Run to Love (Triple R Book 1)

by Dixon,Jules

  “Wanna go to lunch?” He smartly changed the subject.

  “Only if you’re buying, little brother.”

  After he showered and put on more than lounge pants, we drove to Petrow’s for delicious burgers with combo onion rings/fries and chocolate shakes. I didn’t eat like this every day, but my brother did.

  Zane inherited Mom’s incredible metabolism. Plus, his all-night workouts with the wonder twins probably burned whatever extra calories he consumed during the day. He was an avid soccer player during the summer, and quickness was a benefit to staying trim. He accomplished whatever fitness goals he had in our home gym in the basement. I tried the machine. Didn’t hate it. Just preferred the Triple R atmosphere.

  I worked hard to maintain my chiseled body. Zane liked his leaner—a personal choice that I supported as long as he was healthy about it, but eating this greasy, albeit delicious, crap every day was a ticket to cardiac problems. That said, I was far from obsessive about my own body. I didn’t ingest a protein/supplement shake for every meal, and I didn’t cut and bulk like competitive bodybuilders. I stayed healthy with reasonable nutrition and smart training.

  When we arrived back at the duplex, we spent time cleaning up the yard. It had been a long winter, and as far as I could tell, Zane hadn’t made an effort on the yard the last two years he owned the place. My brother was less than thrilled with my suggestion to get the work done, but he didn’t complain.

  After we finished, we sat in the living room watching DVR-recorded comedy shows.

  “A, a, a, a, a … b, b, b, b … c, c, c, c…” Zane imitated the gut-busting instructions to improve his oral skills in the bedroom.

  “Shape up, Saylor! Vaginas deserve respect!” I added.

  “That’s ‘cause penises is easy and vaginas is hard.” We both cracked up.

  We watched several more episodes to pass the time and entertain our inner immature teenage boys. Our dad had raised us right and the immaturity would cease quickly, but it was still entertaining to let go with Zane. I’d never tell the pain in my ass, but I’d missed him.

  After making and sharing dinner, I packed a bag with a robe and flip-flops.

  “Have fun, bro. Don’t get too excited,” Zane quipped as I left through the front door.

  I flipped him the bird and slammed the door. Had to admit, I was a little nervous. Maybe that is a good thing in this case.

  As I entered my black Ford F-150 XLT, the girls from next door, Yori and Britney, walked down their steps and across the driveway for their nightly Zane visit. Yori was an Asian-American woman in her early twenties, a petite beauty at 5’1”, with perfectly shaped, classic red-rose lips and dark, shiny, chin-length hair. Britney had long, wavy chestnut-brown hair with big brown doe-eyes. She was at least 5’8”, an All-American cowgirl in her mid-twenties. They made an interesting duo. As long as my brother was happy with the attractive grouping, I would stay out of whatever it was that was going on.

  “Hey, Jude, have fun tonight,” Yori yelled with a shit-eating grin when I rolled down my window. Her sister Simi probably had talked to her.

  “Thanks, Yori. Don’t have too much fun with my brother. He’s starting to look like he’s dehydrated from fluid loss.”

  She laughed. “I think it’s only movie night, so the poor baby can recover.”

  “I never agreed to that,” Britney said, stomping her boots across the concrete.

  Yori sent her an annoyed headshake. Trouble in paradise?

  “Good night, ladies.” I didn’t want to know anything more.

  “Night,” they both said as I leaned back into my truck and headed off to show what genetics and years of training had blessed me with.

  ****

  Presley

  My morning started with semi-disappointment. No Jude sighting at the gym. After last night’s amazing semi-pornographic use of his image to get myself off, I could have used a little inspirational reminder of his handsome face. It was almost like I missed him.

  You barely know him.

  Emerson worked out before she started her queen-bitch shift at the front desk. In the locker room, I heard her talking to another gym member about her plans for the weekend. Because I had no life, I listened in on hers.

  “You know the hot new trainer?” Her voice was what I imagined a Barbie doll’s would sound like.

  Please, don’t let it be Jude.

