Her coach

“Your coach, so you’d think I would be informed when my star athlete wants to put in some extra hours in the gym.”

“Sorry, Coach,” She said, smiling in a way that indicated that she was in no way sorry, “But I really want to get ready for my next fight, and whenever I want to train after-hours, you tell me-”

“That you work hard enough during the day, and all this extra training by yourself is a great way to get an injury.” I sighed, as if we’d had this conversation a hundred times.

“Well,” She said, turning to face me directly, “You’re here now. So…”

“So I can turn out the lights, lock up, and drive you home?” I offered.

“So you can make sure I’m not going to injure myself, and I can get in an extra hour or two.” She corrected, “It’s a win-win!”

“Fuck,” I grumbled “One hour. Sixty minutes. Then you’re getting out of those clothes and into the showers, if I have to drag you there myself.”

Ashley bounced in place with excitement, her pert breasts managing a little bit of bounce despite her sports bra. “Thanks, Coach, you’re the best.”

“Yeah yeah,” I said, trying not to smile, “Just don’t make me regret this.”