Chapter 8
“Here?”
“Here’s good. The food makes it hotter.” He pulled down my zipper.
“Stop.” He did. “What does us fucking have to do with your Olympic qualifier?”
He sighed and sat back against the stove. “Ow.”
“It’s not that hot.”
“My ass or the stove?”
“We both know which is hotter.” Why was I flirting back? Why was I fighting it? My mother always told me this: “Come up with five good reasons for or against anything that’s making you think too hard. Take only a minute. One list will be way easier, and that’s how you decide.” As I made my mental rundown, I asked for more information. “The qualifier?”
“I can’t have sex for one month before I run in competition.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s training. It’s superstition. What? You never went a month without sex?”
“Oh, I’ve gone a lot longer than that…for no reason…except the obvious.”