The gym was half-empty. I’d just finished legs — glutes tigh..
Added 2025-07-04 14:13:08 +0000 UTCThe gym was half-empty. I’d just finished legs — glutes tight, crop top clinging, sweat tracing lines down my spine — when the front desk girl handed me a folded card.
“The man who just left asked me to give you this.”
Inside, in neat, cursive handwriting:
“You move like poetry. I’d like to show my appreciation. Discreetly, respectfully. — P.”
I knew exactly who he was — silver hair, pressed collar, mid-60s at least, either Russian or Ukranian. He’d been on the elliptical, barely breaking a sweat, watching me with that steady, unashamed gaze older men have when they’ve stopped pretending.
I tucked the note into my gym bag and walked out without looking back.
But I kept it.
