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I see Miss t**s and Ass move to the treadmill next to mine. She's hard to miss with her giant XL fake t**s squeezed into a top that is probably a size too small. Hell, the way they're bouncing, I'm half expecting them to spill out.
Instead of focusing on her, I concentrate on the music blaring through my earbuds, the increase of the incline on my course, and way the speed is picking up. My mind goes to Sami and the way she handled tiny-d**k in Holland last weekend and the look of relief on Jean's face when we went to their house for Sunday dinner.
Damn, Sami was kick-ass.
I know through the years there have been times I wanted to protect her, to save her from assholes like him. A grin comes to my lips as I recall one time in college that I was so certain this arrogant asshole