  “You mean Mr. Fuck-me-eyes?” The other blonde adjusted her boobs in the mirror.

  Probably Jude.

  “Yeah. Well, I’m meeting him for a drink on Friday, and before breakfast the next morning I’m going to find out what size man missile he’s hiding under those gym shorts.”

  I rolled my eyes at her vulgar comment but quickly fantasized about what hidden treasure might await a lucky lady. I bet his manhood epitomized perfect. Long, but not excessive or porn length, and he’d know how to work what he had. Veiny like the rest of his body, and probably warm like his touch. I imagined the rim of the head bulged like a mushroom and was ready to rub on a G-spot to give the ultimate in pleasure. I am already hornier than last night … lovely!

  Compared to Emerson, there was no way Jude would ever see anything in me. She was beautiful, and I was … just Presley. Always a crisis away from overeating or becoming a couch potato. If I settled for having Jude as my trainer and enjoyed mind-numbingly fantastic Jude-based fantasies until I came across the next guy who found me tolerable, it had to be enough. That had to be enough because believing I could be more to Jude was a different kind of fantasy. It was a delusion.

  I stopped off to pick up an arrangement of fruit dipped in chocolate for the front desk staff at the auto mall. They giggled with happiness when I delivered the treat. From that point on, like a nitro-boosted car, the day ran super fast. I finally got ahold of two out of three other referrals from yesterday, and there was another slip on my desk when I returned from a late afternoon meal. That tasty fruit always did the job.

  To my benefit, Drexel had done nothing to endear himself today. He called both of the phone receptionists by the wrong name in front of me. At the same time! It’s Jillian, not Jill, and Avery, not Ava. You self-centered jerk! They rolled their eyes when he turned away and we giggled like schoolgirls. I made three test-drive appointments for the next day. An hour before closing, the Camry couple from the day before rolled back into the dealership and in a surprise move paid cash for the vehicle and the sale closed successfully.

  GM Charlie met me on the showroom floor. “Excellent month, Presley.”

  “Thanks, Charlie.”

  “You do know with only one day left in the month, you’re only five closed sales from overtaking Drexel, right?”

  I spun my head to face him. “What?”

  “He’s had a pretty good month, but you’ve been keeping him on his toes every day.”

  And two of those sales technically should have been mine, so I would be only three down.

  “I’m doing my best.”

  “I know, and someday soon you’ll be on top. I can just imagine it. You can do it, Presley.”

  Charlie always quietly cheered for me. I questioned what he thought about Drexel as a person, but since Drexel knew how to sell cars, Charlie put up with his childish behavior.

  “Why don’t you head out? Only ten minutes left for the day and I know you have your class to get to.” He gave a head jerk toward the front door.

  “Thanks, Charlie!” I was mentally ready to go so I physically moved away before he could take the offer back. Not that he ever would.

  After changing my clothes into jeans and a baby blue screen-print t-shirt with sneakers, I made the short trip across town to the local West Omaha art studio, Graphite and Acrylic. I participated in a sketching class to keep up on my art skills. Hadn’t looked at the online schedule for tonight, but I hoped for something other than a bowl of fruit. Nothing was more boring than sketching a bowl of fruit.

  My love life is.

  I arrived earl
y and wasted no time setting up my easel with a large sketchpad, arranging my graphite sketching pencils by tip size in the container. Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement at the front of the class, but in my effort to look around the cumbersome easel, I clipped my pad with my elbow and the already precariously balanced spiral-bound paper started to tumble to the floor. I scrambled to keep everything from crashing to the ground and missed what our instructor, Simi, said.

  After adjusting the paper back to its original place, I watched my friend Edwyn’s eyes pop wide open, and he produced an audible soft gasp. I’d sold him and his partner a fuel-efficient used Prius last year.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Um … yum.” He extended the m on yum until I giggled, but he didn’t take his eyes off the sketching subject matter.

  “More fruit?” I chuckled as he shook his head slowly.

  I glanced around my large sketchpad and after my brain registered what was at the front of the room, I let go of a sexually frustrated sound that should have embarrassed me, but at this point, who the hell cared!

  I do.

