“Hang on, let me check my phone,” Iris laughed as she playfully pushed against Justin, then she reached into her purse. She frowned when her hand closed around a napkin along with her phone, and she became absorbed in it as she stared down at the numbers written on it.
“What’s that?” Justin asked, peering curiously.
“It’s a girl’s phone number,” Iris replied, bewildered. She had wanted to forget that moment in the coffee shop, and had gotten close to achieving it, too. But now that she was looking at a reminder of her meeting with Lotus, she wondered why.
“Ooo, I didn’t know you swung that way,” he teased, ruffling Iris’s hair. “Is she hot?”
Iris batted his hand away. “She’s insanely hot, Justin,” she replied sarcastically. “A real femme fatale, who has a penchant for chai at your favorite cafe. That’s where I met her.”
“See? I told you that you needed to check that place out.” Justin laughed. “Are you going to call her? She sounds like someone I want to meet.”
“I don’t know …” Iris bit her lip. “I mean, honestly, if I did swing that way then I’d be all over her, but …” She shrugged. “It didn’t seem like she was interested in me like that anyway.”
“She wrote her phone number on a napkin for you, Iris. If that doesn’t scream of a desperate bid for attention, then I don’t know what would. At least call her once. Use my phone if you’re worried about safety.” Justin reached into his pocket. “Do it for me? Pretty please? I’d love to see you settled before I graduate.”
Iris gave him a shove. “I’m waiting for the right person, Justin. Lay off, okay?”
“Okay, okay!” Justin held his hands up. “But I have to tell you … Lacie doesn’t like that I hang out with you. She thinks I’m cheating.”
“I keep telling you to break up with her,” Iris muttered, trembling as she unlocked her phone.
“I think about it,” Justin replied more solemnly. “Hell, I’m avoiding her right now. Tell you what, if napkin girl isn’t crazy and if she isn’t a lesbian, then I’ll take her. I’ll dump Lacie and napkin girl will be my responsibility.” He winked.
“You’re terrible!” Iris rolled her eyes, then held out her phone and the napkin. “Can you tell me if I entered the number in correctly? I’m ridiculously nervous right now.”
“Yup!” Justin hit the dial button, then grinned as he handed the phone back to Iris.
Iris’s eyes went wide and she held her phone up to her ear, turning away. She held her breath as she listened to it ring.
“Hello?”
Iris wasn’t sure if she recognized the voice. “Uh, hi! Is this Lotus?”
“Speaking,” the voice replied. “Is this Iris then?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Iris.” She forced a tight laugh. “So, um, I’m here with Justin, and he said that he wants to meet you. Are you available to hang out sometime?”
“I’m available right now. We could meet for ice cream.”
Iris turned to look at Justin. “Do you want to meet her for ice cream?”
“Duh yes!”
“Yeah, we can go for ice cream right now. I guess there’s that place across the street from the cafe. We can get there in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll meet you there. Oh, and Iris … thank you for calling. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Yeah.” Iris hung up, then realized that her hands were shaking. She put her phone away in her purse, then balled them into fists to keep them steady. “Well Justin, you’re getting your wish. Are you happy?”
“Ecstatic.” He put his arm around Iris’s shoulders. “I’m envisioning a future of cake batter flavored ice cream for myself. What about you? Peanut butter fudge again? You’re paying, right?”
Iris shook her head. “You wanted to meet Lotus, so you’re paying. Fair’s fair!” she stuck her tongue out, then laughed nervously as she dug through her purse for her car keys.
Lotus pursed her lips around the end of her straw and took a sip, her eyes fixed intently on the back of a young woman who was staring up at the menu board of the cafe. Lotus set her iced chai down, and unconsciously gripped the hem of her skirt around her thighs. For a second she closed her eyes.
I found her, Shangri-la!
The woman’s cheery voice began her order, and Lotus wondered how she was going to approach her. Part of her wanted to be blunt, but a sense in the back of her mind said that she shouldn’t approach a stranger cold with an offer like, “Would you like to transform into an animal?” However, time was running short as the barista turned to prepare the coffee, and Lotus had to do something to gain her attention …
The cafe door opened and a breeze rushed inside, billowing through Lotus’s long auburn hair with an unusual warmth then passing on to tickle the back of the woman’s neck. She stiffened, then turned. Their eyes met, and Lotus smiled.
Thank you, Shangri-la.
