Sunrise yoga in the recreation center hadn’t even started when Laura joined the growing throng at the very top of the resort.

Laura yawned and wished she’d thought to swing by the restaurant for a latte before coming to the start of the marathon. Several smarter guests carried steaming to-go cups.

The view was arguably worth the early morning. To one side was the vista down over the terraced resort, with it’s charming cottages and grand architecture. The pool from here was a huge blue jewel, and the ocean beach beyond was a sliver of white caressed by turquoise water. The early morning sun set silver light in the jungle treetops, casting dappled shadows everywhere.

The other side was a sea of beefcake. The finalists were all wearing the barest of running shorts, and only one of them had opted for a tanktop, and it was one so tight and scant it was barely worth the effort.

There was more gleaming manflesh, stretching and warming up in provocative positions, than Laura would expect to find in a playgirl magazine.

She found her cheeks heating, just watching the spectacle, but she kept thinking about what the bartender, Tex, would look like. She hadn’t gotten a glimpse of his ass, but she could imagine that it was much like Mr. Brazil’s, given their similar body build. Mr. Brazil obligingly bent over to stretch his hamstrings and gave her an amazing view of his spandex-clung ass, and the barely contained package beyond.

The girls next to Laura giggled and fanned themselves.

It suddenly occurred to Laura to wonder if Tex had a pair of assless chaps, to match his other over-the-top cowboy accessories, and then, of course, it occurred to her how much fun such a garment might be.

We could find out, Laura’s wolf suggested.

We could not, Laura replied sternly.

One of the celebrity hostesses, a little bottle-blonde woman named Jessica Linn, looking more than a little hungover, banged on her clipboard. “Are you rolling?” she asked the cameraman.

“When you’re ready,” he said.

“I’m ready to get this over with,” she snapped. “Why would they schedule this so early?”

“Gets too hot later,” Mr. Canada guessed over his sunglasses. He looked as dragged out as Jessica did.

Mr. Ireland, by contrast, was bouncing in place, obviously eager to go.

“Alright,” Jessica said. “Listen up, studs. We’re going to go over the rules before we turn on the cameras and I don’t want to have to say things more than twice.” She pointed down the road behind them. “You’ll be running down that road to the airport, and back up. It’s about two miles each direction, lots of winding, lots of hills, mostly under jungle cover. We’ve got cameramen in several key spots, and the video camera will be in a Jeep behind you for part of the way. There’s also a drone that will be following you. There is no shifting allowed, this is human legs only.”

Laura wasn’t surprised — it wouldn’t be much of a race between a pegasus and a peacock, but Mr. India looked lean and fit; she thought he might give Mr. Ireland some competition.

“The winner will be awarded the Mr. Speed trophy in the final awards ceremony, and there’s a ribbon or something for the second place. I don’t know, who cares.” Jessica fanned herself with her clipboard. “I’m bound by the insurance company to let you know that you are not covered for egregious injury due to special shifter riders, blah blah, don’t be a dumbass and step in a gopher hole. We’re not medivaccing you. Do they even have gophers here? Oh, let’s just get this started. I need some cheers, ladies.”

She fluffed her hair and pinched her cheeks, pasting on the most plastic smile that Laura had ever seen and gestured at the cameraman in the back of the poised Jeep.

“Welcome back to the World Mr. Shifter events!” she squealed. The girls gathered around Laura gave ear-splitting shrieks and applause, and the Mr. Shifter competitors stepped up their stretching and posing as the camera panned around.

Laura clapped half-heartedly.

“Oh, it’s such a shame Mr. Ireland is married,” one of the audience members near Laura lamented.

“I thought that being single was one of the criteria!” another protested.

“No, that’s the International Mr. Shifter competition, this is the World Mr. Shifter. These guys don’t even require that you have modeling experience. Mr. Ireland doesn’t.”

“What does he do?” The first woman was practically drooling.

“Firefighter, I heard.”

“Oh, he can put out my fires any day.”

“Show us your best cheeks, gentlemen!” Jessica was saying enthusiastically.

The Mr. Shifters lined up at the white chalk line that had been drawn on the road, pausing to flex and preen and dust invisible things off their shoulders.

This would have been a lot more fun with Jenny to snark with, Laura couldn’t help thinking. Or if she could stop imagining Tex as a contestant. He looked like he could make a steep, four mile jog without getting winded.

Probably carrying a tray of drinks.

In assless chaps.

Laura shook her head firmly, and turned around to walk back down into the resort before they finished the introductions and the starting gun was fired. Maybe this way she could beat the rush on the restaurant and get a good seat and a peaceful latte.