I put my mop and bucket back under the laundry sink. My floors are so clean I can see my own reflection, and I know I could eat off them.

It’s been a while since I’ve scrubbed my apartment from top to bottom two days in a row. Usually I just get the cleaning lady to come during the week so I don’t have to be bothered with housework on my days off.

But this weekend was different. Sex the other day with Brad has left me a little confused. My cage has been rattled.

With the cleaning equipment out of the way, I go back into the living room and put some music on. My eyes travel along the rows of books in the bookshelves, but nothing leaps out to say “read me.”

I ponder what else I can do to distract myself. Mentally, I tick off the housework already done: dusting done, washing done, ironing done, floors done, and windows cleaned.

I walk to the stereo. Alright, let’s focus on the music then. Music is soothing; it calms the mind.

Should I have pushed Brad away when he started kissing me? Hard call. I’m only human after all, and it’s been a while since I’ve had sex.

Well, in fact, I’ve never had sex the way Brad and I went at it the other day.

Will it get out? Will the rumor mills go wild and make my life a writer’s hell? And what would Ed make of it?

Sick of being confined to my four walls, I decide to head out. Fresh air, exercise, and a change of scenery are what I need.

I decide to drive to the canyon for a run. It’s Saturday, and I will go for a run around this time.

Brad has rattled my cage, sure, but maybe it’s best I keep to my routine. It will clear my headspace…there’s nothing better for it than being out in rugged, beautiful terrain. The view from the canyon always leaves me feeling a little better.

It somehow puts into place how insignificant we humans really are. We are these tiny beings in a huge unknown space—the pimple on the ass of the universe.

With my running shoes on, my hair tied back, and water bottle in hand, I get into my car. Once at the canyon, I park and do a few stretches. The last thing I want to do is pull a muscle or strain a ligament.

To my relief, there aren’t that many people up here today. It is a very popular walk, and sometimes it can be difficult to park your car.

I set off. My mind mulls over the Brad dilemma. I’m a firm believer that it’s no good to be involved with a work colleague, and there’s no arguing Brad is a work colleague.

I’m the head writer and he’s one of the main stars on the show. It could get complicated.

But then, of course, I could be overreacting. I’ve made no plans to see Brad again, nor has he suggested another date. Of course, sex isn’t really a date anyway.

Kayla, when did your life become so complicated? I thought to myself.

I round a corner in the path and collide with something soft. It’s a human being. It’s a man.

A man I know.

For a second or so, I hold my breath. What’s he doing here?

“Hey, Scott,” I say and try to bring my breathing under control. Scott is holding me by my shoulders. “Are you stalking me?” I’m joking, of course, although I always regret saying it.

What if he thinks I’m a weirdo?

“I am,” Scott replies, and the look in his eyes tell me he isn’t entirely lying. Okay, what’s going on in here?

His touch is messing with my brain, desire wells up in me, and nerve cells start to tingle.

“You are?” I repeat to try and hide my feelings. My heart rate is increasing even though I’m standing still. I hope my yearning for his touch is not too obvious.

“I can’t lie.” Scott finally lets me go and takes a step backward. He’s grinning at me.

I try to say something witty back, but I draw a blank. Instead, my gaze feasts on his six-pack and bulky shoulders. Weightlifting is definitely part of Scott’s workout.

His thigh muscles are bulging, and I know I’m staring at his crotch. I can’t help but wonder…how big is his cock?

“I know why you’re stalking me,” I say, eventually forcing myself to look into his face.

“You do?” Scott lifts his hands in mock innocence.

“You’ve heard one of you is going to get killed off. And you want to know if its you.”

Scott takes a little bow.

“You’re correct, dear madam. But only partly correct.”

I raise my eyebrows and say, “Really? And what would the other reason be?”

Before he answers, I can guess what is coming. His eyes speak volumes. I’m wearing my cropped running top and knee-length tights.

His gaze has practically undressed me already. And yet I want to hear it from him.

“I’ve come out here today to go for a run with the gorgeous head writer of our show. I want to get to know you.” The grin of the cat that caught the mouse accompanies his words.

I laugh. Luckily, he can’t see under my clothes. Between my legs, a little wetness appears already. It catches me by surprise; am I really reacting like this around this hunk of a man several days after Brad has fucked me?

Can it be something in the water? Has someone tampered with it and added some form of aphrodisiac? I vow to buy bottled water for the next few weeks, knowing my theory is totally baseless and borders on silliness.

I slap him on the shoulder. The tips of my fingers burn with desire as my flesh touches his.

“With only one purpose in mind, I bet.”

Scott’s grin widens. “Is it that obvious? Or are you able to read me better because you are a writer?”

Instead of a reply, I decide it is time to issue a challenge.

“Well, dear prince,” I start and turn back toward the way I had been going. “If you want to find out who is going to be killed at my hand, you better race me to the top.”

“What’s the prize?”

I turn back to him one more time.

“We’ll race to the end of the trail. If you win, I’ll tell you who gets killed.”

“And if you win?”

Instead of an answer, I turn and start to run.

My feet fly across the uneven ground. I keep my eyes peeled forward. I don’t want to collide with anyone else.

Usually I take time to admire the magnificent view from up the valley and the homes below, but not now. There’s purpose to my running.

I’m driven to impress. It’s not that I don’t want Scott to win. Truth is, I still have no idea who is getting killed and who stays.

I don’t like the idea, and so I haven’t written the scene yet.

No, the run has taken on a different purpose all together. The minute I had laid eyes on Scott in skimpy shorts—shorts so short that not much is left to the imagination and a wide-cut singlet—an almost animalistic desire awakened deep within me.

I want to impress Scott. I want him behind me and feasting on my backside.

In my imagination, I picture myself pulling his shorts off and freeing his throbbing cock.

After another bend in the track, I have to slow down. A stitch in the right side of my abdomen is making it difficult to keep at the pace I had started.

“Keeping up, snail?” I call over my shoulder to Scott, who’s now a little distance behind me.

“Insult me all you want. We are not there yet.”

I keep running. I’m enjoying this.

“Hope you’re enjoying the view back there.” I can’t resist the urge to needle him a little.

“More than you can imagine” comes the instant reply.

Scott’s gaining on me.

Part of me tries to pick up my pace again, but another wants to keep the distance between us small so I can keep teasing him.

I want him to take the bait.

With the end of the trail in sight, I need to plan my next move. If I win, what prize will I claim?

My nerve endings are almost screaming at me to ask for him, all of him inside me, but I wonder how I should play the game.

Here I have been worried about my antics with Brad, and to solve that problem, I’m now considering throwing myself at my other main star in the show.

Talk about from fire into the frying pan.

Of course, I could let Scott win, and then I wouldn’t have to ask for any prize. But where would the fun be in that?

I turn back to see Scott steadily closing the gap between us. His expression is full of lust.

“Come and get it,” I taunt.