The woman paused, then turned to accept her coffee from the barista. She stood hesitating for a moment, then walked over to Lotus’s table. “Uh, hi,” she said with forced cheerfulness that didn’t cover for the awkwardness underneath. “Have I seen you around campus? You look familiar.”
“Probably not.” Lotus rested her chin on her palm. “But I agree, something about you seems familiar. Maybe we’ve passed by each other here before.”
“This is actually my first time here.” The woman raised her cup slightly. “Justin swore it was worth it, so here I am!” Her voice finished on a tight high-pitched note.
“Then maybe it’s fate.” Lotus laughed slightly, but her eyes were carefully studying the woman’s reaction. “My favorite is the chai, both hot and cold. Next time, you should try that.”
“Thank you, I think I will.” The woman’s cheeks were starting to turn red, and Lotus could sense that she was preparing to disengage as her weight shifted backward.
“Do you go to the college then?” Lotus asked. “I want to enroll next semester, but I’m not exactly a brave sort and I don’t know anyone around here. It would be nice to start with one friend.”
“Oh, yeah.” The woman reached down into her purse to pull out her phone, and she stared at the screen without touching it. “I’m sure that Justin and I could give you a tour of the campus. I remember how much the small things help.”
“I would deeply appreciate that.” Lotus reached into her own purse and pulled out a pen, then plucked a napkin out of the dispenser on the table. “Here’s my phone number,” she said as she wrote it on the napkin. “Is Justin your boyfriend?”
“Oh, no. No. We’re not …” the woman shook her head and trailed off. “I’m sorry, but I do need to get going.”
“I shouldn’t keep you.” Lotus held out the napkin. “My name is Lotus, by the way. It’s been very nice to meet you.”
“I’m Iris.” She hesitantly took the napkin. “It’s been nice to meet you, too. I hope that you have a nice day.”
“See you, Iris,” Lotus said with a smile, then turned back to sip at her drink. Iris stuffed the napkin into her purse with her phone, then hurried out of the cafe, awkwardly bumping into the door as she did so.
It’s definitely her, Shangri-la. I found your key.
Author’s disclaimer: Artwork was generated with AI then edited in Canva by me. Words are 100% mine.
It is intended to be a novelette rather than a full length novel, and I’ll be posting each chapter as it’s written with minimal editing — much like I did with The Scion Suit ages ago.
Naturally I was discussing possible covers for the story with ChatGPT, because it’s fun to get excited about a project and AI makes it so much easier to fantasize about a finished project, and ChatGPT also got excited about generating an image without me asking for one. And, well, as you probably gathered, that man was supposed to be wearing a linen shirt. 🤣
But you know what? It’s good enough for an unofficial story announcement. I have struggled to write anything since 2021, and here I am with a novelette that I could have finished before Christmas. Go me!
Cue inaccurate AI generated blurb:
Of Ice and Flowers
Some secrets are better left frozen.
Lotus has always been able to sense things other people cannot. Her connection to the mysterious realm of Shangri-la is unlike anything she can explain, and even its magic has limits. Some mysteries refuse to yield, no matter how closely she listens.
Then she discovers an ancient presence hidden beneath the ice.
He is beautiful, strange, and far more closely connected to Shangri-la than she could have imagined. He knows things she needs to learn—but awakening the past doesn’t mean she can trust it.
As old magic stirs and the secrets surrounding Shangri-la begin to unfold, Lotus must discover what lies behind the seal that has kept the realm beyond reach.
Because some things are frozen for a reason.
And not everything that promises to protect a beautiful world wants to set it free.
There was a moment of realization that happened recently. My bag that I carry with me everywhere — that through the years has contained emergency pull-ups, diaper wipes, band-aids, and various other-people miscellaneous — now carries my headphones and my Kindle.
My stuff.
Mine.
What in the world? Did I stumble into an alternate dimension?
Heck, even the bottle of sunscreen is more for me than anyone else, because I never know when I’ll be caught in the sun and I burn easily. Have I really reclaimed my life?
