On the Rocks

Love Lies Beneath - Preview Excerpt, Chapter One

It's Said

That every soul enters
this world an immaculate slate awaiting the imprint
of parent and teacher,
the scribbling of providence.

But no truth is absolute.

More often than supposed, a mind is born defective, hairline fractures
spidering the native psyche, flaws invisible to the eye.

Some cracks can't be mortared.

As gyms go, this one is exceptionally clean. Hardwood gleams beneath the December sun flurrying down through the fog-misted skylight, and the place smells more like floor polish than the afternoon regulars' liberal drips of sweat. Even the Pilates mats manage to shed the odor of perspiration, and that pleases me. I prefer to inhale the scent of exertion only during coition.

Coition. Good word. Appears before "coitus" in the dictionary, and though they mean the same thing, the softer "shun" sounds chicer than the "tus" to my ear. Not that class is requisite to the act itself, but in conversation, tone is everything.

"Tara! Concentrate. Your form is terrible. Straighten your back. Lift your chest."

I do as instructed but complain, "Squats stink. And anyway, I thought you appreciated my form."

Nick slinks closer, bends to lower his face close to mine, and I wait for his tongue to tease the pulse beneath my ear. Instead, he slaps my behind, hard enough to sting. "You told me your goal is perfection. You're not there yet." His words slap sharper than the gesture. "That's why you need me."

Honestly, most personal trainers could accomplish the task. I've handpicked a half dozen over the years, trying them on for size, so to speak. I've kept Nick the longest because of ability above and be- yond, not to mention outside of the gym.

I do enjoy specialized service, and Nick has exceptional talents. Still, he has bruised my ego.

"I don't need you at all, Mr. de la Rosa. In fact, I think we're finished . . ." The look on his face is priceless. I'm an excellent tipper.

"With squats and thrusts and weights, at least for today. As for the postworkout workout, give me thirty to shower and I'll meet you out front."

"You are a wicked, wicked woman. Almost scary, in fact." "Almost? You underestimate me, sir."
Our little exchange did not go unnoticed, and envious eyes fol-

low my retreat toward the women's shower room. That's correct, ladies. He and I are doing the filthy, and you're right to be jealous. What Nick de la Rosa may lack in discretionary income, he more than makes up for in carnal creativity. Who needs to go out when one can have so much fun staying in, playing doctor?