  Standing at the front of the class—nude, full-frontal, buck naked, butt naked, stark naked, in a birthday suit, unclothed, bare, in the buff, au naturel, in the raw, leafless, without a stitch of clothing—was Jude!

  I moved back behind my sketchpad and blushed every pink and red color creatable on an artist’s palette.

  “What?” Edwyn started his sketch. His eyes darted between the subject and the white paper.

  “I know him!” I replied in a frantic whisper.

  “Awkward.” He tipped his head at me. “I’m sure he’s a professional. Now professional what, I’d be interested in knowing. I’d be up for a threesome with that tasty piece of man-candy. Even if I had to pay for it.” His eyes bugged out of his head.

  “Ed! He’s not a gigolo! He’s my personal trainer.”

  “Well, he can personally train me any day.” His words dripped with sensuality. Edwyn was always so straightlaced, he never acted like this. Frankly, I liked it.

  “Jeez, Ed!” I returned with fake disgust and a genuine smile.

  We both giggled behind our sketching pads.

  “Okay, I can do this.” I psyched myself up. “If he can be a professional model, I can act like a professional artist.” Or at the very least I’ll try.

  I leaned slightly to take in the amazing male at the front of the room, hoping my placement at the back hid me from his sightlines. I put lead to paper, and in moments, I was sketching like a crazy woman, the graphite pencils flying like they were possessed. The vision of Jude’s sinewy and flawless body scorched into my brain. Any fantasy I could’ve concocted about his physique was woefully misguided. He was a hundred times better in real life. One thousand times better.

  Every muscle deserved flawless representation on the paper, and his man parts—although not explicitly porn-sized—complemented him in proportion. They were a specimen of male I’d never seen before, not that I’d seen a wide variety. Three. That was the breadth of my knowledge. Jude was all man down there, trimmed man, covered in a fine mesh of curly, sable brown hair, and his testicles dropped like two weighted golf balls. His penis curved perfectly, the pink tissue caressing against his sack like it was in the most comfortable place ever.

  Before the hour of class ended, I’d downed three bottles of water because the tense and anxiety-riddled situation had me sweating like a high school slut at confessional.

  Edwyn leaned over. “You okay, gorgeous?”

  “Just overwhelmed.”

  “I can relate.” Edwyn examined my sketch. “Holy crap, Presley, that’s amazing!”

  I scrutinized the drawing and swallowed hard while a bead of sweat trickled down my temple. It was my best work. What I’d created was almost a line for line, shape for shape, curve for curve exact replica of the original human work of art.

  “Thanks.”

  I flipped the sketchpad to cover my efforts and packed my supplies, hoping to hightail out of the room through the back door and straight to the bathroom and avoid talking to the man whose mental image I’d masturbated to last night. The thought mortified me to the molecular level. In my efforts to pack up, I became oblivious to everything else happening around me, until a deep voice weakened my knees.

  “Hi, Presley.”

  Squatting at my art bag, I mumbled a choice curse word and stood. “Hello, Jude.”

  “Um, so you’re an artist?” He adjusted his black robe and retied the long sash.

  “Yeah, as a hobby. Nothing da Vinci or Matisse would be proud of, that’s for sure.” I cringed as my bladder spasmed.

  His brow furrowed. “Well, just wanted to say hello. I’ll see you on Friday at five a.m., bright and early.”

  “I’ll be there. Have a good night, Jude.”

  “Thanks. Bye, Presley.”

  The last smile he flashed qualified as heavenly and a memory that would probably keep me up tonight. My legs failed to move past the doorway, so I waited for him to brush ahead of me before I turned to run to the women’s bathroom.

  ****

  Jude

  After changing in the men’s bathroom stall, which was only big enough for a leprechaun, I splashed cold water on my face. My first time posing as a nude model, and although my horizontally oriented and absolutely-lacking-any-body-consciousness younger brother would probably be a better choice, I assumed he suggested my name because of his rotating work schedule, but maybe one of the girls had nixed the idea, too. I didn’t know if they had that kind of pull in his life or not.