So I’ve been reading A Court of Thorns and Roses. In my middle-aged perspective, I find myself thinking that it depicts sexual coercion more than anything genuinely romantic (so far, since I’m 50% through the first book). Between the spells that force people to have sex, and assaults that leave bruises (complete with a “It’s all your fault that I did that to you” afterwards), I’m not seeing much that I would consider “healthy relationships” going on. Then when Tamlin said, “I’ve had many lovers, but none of them understood me,” I snerked and thought, Oh no, he’s that guy. 😆
And that’s why I’m not the heroine of a romance novel. Because Mr. “I’m so misunderstood” can go take his wounded self and whine about it somewhere else. I have a microwave dinner to eat and a bag that I’ve finally reclaimed as my own, so please keep your issues to yourself and don’t burden me. I’m not carrying around your glasses wipes and acetaminophen in my bag anymore! Maybe the real problem is that people do understand you and they don’t like what they see. Ever consider that? Sheesh.
But I don’t blame women for writing and reading that sort of stuff. Honestly … I wrote stuff when I was married that I wouldn’t write now. And today I started writing a story that I would have never been able to write when I was married. That got me thinking about the subtle ways that a writer’s immediate social circle could influence what they write, particularly with heterosexual relationships. I think the question of “What women want” is difficult to separate from, “What women think they should want,” and “What women think men think they should want.” With a fawn response thrown in for good measure. It’s kind of a mess.
I want to make it clear that I actually do really like ACOTAR. I’m not overcome with enjoying the sex stuff, but the dark scenes are delightfully dark. Romance novels tend to have a surprising amount of gore and murder in them. 😆
Last week I dusted off my old flashdrive and read some of the stories that I’ve written, going clear back to 2003. You know what conclusion I ultimately came to?
I liked my writing style better before I got married.
I remember being told over and over that I needed to drop the dreamlike poetic prose because my communication style was too blunt and terse for that to truly be the way I thought. Yet … It actually is the way that I think. I like painting stories as expressions of emotion and atmosphere, not as a technical explanation of events. What I don’t like are heavy visual descriptions, but a metaphor that sends chills down the spine is irresistibly delicious.
And isn’t that what storytelling is supposed to do? Inspire emotion?
I used to draw all the time when I was a teenager, then quit due to circumstances. I’ve recently started drawing again.
However, a big difference between now and 2006 is that AI art exists. If you’ve looked at my past posts, then you have seen that I like AI art … and though going through a divorce and all that put an end to my AI art exploration, I still like it.
So, my latest fascination is giving my sketches of my characters to ChatGPT to improve.
My sketch is bad. Really bad. It makes me laugh every time I see it. I made this sketch in just a few minutes for stress relief when I was having a tough time while being sick. Since I laugh every time I see it, I’d say that stress relief has been accomplished.
And this is ChatGPT’s version. It has anatomy, symmetry, and detail!
Then finally, I asked ChatGPT for a full-blown “glam up” of that drawing. As in I literally used the words, “glam up” and that’s what we got.
I’ve been putting in a lot of serious thought into making a VN. Nothing too ambitious, but I would like to include character sprites, backgrounds, and maybe some simple animations. Since I am one person and a mere mortal, I’m going to be relying on AI heavily for the art. Personally, I’m very excited to use my drawings as the base for the character designs, with the AI doing the time-consuming work of adding color and details. I am still dirt-eating poor after the divorce and all.
In retrospect, I would not recommend the “trad wife” lifestyle to anyone, btw. Just because someone makes all the right promises doesn’t mean that they won’t toss you aside later, and rebuilding with the job experience of a 20-year-old but the expenses of a 40-year-old is no cakewalk. Maybe I’ve said this before, I can’t remember. 😅 But hey, it’s worth saying again.
BUT ANYWAY
I am officially kicking off my VN project. Stage one: character design. Begin.
Today I ate a deli style sandwich with sliced boiled egg instead of meat.
This week has been a battle against ants. A child spilled something sticky in the kitchen a few days ago, and I discovered it after the ants did. After lots and lots of deep cleaning to get all the crumbs (including underneath the oven) and disrupting pheromone trails, the ants decided to spread out through the rest of the house. They did walk all that way for a party, and just because the snacks were gone didn’t mean that they were keen on leaving.
So I put down bait traps and waited a few days.
Ants started climbing up onto the counters, the shelves, the bathroom, the dog … I decided that the bait traps weren’t working and bought spray poison from the grocery store. I did apologize as I sprayed the main ant trail leading toward the house though. There they were, just trying to live their best ant lives, while I’m all, “Die die die,” like a heartless giant.
But I don’t want to live with ants in my everything, and they weren’t taking the bait or going away. I ran out of patience.
