from all sides, and I looked down to find the humiliating massacre of breast alignment that came with these types of things.

David mistook my stunned mortification for something else, and said, “What did I tell you, hm?”

“I look like a backdoor boob job victim.”

“Well, adjust and then tell me I was right,” he said with a laugh.

A tuck here, a nudge there, and my breasts settled into a perfectly perky display. I did a little shimmy to test it out and, yep, those babies didn’t fight back at all. “Fuck me.”

“Was I right or was I right?”

I wished I could slap that smugness out of his tone, but got distracted by my reflection in the narrow mirror attached to the wall. The midnight lines cut a surprisingly decent silhouette, making my waist look smaller and my posture instantly straighter.

“I look… hot.”

“Yes! Yes you goddamn do, Miss Seymore.”

“I look like someone who tracks her macronutrients.” And then, with the most basic bitch Valley Girl accent I could conjure up, “I’ll have a double-shot maca root with tiger nut milk.And blend that baby with a pinch of pink Himalayan sea salt harvested during a full moon.”

David’s laughter burst through my phone. “Don’t forget the ethically sourced algae.”

“Oh, never. God forbid I should start my workout without the essence of algae.” I pressed the back of my hand to my head in a feigned faint even though he couldn’t see me. He could sense it though, and laughed even harder.