Ken and Ayala Ch. 01
Keywords: Ch., Ayala, and, 01, Ken,
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*Chapter 1: Discovery*
I'm working out at the gym, late in the evening on a Friday, lifting weights and working on my upper body to try in vain to get as big as some of these other massive muscle-bound gym rats. I was already sort of mad because my two coworkers, Jim and Tasha, had cancelled on our night out downtown, Jim saying he was tired and Tasha saying that she had forgotten that she had to wake up really early the next morning for an appointment.
But I knew the truth was they had shafted me last-minute because they wanted time alone; I had noticed them becoming closer and closer over the past few weeks and I would have appreciated them being straight up with me instead of ditching me over other excuses. I was also sort of jealous of Jim, but couldn't blame Tasha for picking him to date over me; he was the more muscular guy, and although some girls though I looked charming with my golden-brown eyes and wavy black hair and thought I was sensitive and chivalrous, I guess it didn't really matter because Jim could put the moves on women much better than I ever could.
So, I was hitting the weights pretty hard trying to get my energy out, and I looked pretty focused and concentrated. Doing some hammer curls, I just about maxed out and groaned as I tried to do the last one, then dropped the weights on the floor and sat down on the bench next to me, breathing hard.
"Hey, you dropped this."
I was surprised by the voice and slightly but visibly jumped, then saw the person behind me, holding up my keys.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you or anything, I just noticed that you dropped your keys over by the weights over there," she explained in her soft, warbling voice.
I just sort of sat there and stared, like an idiot. I don't know if it was because I was so exhausted and out of it, or because the woman holding up my keys was absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous . . . or both. I just looked at the keys, then looked up at her standing next to the bench.
She had jet black hair, currently tied up but most probably long enough to reach just down just past her shoulders if she didn't have it up. She had on athletic sneakers and seemed to have long, slender legs and a firm butt underneath her tight, black sweatpants. Her midriff was pretty toned and with solid, visible abs, which I could see as she was wearing a black sports bra top. She had smooth, muscular but feminine arms and shoulders, and seemed to be blessed with a firm and beautiful size C chest. She had a somewhat darker, olive skin tone, making me think she was Italian or Greek, maybe Israeli, perhaps. Her soft hand held out the keys to me and the expression on her face looked sort of like mine probably did – tired from working out, but as if something of interest had just appeared in front of you and you were trying to discern whether or not it was real or just a mirage.
I felt like we were lost in each other's gaze for minutes (even though my watch timer was running and indicated afterwards that it couldn't have lasted more than ten or twenty seconds), before she broke my dumbfounded silence.
Slowly breaking into an incredulous smile, "You okay there, Mister? Cat got your tongue or something?"
I finally snapped out of it and shook my head as if I had been splashed with some cold water. "No, uh, I mean, I'm just out of it I guess. Sorry about that. Thanks so much for giving these back to me, that would have been an unpleasant surprise if I had gotten back home without them!" I smiled back and took the keys dangling off of her fingers.
Again, it seemed like we just looked at each other for a few minutes . . . and then, with a wink, "No problem, Mister," and she walked back to the weight machines.
I just watched her walk away, swaying her hips from side to side as she stepped lightly over to the machines with a typical girly walk. I grinned, wondering at how she was so girly and feminine but also so confident and powerful at the same time – I mean, against a mugger off the street, she could probably kick his butt, brush herself off, and then get back to a night out with the girls.
She looked so cute, standing there, regarding the machines with her arms folded, then with one hand stroking her chin as if she was in deep thought about how to change up her workout for the night. She, I, and two huge Schwarzenneger types were the only people in the gym at 9:45 on a Friday, and I for one was glad that she was there to brighten up the scenery!
I tried to get back to my workout, but I was completely distracted now. I didn't think I had a chance with this girl – I mean, she obviously had two much better physical specimens to pick from in the room already, and could probably pick out any hot guy she wanted at a club – but I was still caught up with her. I felt affected by her somehow, something that I hadn't felt before . . . well, actually something I had never felt before . . . with any of the women I had dated or checked out, even any of my old steady girlfriends. Heh, well, now ex-girlfriends, of course.