Boundaries!
Yeah, I’m kind of writing about ants like they’re an event. I never claimed that I was the most exciting person ever. Or at all. Not that I find this boring, since this has been a fairly epic battle with lots of emotional swings, like hope, despair, and a fierce sense of protectiveness for the bottle of honey. The honey wasn’t going to get contaminated with ants on my watch!
In other news I bought a backpack style carrier for my dog, and he was instantly upgraded from “cute dog” to “weapons-grade cute dog.” I did not anticipate the impact of that fluffy head peaking over my shoulder. 😂 The fact is that I like hiking, and my dog is a terrible companion for solo hikes. He does fine when we have kids along, but when it’s just him and me he constantly freezes up and asks to be carried. It was really killing the joy for me, so I decided that a carrier would be worth it. That style of carrier also makes it easier to take him into the grocery store, because I am one of those people.
With my new carrier, I plan on walking past the wetland just to see what else is out there in the “federally protected mitigation area” I enjoy frequenting. I will take pictures.
I’m experimenting with file sharing between devices and also testing out a new compact keyboard (which mostly feels normal except for some of those middle keys), so I wrote this. Because why learn with boring content when you can exercise your creativity?
This is the same idea that I wrote about here with this concept story, only I like the new names better and I am now more mature as a person. 😆
Also, between you and me, the AI generated picture for this story is hilarious. 🤣
Astra hefted Corin on her back, her eyes locked on the boughs of the pine tree above them. She adjusted the four-year-old’s grip around her neck, but his arms squeezed uncomfortably tight. “Hey,” she whispered. “Let me breathe, will you?” She tugged at his arm again. “I’m going to run to that house over there, so you need to be good for me, okay?”
Corin remained silent and his arms stayed stubbornly in place. Astra glanced towards the house and gave herself permission to briefly feel scared that the front door would be locked despite the broken windows, then her eyes went back to the pine tree branches.
“When They start to move away, that’s when I’ll run. They won’t see us, I promise.” She felt the four-year-old’s face press into her back, so she reached to pat his head. “You know that I’d never let anything bad happen to you, right? We’re going to be okay. They won’t see us.”
The thought that Corin believed and trusted her made Astra feel more certain in herself. She wouldn’t fail him, no matter what – she’d find a way to keep her word and preserve the innocence that had been entrusted into her care. She wouldn’t allow herself any other options.
Besides, Corin’s half-brother wouldn’t forgive her if something happened to the child, and sometimes Astra thought that she was more afraid of him than of Them.
“Okay … Okay …” Astra closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, then her hands clamped Corin’s legs against her sides and she jogged as best as she could towards the house. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the ground to ensure her footing through the overgrown grass, rather than checking the sky to see if They had noticed. The clearing felt impossibly long. Her heart beat harder with the fear that she had made the wrong decision with every footstep, until finally her legs strained as she darted up the steps of the house. The front door opened easily, allowing them into safety.
This is what I originally imagined ages ago when I first came up with CR1515 as a character.
Writing currently feels like scraping the sides of a peanut butter jar — I know there’s enough there for a sandwich, but I sure have to work for it.
Every day was a series of tasks as people with tablets watched and took notes. Cognitive Robot 1515 performed as directed, beginning with following basic orders then progressing to solving challenges and puzzles. Sometimes he worked on mazes, word searches, and Sudoku. Other times he was instructed to perform mundane tasks, like placing a wrapper into a lidded garbage can then taking the entire bag out. Always with people watching, always with tablets.
Early on they had attempted to engage him in conversation, but he hadn’t responded to negative inputs in a satisfactory manner. They had completed an emergency shut down, then their eyes had been glued downwards on their tablets as CR1515 rebooted, and someone muttered about working out the bugs.
From then on, the only words spoken to him were instructions.
But CR1515 was a learning robot, and he was learning about more than the tasks given to him. He listened to them talking to each other, about him, about their homes and families, about their thoughts and emotions. He absorbed every word, then accessed the file at night when he was alone in his charging station to replay it and wonder. The lab was the only world he knew, but they lived somewhere bigger that intrigued him yet seemed too distant to experience himself.
The days began to feel strange, as if the tasks weren’t the main purpose of his existence anymore, as if something else was supposed to happen instead. But what? He was content with each completion, content to silently listen, and content to recharge when the day was through. That indefinable notion that had infiltrated his algorithms had formed a hollow space inside of his circuitry, and he kept its existence silently to himself.
