Wasted Time Or Time Well Spent

Fire

'Just 20 more minutes!' My mind screams at my body as I keep running on the treadmill. I try to avoid looking up at the wall length mirrors that run down the entire inner wall of the gym room. I barely glance up as I hear the door bang closed over the loud music pumping through my headphones. 20 more minutes and I'm free. Free to go up to my room and crash. Free to fall asleep to the soft droning of the television, probably with my hair slightly damp from being too exhausted to completely dry it with the blow dryer. Perfect.

Absentmindedly, I continue to mouth along with my workout playlist, it keeps me moving as Thomas Rhett and I sing about feeling good, or Daughtry reminding me that Superman is real and exists somewhere out there... Or within as I like to believe. My eyes flick into the mirror so I can see the clock on the opposite wall. It's 10pm and jet lag really is doing a number on my mind and body. Back home it's only 4 in the afternoon, my mind wants to be awake for another 8 hours yet, at least!

The treadmill to my immediate left hums to life and I can't help but glance over. There are 4 other treadmills in the space, why didn't he pick one of them? It's at this moment that I realize I'm still mouthing along to Beat It by Michael Jackson and my feet trip up as I make eye contact with the man beside me. Quickly I look down at my feet and try to keep my mouth shut. My cheeks are flushed from the workout already so a blush should be undetectable.

To my horror, the guy breaks out singing right where I left off. 15 minutes left in my workout and some jerk comes in and starts making fun of me while I'm already sweating and gross and achy. Wow, so much for this being a private 4 star rated hotel, they'll let any creep with a credit card in.

I try to ignore him and continue to jog, but now that I've been alerted to his presence, now that my eyes have looked into his eyes I can't seem to shake off the feeling that he's watching me. Of course that's crazy. And yet, when I lift my head and peek in the mirrors his eyes, an obnoxiously strong shade of blue, are indeed staring right at me. He says something, but with the music turned up I can't hear him. "What?" I give in, ripping an earbud from my left ear and glaring back with anger and annoyance.

"Why'd you stop? You were just getting to the good part!" His voice is deep and laced with humor which makes my glare falter the slightest bit. He's got a fair amount of stubble on his cheeks and chin, a short beard, and a crooked nose, his giant toothy smile makes my composure slip a little more. He repeats himself and my eyes grow wide which causes his smile to grow wider. An American accent. No wonder he's so frank, borderline rude.

"I don't think I'm here to entertain you." I can't stop the grin that spreads across my face as I continue to draw in labored and even breaths. This guy screams trouble, he's far too laid back and his smile is contagious. He looks from me back to his machine and cranks the speed up to match mine before falling into step and mimicking my actions. Which makes me laugh and almost lose my footing again.

"So," he seems to fall into a more normal run and he takes his eyes off of me and looks down at the machine's read out, "let me guess, having trouble adjusting to the time difference?"

"Yeah, I'm still on American Central time." I shrug and turn my attention back to my feet, stopping my music with a quick gesture. Obviously he wants to talk and I actually could use some company.

"Same." He laughs, deep and slightly breathy from the work out. When I hear his laugh again I decide I like this slightly insane, fellow American. "Brett." He extends a hand to me from an awkward angle and I swiftly wipe my hand on the towel I have draped over the machine before returning the gesture and shaking his hand.

"Naomi." I look down at my readout and see the final stretch of my run begin. It's all downhill from here. "Business or pleasure?"

"Both?"