The morning session was scheduled for 6:00 a.m. m., before the sun was even up.
Mary walked into the private weight room still half-asleep, wearing only an oversized team T-shirt and sneakers, hair in a messy bun. The lights were low, just the soft glow of the wall sconces and the red digital clock on the squat rack reading 5:58.
John was already there, shirtless in black compression shorts, chalking his hands like he was about to pull a heavy deadlift. He looked up when she stepped inside, and the hunger in his eyes chased away every last trace of drowsiness.
“Lock the door,” he said, voice low and rough from sleep.
Click.
He didn’t speak again. He simply crooked a finger.
Mary walked to him, heart already racing. When she was close enough, he caught the hem of her T-shirt and peele