Every day continued to be a series of tasks as people with tablets watched and took notes. He tracked the passage of time with no attachment to the number, and continued to learn.
Since I now have joint custody, I have tons and tons of child-free time for myself, and my house is probably a little excessively clean these days (do I really need to scrub down the walls every week?). I want to kick myself back into the writing habit, and the timing lines up perfectly for NaNoWriMo! Yay!
Which, admittedly, I probably won’t follow the way it’s intended. I am still a mom, and I still have plenty of days of childcare on my plate. Maybe I’ll take 2 months to make up for the 50-50 time division.
Participating in NaNoWriMo also feels like coming full circle, since the last time I gave it a shot I ended up meeting my now-ex-husband, and never finished that story. It’s time for me to reclaim the path I had wanted to journey so many years ago, after all those broken promises and surrendered dreams.
It’s hard to explain the sort of relief I feel, at the thought of planning out an entire month knowing that each day should be more-or-less predictable … or how terrified I am that they won’t be. However, I can’t let fear of what may or may not happen dictate my choices for me, so I might as well plow ahead like everything is going to be boring and stable.
So let’s jump right into the action plan:
I’m going to be continuing Runemaster, rather than coming up with anything new. Maybe it’s cheating that I already have a portion written, but I’m working with the limitations here — what I went through this year is not the sort of stuff that one just “moves on” from. So, rather than inventing anything new from my poor exhausted brain, I’m sticking with characters that are already familiar. Deeply familiar, in this case, considering that I originally created these characters about 20 years ago. Writing this novel will be very emotionally comforting for a number of reasons.
What I can’t decide right now is whether I want to type the story, or handwrite it. I used to always handwrite the first draft with the most colorful pens I own, but who knows if I’m going to want to go through the trouble of typing it up later. Choices, right? LOL
Part of me kind of wishes that my only responsibility was to scrub walls and wash laundry, but I can’t hide behind chores forever. I still have dreams to pursue, goals to accomplish, and a life to rebuild.
NaNoWriMo Day 1: I will write 1000 words.
It will be terrible, rusty, and full of self-doubt, but it will be writing.
Hartmann waited for Carol out on the running track, smiling slightly when she came through the doors and squinted at him through the sunlight. The corporal was still with her, so the first thing that Hartmann did was dismiss the soldier, to ensure that they would be alone. She was nervous as the corporal left, so she bit her lip as her eyes locked onto the ground, and the action made her look younger and more girlish.
He had to find his tongue before he could say, “We’re going to run a mile to start.” It was hard to describe the effect that Carol was having on him. She wasn’t feisty like the women in the military, nor did she try to act sexy like the women at the bar. She was something else … something unfamiliar.
Carol nodded and murmured, “Yes, sir,” with her eyes still pointed downwards. Her hands tightened into fists.
“Relax, I’m under orders to be nice to you.” Hartmann smirked as he added, “And remember to call me master sergeant. I’ll let you off this time because you’re a civilian.”
“Yes, sir … master sergeant.” She glanced up, met his eyes for a split second, then looked away.
“Go on, get moving. It’s four laps around the track.”
Hartmann was silent as they jogged the first lap, giving Carol time to get used to his presence and feel more at ease. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting that it didn’t take long for her to begin breathing heavily, and compensated by slowing down the pace. When they started around the curve again, he said, “I’m sorry for being a dick.”
Carol didn’t reply, but he had expected that.
“Everyone knows I’m a real asshole to be around …” He feigned sheepishness, though inwardly he winced at his own words. He hadn’t even begun to get rough with her when she had jumped into the Suit, and if given the chance he would show her in a heartbeat just how much of a jerk he could be. However, at the moment he had a goal, and he wanted Carol to relax and open up to him. “I especially get a little crazy about the Suit.” That part was true.
He was quiet again, studying her closely, doing his best to read her thoughts through her body language. Her face flitted through a number of micro-expressions, enough to tell him that the inside of her mind was no where near as empty as her exterior, but it was going to take more time to be able to read her accurately.
“Master sergeant,” she said hesitantly as they began their third lap at an even slower pace. “Do you know what the visor is made out of?”
“Not a clue. I’d guess something similar to leaded glass, but I don’t think the minerals used in it came from this planet.” Hartmann stopped and grinned at her. “You noticed, didn’t you.”
