Since I no longer lived down the street, I’d started bringing my gym bag on the nights I went to exercise right after work. After a quick, heads-down dash to the car, I put up the sun visor and changed in the passenger seat. Alec folded himself behind the wheel while I shimmied into a tank top and a little wrap sweater. It didn’t exactly go with the pencil skirt; it was a good thing I worked in dim lighting. “What kind of ballet class is this?” he asked, pulling the spandex yoga shorts out of my gym bag. They didn’t leave much to the imagination. I snatched them away with a smile, and threw them into the backseat. “It’s heavy on the cardio,” I said. And when he gave me a suspicious look, I added, “The windows are blacked out so naughty boys like you can’t watch.” Unconvinced, no doubt thanks to Trevor, he sifted through the extra pepper spray, pens, and scissors I kept in my center console.
