Midnight Encounters

A Warning Encounter

Chapter Ten: A Warning Encounter

Now that I finally knew his name, it seemed even weirder to go down to the gym in the middle of the night and spy on him. Even though there wasn’t any sort of relationship between us—hell, I didn’t even know if we were acquaintances!—the fact that I had a name to this gloriously naked man didn’t sit so well in my head.

Kate tells me I should casually go down there; that I should pretend I had never seen him workout naked—or masturbated along with him, although she didn’t quite know that—and that I too have a midnight-workout regime.

What a load of bull. Maybe I also coincidentally like to work out naked.

With him, any day.

I parade around my apartment, cleaning things up, rearranging things, and prepping what I was going to cook for dinner, as the radio quietly sounds in the background.

There was finally a stock of fresh, non-frozen food in my refrigerator, and I was more than excited to finally use the spotless stove.

Bending down to pick up a stray pair of socks on the ground, I find that it’s extremely uncomfortable to do so with tight pants on. A fleeting thought flashes through my mind: I’m not having any visitors today… right? Right. And so then I tug the pants off, gathering them, along with my socks, in my arms, and head towards my room to toss them in the laundry hamper.

Hmm… Lasagna sounds good.

I smile to myself, pulling out a cookbook and piling all the different ingredients on one of the counters. A particular song comes up on the radio and my hand automatically moves towards the device to turn it up.

My hips move as I cook, and I grab a glass casserole dish from a cabinet just as the front door opens.

“Fùcking hell, where the fùck are your pants woman?!”

I tense at the intruders voice, before realizing it was only Kate, and I go back to my cooking-dancing-routine. “Laundry!” I sing out in between lyrics.

“Why aren’t you wearing them?” she retorts, her hands on her hips.

“Umm… No-pants-Monday?”

Kate shrugs, pulling down her own pants and heading over to the living room, where she plops herself on a couch. “Sounds good to me. What are you making?”

I stuff some of the tomato sauce in my mouth to try it, licking my lips after I’m done testing. “Lasagna—and yes, you may have some.”

She grins from her spot on the couch. “Awesome.” I swear, sometimes I feel like Kate is my long-lost sister rather than my best friend.

The lasagna is done in about twenty minutes and we eat it in less.

“Mm… I am so… full…” I mumble out, rubbing my full belly.

Kate, who’s on her third serving, mind you, sits with perfect posture in her chair, not a drop of tomato sauce on her face. Her eyes twinkle mischievously, and I tense, waiting for what she was about to say. “If I were to rate the lasagna… I’d describe it as òrgasmic,” she giggles.

My face heats up, first remembering the events from earlier this morning, before they stray to the gutter, making my cheeks flare even more. “Well I’m stuffed,” I say, in attempt to change the subject. But the glimmer in her eyes tells me that she’s not quite done with her tormenting just yet.

“Maybe you should head down for a workout later… preferably around midnight? Even better, in your birthday suit?”

I cover my ears with both of my hands in attempt to mute her voice. “Shut up, just shut up! I can’t hear you, blah blah blah!”