“Not while we were inside.” Carol placed her hands on her knees as she huffed. “But when I had the Suit out in the sunlight, it was like seeing the world for the first time.”
“It’s amazing, but it’s something that you’re going to have to get used to. Those new colors have an odd way of swirling together and causing vertigo and nausea once you get moving fast enough. That’s going to matter during combat.”
She looked away. “Am I supposed to go into combat?”
“I’m not cleared for that information. I was told to train you, so that’s what I’m doing.” Hartmann was eyeing Carol up and down again. “In the military, you follow orders without question.”
“I guess that’s something we have in common,” she blurted, then bit her lip shyly as she began walking again.
Hartmann was momentarily lost for words as some sort of electrical shock pulsed through his chest. A feeling started to form inside his throat, then hardened into anger. How dare the cleaning lady suggest that they had any commonality – he was a hero, and she was a nobody. She was only there through some unexplained fluke, because some computer inside the Suit had called her “commander.” If not for that, her place would be in the shadow of his glory, unnoticed as she maintained the Suit for him.
He walked beside her, neither of them bothering with the pretense of jogging, until he regained himself and a quip came to him, “I saw the employee file on you, and it said that you’ve always been the picture of good behavior. I bet your parents loved you for that.”
Carol shrugged. “I guess they would have.”
“Would have?” Hartmann prodded.
“They died when I was three.”
He frowned. Carol didn’t look like the sort who carried childhood trauma, and she had delivered the news so blandly that it would have better suited a conversation about the weather. “How?” he asked, not out curiosity about the answer, but more for the opportunity to gauge her response.
“House fire.” Carol looked over at him and met his eyes. “I nearly died of smoke inhalation as well.”
“That is surprisingly interesting for you.” Hartmann cracked a grin. “I would have guessed that you grew up in some ordinary middle class family, did all of your homework and managed mostly B’s in school, then graduated and decided to twiddle your thumbs until you died.”
She scowled, finally annoyed by something. “No. I grew up in foster care, and got myself emancipated at sixteen. I got a GED instead of graduating, and I’ve been working full time ever since. I am not twiddling my thumbs.” A shadow of doubt crossed over her eyes, as if she was second-guessing what she had said.
“Foster care, huh? Dark place, isn’t it.” For a moment Hartmann felt the impulse to reach over and place his hand against her shoulder, to feel the crook of her neck with his fingers, but he tamped it down and kept his hands by his side.
“I survived.” Her mouth twisted downwards. “By becoming invisible.”
“That explains the great mystery of the cleaning lady,” he said smugly. “I should have guessed there was something tragic lingering behind that pretty face of yours.”
Carol stared at him, her expression blank. Then, abruptly, she began jogging again, her hair bouncing as she pulled ahead. Hartmann picked up the pace as well.
“Since I know that you’re wondering, but are too shy to ask, I grew up in some ordinary middle class family, but I got straight A’s, and was the captain of both the lacrosse and swim teams,” he said conversationally. “Then I enlisted when I was seventeen … to kill people.” Hartmann laughed at the series of expressions that flitted across Carol’s face when she glanced over at him, then added, “I had to get out.”
“Doesn’t sound like it was that bad,” she murmured.
“It wasn’t. It was so normal I was suffocating,” he replied.
Hartmann continued to study Carol, piecing together what he could about her from the small bits that she had told him. There was something off about her, some essential part that was either repressed or incomplete, that enabled her to speak almost monotonously about her past traumas. It intrigued him.
She was skinny, and combined with her lack of stamina, it made him suspect that she was a chronic under-eater, though not out of body-image issues. He’d guess that Carol was completely unaware of herself as a physical being, and probably wasn’t aware of her nervous habits. The way she pulled her teeth slowly across her full, pale pink, bottom lip was sensuous – more so, because of her naivete – and if she had any idea of how it made him think about her mouth, she would stop doing it immediately.
He wondered how she would taste.
After they finished their final lap, he took her to the vending machine and bought an electrolyte drink for her, then debated how much more exercise he should put her through. He liked the sheen of sweat on her forehead, liked the idea of pushing her so hard that her muscles burned, and wanted to make the most of the opportunity that he had been given. The obstacle course was guaranteed to be too hard for her, but he could drill her through calisthenics out on the field for as long as he liked.
She was going to be sore when he was through with her.