I couldn't tell, but I thought that I had seen the same feeling reflected in her own dark brown eyes. But, I was always a bad judge of other people when it came to things like that.
I maneuvered myself over to the shoulder press, partially because I wanted to hit a new machine but also because it allowed me to see this girl in the gym's wall mirrors as I sat down. She was working out her abs on an inclined bench, and it was really an amazing sight – I could barely do my own workout, I was so absorbed in watching her. Her sweaty body glistened under the lights as her abs crunched and brought her taut form up close to her knees, her breath escaping her mouth and flared nostrils. As her muscles relaxed, she breathed back in and lay back down against the bench, her sports bra holding her magnificent cleavage and her sweatpants leaving to my imagination her strong thigh muscles straining against the material of her clothes.
I could watch this all day, I thought.
Well, I figured that I needed to stop being a jerk and staring at her while she worked out, so I finished up and decided to hit the showers before the place closed. As I was about to leave, however, I saw one of the musclemen walk up to the girl and start to taunt her.
"Hey there, buttercup, you done with your little workout? Want to come back to the men's locker room with me, where you belong?" he jeered.
"Buzz off, Greg," she said assertively, though I could see that her annoyed face betrayed a hint of fear. She obviously knew this guy from somewhere . . . but what was their history?
"Don't you tell me to buzz off, La-la. I oughta beat the crap out of you after what you pulled with me, you disgusting freak. In fact, maybe I should finish that job right now, I doubt any of these guys would care if they knew what you really were, you fre-"
She stood up and got in Greg's face.
"Don't call me La-la, you jerk! My name's Ayala, you never got it right when we were together, and you sure as hell have no right to call me by your nicknames anymore. And you know what? If you want to finish the job you started last time, then go ahead! I know it was unfair of me to not tell you, but it gave you no right . . . and it still doesn't give you a right to bother me all the time instead of just leaving me alone and letting me live my life! But go ahead, if it'll make you feel like a man. Go ahead, punch me!" She pointed to her chin. I started running across the gym towards the two of the – I couldn't let this go on any longer, I was worried that this guy would actually pummel her . . .
"Fine, you stupid freak!" Greg yelled at her and pulled back his meaty arm to strike at her, and just then, I threw myself in between them.
"Leave her alone, man!" I yelled, summoning up courage that I was pretty sure that I didn't really have.
"Dude, get out of my face, this is between us two, don't get in the way or you'll get hurt," Greg warned. I knew he was serious, too.
Ayala, standing behind me, put her hand on my shoulder. "Please, get out of here, I don't want you to get hurt," she whimpered.
"No, I can't just let this happen." In a softer voice to Ayala, I intoned, "I don't want you to get hurt either." Turning back to Greg, I said with a surprising edge to my voice, "I can't believe you're even thinking about hitting this woman. I can't just let you do that, buddy, so you had better back off or you'll have to take me on first."
"You're such an idiot. You don't even know what she is . . ." he said, as if I was making some huge mistake. "Well, it doesn't matter, I'll go right through you." He pushed me back, and I almost fell over, but stood my ground. At 5'9", I was at least six inches shorter than this guy, and Ayala was even shorter than me at around 5'6" (which made me marvel at how brave she was to have stood up to him a second ago).
The gym intercom buzzed. "The gym will be closing in 5 minutes. Please finish your workouts and exit the building; the showers have now been turned off."
Greg stood there, seeming to ponder whether going after me and Ayala was worth it or not. "Forget you two," he grumbled, as he picked up his bag and left the area.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Oh wow, I thought that guy was going to kill me for sure!" I started laughing, then turned around.
Ayala was tearing up, immediately killing the smile on my face and replacing it with a look of worry. "I'm sorry you had to . . ." she whispered, then the tears started to fall, softly.
I tried to calm her. "Hey now, don't worry, that creep's gone, and you don't have to be sorry about anything. I can't believe that jerk was going to hurt you! Hey babe, c'mon, stop crying, it's okay." I wiped her tears away from her face with my hands, gently. She opened her eyes and looked up at me. We gazed into each other's eyes again, and this time, I was sure that there was some deeper, unspoken but mutually understood connection between us.
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Keywords: Ch., Ayala, and, 01, Ken,