up to the free-weight rack, Chet deposited the weights he had been using and walked over to the employee.
"Hey, Chuck," Chet said sotto voce, "do you know that chick using the pectoral machine?"
Chuck craned his neck to see around Chet. "The looker? The one with the pixie face and a body to beat the band?"
"That's the one."
"Yeah, I know her. I mean, I know her name, since she comes in here all the time, and I happened to sign her up for membership."
"What's her name?"
"Jasmine Rakoczi, but she goes by Jazz. Quite a body, wouldn't you say?"
"One of the best," Chet admitted. "What kind of name is 'Rakoczi'?"
"It's funny you should ask, because I asked the same thing when she joined. She said it was Hungarian."
"Is she tight with anybody that you know?"
"I've no idea. But I can tell you she's a pistol. She drives around in a black Hummer. I should warn you: She doesn't do much socializing, at least not around here. Are you thinking of trying to make a move?"
"I'm thinking about it," Chet offered casually. He turned around to look at Jazz working her pectorals. She wasn't fooling around. Perspiration glistened like little diamonds on her tanned forehead.
"Five bucks says you can't get to first base."
Chet turned around to look back at Chuck. A wry smile appeared on Chet's face.
Getting paid for what he wanted to do was a good incentive to overcome his hesitation.
"You're on!"
Back at the free-weight rack, Chet lifted off several more weights. He was now committed to approach Jazz, but it wasn't without a certain amount of anxiety, especially with the daunting tidbits he'd learned from Chuck. In truth, Chet was not quite as bold as he liked to portray himself.
While standing in front of the mirror, doing curls with the free weights, Chet tried to think of some way to approach the woman that would leave him an out if he needed it.
Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything clever, and fearing she might suddenly finish and disappear into the women's locker room, he made his move.
In reality, it wasn't much of a "move" at all. He merely walked over when he thought she was almost done with her current machine. By now, his mouth was dry and his heart was thumping in his chest. Encouragingly, he managed to time his approach just about right. As he stepped in front of her, she stopped her repetitions and took her arms off the machine's grips. Taking the towel from around her neck, she wiped off her forehead using both hands, covering her face and breathing deeply from exertion.
"Hi, Jazz!" Chet said cheerfully, trusting she'd be instantly curious how he knew her name.
Jazz didn't respond except to slowly lower the towel to progressively reveal her features. She skewered Chet with her burnt umber, deeply set eyes. Up close, she wasn't pixie-like. Beneath a helmet of dark hair that was damp from her workout, her features had a hint of the exotic. What Chet had thought was tan was naturally dark skin that made her teeth appear particularly white. Her eyes were slightly almond-shaped, and her nose had an almost imperceptible aquiline bend. All this would have been acceptable to Chet, except for the mildly hollow cheeks and her expression. Those cheeks made her look mean, while her expression was intimidatingly brazen, like those he'd seen in photographic portraits of marine recruits.
Chet wasn't encouraged, especially when Jazz didn't respond.
"I thought maybe I'd introduce myself," Chet said, trying to maintain nonchalance, which was difficult, considering her stare. The free weights were also bothering him, dragging down his shoulders. Chet had taken some heavy ones in the hope of impressing this well-muscled woman. Besides her nipples, he could even see her well-defined abs beneath her spandex.
Jazz still did not respond. She didn't even blink.
"I'm Dr. Chet McGovern," Chet added. He used his doctor status as a trump card in his approach to meeting women, although he never mentioned what kind of doctor unless
"Hey, Chuck," Chet said sotto voce, "do you know that chick using the pectoral machine?"
Chuck craned his neck to see around Chet. "The looker? The one with the pixie face and a body to beat the band?"
"That's the one."
"Yeah, I know her. I mean, I know her name, since she comes in here all the time, and I happened to sign her up for membership."
"What's her name?"
"Jasmine Rakoczi, but she goes by Jazz. Quite a body, wouldn't you say?"
"One of the best," Chet admitted. "What kind of name is 'Rakoczi'?"
"It's funny you should ask, because I asked the same thing when she joined. She said it was Hungarian."
"Is she tight with anybody that you know?"
"I've no idea. But I can tell you she's a pistol. She drives around in a black Hummer. I should warn you: She doesn't do much socializing, at least not around here. Are you thinking of trying to make a move?"
"I'm thinking about it," Chet offered casually. He turned around to look at Jazz working her pectorals. She wasn't fooling around. Perspiration glistened like little diamonds on her tanned forehead.
"Five bucks says you can't get to first base."
Chet turned around to look back at Chuck. A wry smile appeared on Chet's face.
Getting paid for what he wanted to do was a good incentive to overcome his hesitation.
"You're on!"
Back at the free-weight rack, Chet lifted off several more weights. He was now committed to approach Jazz, but it wasn't without a certain amount of anxiety, especially with the daunting tidbits he'd learned from Chuck. In truth, Chet was not quite as bold as he liked to portray himself.
While standing in front of the mirror, doing curls with the free weights, Chet tried to think of some way to approach the woman that would leave him an out if he needed it.
Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything clever, and fearing she might suddenly finish and disappear into the women's locker room, he made his move.
In reality, it wasn't much of a "move" at all. He merely walked over when he thought she was almost done with her current machine. By now, his mouth was dry and his heart was thumping in his chest. Encouragingly, he managed to time his approach just about right. As he stepped in front of her, she stopped her repetitions and took her arms off the machine's grips. Taking the towel from around her neck, she wiped off her forehead using both hands, covering her face and breathing deeply from exertion.
"Hi, Jazz!" Chet said cheerfully, trusting she'd be instantly curious how he knew her name.
Jazz didn't respond except to slowly lower the towel to progressively reveal her features. She skewered Chet with her burnt umber, deeply set eyes. Up close, she wasn't pixie-like. Beneath a helmet of dark hair that was damp from her workout, her features had a hint of the exotic. What Chet had thought was tan was naturally dark skin that made her teeth appear particularly white. Her eyes were slightly almond-shaped, and her nose had an almost imperceptible aquiline bend. All this would have been acceptable to Chet, except for the mildly hollow cheeks and her expression. Those cheeks made her look mean, while her expression was intimidatingly brazen, like those he'd seen in photographic portraits of marine recruits.
Chet wasn't encouraged, especially when Jazz didn't respond.
"I thought maybe I'd introduce myself," Chet said, trying to maintain nonchalance, which was difficult, considering her stare. The free weights were also bothering him, dragging down his shoulders. Chet had taken some heavy ones in the hope of impressing this well-muscled woman. Besides her nipples, he could even see her well-defined abs beneath her spandex.
Jazz still did not respond. She didn't even blink.
"I'm Dr. Chet McGovern," Chet added. He used his doctor status as a trump card in his approach to meeting women, although he never mentioned what kind of doctor unless
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