No way. He can wait in the lobby.

Among the many reasons you broke up stands foremost his attitude to women. Depreciative, aggressive, pretentious, unless he's trying to worm his way into the pants of some poor hapless target. Someone like you once were. That "joke" was a reminder of the weeks upon weeks you put up with his "hilarious remarks" and, let's be real, the many clues of his philandering.

Besides, you're not stupid. If he's here, it's not by generosity. He clearly hopes, and maybe even expects, to get laid again.

"No, I don't think so, Brad. I *used* to trust you." You stress out the word like a sharpened knife. "I'll only be a minute, meet you in the lobby". And you close the door to his startled face.

You quickly drop the towel and put on some opaque leggings, a sports bra, boys briefs and a black tee, top it off with a warm sweater and jump into your old black sneakers. If you were trying to make yourself unattractive, it wouldn't be a bad way... if you did not end up looking fabulous due to your age and healthy, sportive figure. Dressed in all blacks, you might as well be getting ready for a kill, 007-style.

Truly, it's only minutes before you join Brad in the lobby. If the receptionist was young, hot, or even simply female, he probably would be flirting with her, but old Robert is not a target to him, and Brad's sitting in an armchair, looking an uncharacteristic mix of dejected and sulking. As soon as he picks you up approaching, from the corner of his eye, his demeanour changes utterly. It's fascinating to observe, from a purely scientific point of view, you think to yourself. It's like he's running a radar sweep and responds instantly to any potential detection. Standing up and beaming a dominant smile, he projects total confidence in his abilities. His shoulders squared, his back straight, chin up, hips locked, his large cock obvious under the tight fabric of his designer pants... Jesus Christ, you're doing it again. And you're almost certain the sneer is back on his lips. You dig your nails in your palm to not blush and give your new slip away.

"Well, honey, you took your time. Ah, well, you're a woman, and a damn fine one." His eyes travel your body again.

You don't even know where to start in order to shut him down. The guy's some piece of work, isn't he? You settle down on a basic answer.

"My name's Jenny to you."

"Sure thing, babe. Let's get things going, then, *Jenny*." He's pushing it. Babe? And "things going"... You know what he means. His confidence is exasperating. He's almost plain telling you he's going to fuck you again with that big. Fuck this. You're doing it once more, but this time you caught it in time. You're not interested. You're fully satisfied with the sex with Jake, you're totally happy in your relationship, and you have absolutely no reason to show any sign of attraction to this *tool*. Bad choice of word. This idiot. You're absolutely not attracted to him anymore.