  I didn’t mind the posing, but I didn’t realize Presley would be in the class. Watching her penetrating green eyes flash from behind that white sketchpad, teasing me every time I glanced her way, was enough to get the heavy-hanging weight lifter to start pumping up from his inert position. By sheer will alone, I kept him lifeless. I brought every penis-deflating baseball-like meditation to the forefront of my thoughts, instead of the wicked dreams I’d had for the last two nights about both normal and depraved sexual positions I wanted to see Presley contorted in, watching her coming undone under me and with me. The visions are killing me … slowly.

  I collected my bag and walked out of the bathroom, not remembering which way the front door was. Before I had time to react to the wrong choice of direction, my body slammed into someone. I recognized a female gasp and the clatter of a bag, purse, and paper hitting the tile floor of the hallway.

  “Shit!” I grabbed for the person, hoping to at least save her from following her belongings to the floor.

  As I regained composure, I realized I was body to body with the apparition of my dreams. One hand grasped Presley’s toned upper arm and the other slid around her waist, keeping our bodies pressed firmly to one another. Her slightly upturned nose rested against the bare opening in my black V-neck t-shirt.

  I swear she just drew in a long breath … of me.

  “Sorry.” I glanced down to the top of her head. Moving my hand from her arm, I brushed a piece of hair that chaotically sprawled across her forehead. She shivered at my touch. I rested the hand behind her neck and moved the other hand up her toned back.

  Presley’s face came up. Our gazes met, and her green orbs softened as her mouth opened in a soft O shape. I held her snugly against me for a few more seconds until I grasped the disturbing fact that the weight lifter had started pumping iron. Dropping my hands, I stepped back to keep her from being accosted by the part of me that found an incredibly awkward time to exercise his repressed will through my shorts.

  I cleared my throat. “Sorry, Presley.”

  I squatted to pick up the items that were scattered at our feet, stopping when I came to the flipped-open sketchpad. I couldn’t help but stare at the drawing. It was a photograph-perfect illustration of me.

  “This is incredible, Presley.” Looking up from my crouching position, I added, “I’d love to have a copy.”

  She dropped down to my level with
a soft cotton-candy pink blush tinting her cheeks. She closed the sketchpad. “Thanks, Jude. I’ll … I’ll have to think about it. I normally don’t share my artwork with anyone. Sorry.”

  I handed over her purse and our hands collided, her delicate fingers resting against my larger ones. Our eyes connected again, and I couldn’t help myself. Balancing ape-like on the knuckles of one hand, I leaned forward to her. Presley’s eyes widened as my lips set on a mission to be on hers. Her hot steamy breath intimately interlaced with mine. We were only a hair’s distance from touching when she heaved her personal items to her body, stood, and dashed around me.

  I stood and watched her scurry across the entry to the front doors. I walked toward her. She turned and used her cute ass to push the door open and backed out of the building. “Have a good night, Jude. See you Friday morning. Bye.” Her eyes flashed from my eyes to my crotch and back again.

  Our eyes united intimately one last time.

  “Bye, Presley.” I brushed past her. “Was really nice running into you.”

  Chapter Five

  Presley

  The fact that I got no sleep last night shouldn’t surprise me. The fact that I didn’t masturbate to relieve the tension and encourage relaxation should. Running into Jude, or colliding like a wrecking ball into his firm but incredibly warm body, kept my brain dashing a mile a minute, every moment replayed over and over. When we were picking up my dropped items, I’d swear he was leaning in to kiss me, until I’d looked in the mirror at home and saw graphite smudged all over my nose. He was probably going to wipe the smudges away in disgust.

  It was the last day of the month at the auto mall. I was determined to get as close to Drexel’s sold tally as I could. I wore my best pantsuit, straightened my already straight hair, applied a little makeup, and chose sensible heels, ones that would allow me to move swiftly to any walk-ins that entered the dealership. Onsite, I reviewed my calendar and rechecked that I had the three test-drive appointments set up and all possible car prep was finished. All three requested vehicles were waiting around the corner to be driven to a spot in front. Only varsity parking for my clients. I was pulling out all the stops today.