Nice Guys Finish Last: An erotic tale

I. At the Gym

This would never be "love". Tris knew that with every ounce of her being. But as she clutched him tight to her breasts, his hungry mouth pulling at her stiffened nipples and his manhood hard against her thigh, she also knew it wouldn't matter. The heat spreading through her core was the only thing that mattered now, here, in this moment.

It had started out at the gym where Tris had bumped into Jason years after they had been on the same account team at Peyton, Inc. She'd barely recognized him-who would correlate that guy sweating buckets on the treadmill next to her with the quiet colleague who rarely joined the after work happy hours and always wore an immaculate suit tailor-made to fit his barrel chest and thick build. It was like seeing somebody at a bar that you only ever see in the changing room naked, but in reverse.

She did a double take when the guy said "Uh, is it Tris?" Jason slowed his treadmill to walking speed and was catching his breath as he tried to strike up a conversation. At first, she prepared her "Don't fucking hit on me at the gym" face, then she shifted into a genuine smile of recognition. A smile, she realized as it bloomed, which was not the same smile of Junior League and Bridge Club but instead a sweet expression that had become almost as forgotten to her as the man in front of her had been.

"Yes, and you're-" she thought for a moment, "Jason, right? From back at Peyton?"

He smiled back, his breath now steady as he cooled down. "Yep; in fact I'm still there."

Not a surprise. Peyton could suck you in and spit you out, but some people managed to find a niche and ride it out on their terms, or just drink the Kool Aid and join the fray full throttle until they bled out or winded up in rehab. Tris wondered which side Jason had landed on, given that he was still there years after she'd left.

"What are you doing these days?" Her own treadmill was about to hit the next pre-programmed speed burst, so she hoped his story would be quick and then she could get on with it.

"Oh, I'm in Ted's group now. You probably remember, the guy who-"

"-had that thing with the goat." Tris finished the thought almost reflexively. She laughed as Jason smirked a slow grin. Then his treadmill slowed, stopped, and he hopped off.

"Hey, it was good to see you-are you here a lot?"

"Just enough to feel less guilty about the martinis we drink in my book club." The comment fell a little flat and Jason looked a little nonplussed. "About three days a week," she clarified lamely. Would the damn machine just speed up already?

"Cool, well, I'll see you around. Have a great workout." He turned and headed for the locker room.

"Yeah, good to see you too," she called out, and realized that she actually meant it. He waved over his shoulder and she turned back to focus on her machine.

It's odd, she thought, but it was really good to see him. But something had been a little off.

Then it hit her. He'd actually been talking to her at the gym, while she was on a treadmill sweating in body-hugging spandex and a snug sports bra, but he'd never once looked at her boobs.

The the next level kicked and the belt sped up under her. She didn't have the energy to think about that and push herself to keep up with the infernal machine as it punished her for being slow and out of shape.

"But that's not true," Jason protested at a later encounter, one of the ones before she got the nerve to kiss him. "I definitely noticed your boobs. And, after you started running, I was pretty entranced by your backside in those black running tights."

It was said lightly, but Tris blushed and wondered why. She was three drinks in on what was supposed to be a quick after-work coffee meet-up with her former colleague. Not a date. Tris now knew he was expected home by his fiancee (a woman, he'd clarified when she joking asked if marrying another man was why he hadn't stared at her chest). She was needed at home too, but Brian knew that she sometimes got together with girlfriends for drinks. While he would probably sulk a little if she was home too late and he had to actually do something for the kids that cut into his ESPN time, she'd long since given up trying to be the Stepford wife he seemed to want at his side.

They'd bumped into each other again in the parking lot of the gym a few weeks after that first encounter, and it had been Jason who suggested that they grab a coffee some time and catch up. He'd seemed surprised when she had agreed, and, if Tris was honest with herself, so was she.

Now, this was the second time they had met up at a local cafe near the gym. Jason was drinking a horrid drink made of dark-roast drip coffee and a double shot of espresso, but after the fight she'd had with Brian the night before Tris decided coffee wasn't going to cut it for her. What she wanted was whiskey. A lot of it. And then maybe something stronger to really blow out the cobwebs. But what she ordered was chablis. A safe, suburban mother-out-on-the-town option that felt as fake in her hand as the (very real, and very expensive) pearls felt around her neck.

They had been discussing their lives after Tris had left the company. Her marriage into a prominent church family of some political power in the town, and his own impending nuptials. That's when she'd dropped the comment that she'd thought maybe he had joined the other sexual team, given that he'd ignored her body during their first chat.
Blame the chablis. At least he was good natured about it.

After clearing that up, Jason checked his watch and groaned. "I've gotta go. Duty calls."

Ah yes, she remembered this version of Jason. Nobody ever met his girlfriend (now bride to be, she reminded herself), but he always seemed to be on call for her, or doing something because she needed it.

Tris stood up, slightly unsteady. "I should go too."

Jason looked skeptical. "Um, maybe you should just hang out a bit; have something to eat before you try to drive."
It was very nice of him to think about her welfare. But she smirked a little in her mind; if only he had known her in college, he'd know that a couple of glasses of wine wouldn't even come close to stopping her from driving if she wanted.

"No, I'm fine, really." He still looked doubtful. "Look," she added, "Walk me to my car and you'll see."

He followed her out, and this time Tris smiled to herself, knowing that he was indeed probably checking out her backside as they approached the Cadillac Brian insisted she drive. "An all-American car for my all-American wife" as he'd described it.

When she fished her keys out of her purse, Tris was glad to note that her hands were steady and Jason would see that she didn't need babysitting. After opening the car door, she turned to say goodbye and stepped on Jason's foot-she hadn't realized how close to her he had gotten. She felt her face flush as he grimaced and hopped back. Her heart rate seemed to be going up as well-was this more than just embarrassment at her own awkwardness?

Don't be stupid, she told herself as she held out her hand to shake Jason's but found she couldn't meet his eyes. He's not even remotely my type.

But she still felt her pulse fluttering a little faster

Blame the Chablis, she ferverently wished, and headed home to her big house in the best part of town.