Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,35
on the stool.
“You know the drill,” I say.
He accepts the mug and brings it to his lips. “Ahhh. Smells so good.” He takes a small sip. “You can make coffee for me any morning.”
Then he seems to catch himself. “If I have an appointment, of course.”
I’ve put him off. I need to land somewhere in between the outrageous flirting we were doing in the early sessions, and the extreme version where I try to play it safe.
“What’s on your schedule this morning?” I ask.
“After this, I meet Franklin for a mega breakfast. Then we will part ways, and I’ll go back home and pack everything I need for the day. My prejudging’s two hours later than his.”
“I’m doing a tan on Franklin during that gap.”
Max grimaces. “You going to say anything about me?”
“No way. But I look forward to seeing you at lunch.”
He takes another sip of coffee and lifts his gaze to meet mine. “That’s going to be the highlight of my day.”
Okay, I haven’t totally blown it. I punch his shoulder. “You might win the whole thing. The next level gets you in range for a pro card.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine in a million years that will happen. I don’t even know what I would do with the pro card. That’s a big traveling circuit, isn’t it?”
I set my coffee mug on the counter and pick up a tube of moisturizer. Time to get started. “It can be. At that point, you choose which competitions you want to apply for, and they accept you or not. Sometimes they reach out to you with an invitation. But you can always turn it down.”
“I’ve got a lot to learn.”
“Plenty of time to figure it out.”
He tips the cup and downs the rest of his coffee. “That was delicious. It’ll get me through the next few hours.”
“I’m sorry you have to dehydrate yourself. But you look good.” I press my finger along his muscles. His veins have already begun to visibly pop out, which is exactly what you want on competition day.
“I’m a little flat. But I haven’t eaten or pumped. That will come.”
“It’s good to be flat for the tan,” I say. “So when you stretch out, everything will be a nice even color.”
I walk around him, moisturizing everything lightly and evenly. I find no rough patches. Our extra attention has paid off.
“Let’s step in the tent. I’ll spray you, and then we’ll come over here and I’ll finish out your face.”
“Sounds good.”
I follow him over to the tent. The spray takes only a few minutes, and as he dries beneath the fan I arrange the creams.
“I might touch you up when I see you for lunch, if that’s okay. On the house.”
“I’d love that,” he says. “But I’m happy to pay.”
“We’ll see.” I dab dots of color along his cheekbones and spread them with a sponge. It’s a high reach for me, and as soon as he’s dry, I drag the stool over to make it easier.
“What all will you eat for breakfast?” I ask. The bodybuilders love to talk about the food they consume on competition day. It’s a feast after months of famine.
“So much French toast. So many pancakes. All the hash browns. I might even pick up a cheeseburger on the way.” He closes his eyes and rubs his belly.
I laugh. “You make it sound better than sex.”
His eyes pop open. “No way.” His voice rumbles as he says it, and I can feel it all the way to my core.
“I can’t wait to hear how you do.”
I take a step back to see if I have gotten everything perfectly even, and he reaches out to grasp my wrist.
“I know you want to be at the final show at the open, to see your clients. But if you can make it over to mine, it would mean a lot.”
Wow. He’s really asking.
“I don’t have to stay for the whole open. No one expects it. It’s a courtesy.”
“So, you’ll come?” His face is so full of hope, I could never turn him down.
“I’ll come.”
He squeezes my hand. “Thank you. So how are we doing? Am I acceptable?”
“Stand up and let’s take a final look.”
I walk around him, checking out every inch. Ankles. Thighs. Back. Shoulders. Neck. Face. Tan. Dry. Perfect.
“You’re stunning,” I say. “You’re going to bring this competition to its knees.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I don’t know if it’s because he’s thirsty, or if it’s because of the way I’ve