The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(16)

I slipped my iPod into its case and secured it onto the waistband of my shorts. As I pushed the locker-room door open, I braced myself for the awaiting crowd of people. I bowed my head and attempted to lose myself in the music blaring out of my headphones as I weaved through the theme-park-worthy line of people waiting to use the elliptical cross trainers and made my way to the row of treadmills.

My weekly exercise routine consisted of two days of thirty-minute cardio and two days of Pilates at a studio in Santa Monica. I would probably only be able to fit in a twenty-minute run today if I wanted to get to my next destination on time.

As I warmed up with a slow jog, I could feel eyes on me. I knew that to everyone else I looked like just another L.A. twenty-something gym goer, starving myself to fit an unobtainable mold so I could attract a rich husband, and then, in five years or so, an even richer one.

But I wasn't anything like them. In fact, I was quite their opposite.

I was just as fit as them. And my naturally olive-colored skin glistened just as much when I sweat. But my motives were so far removed from their world.

Yes, I also worked out so I could attract men.

But not to find a rich husband. To expose an unfaithful one.

In fact, I had to look like all of those other girls. Because most of the time that's who these husbands will cheat with if given the opportunity.

I reached down and skipped through my iPod playlist until I found an upbeat song, and then increased the speed on my treadmill. I ran to the beat of the music, and after two short minutes I could feel the beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

The release felt amazing. Like a rush of energy and power racing through my entire body. After I had run flat-out for twenty minutes, I pressed the Cool Down button, and slowed to a brisk walk. I pulled my towel from the handlebar and wiped down my face.

As the preprogrammed cool-down feature of the treadmill gradually decreased my speed, I reached back and tightened the rubber band holding my ponytail in place.

It was then that I noticed the man walking beside me, on the next treadmill over. I turned my head and looked at him. He was already looking in my direction, and when our eyes met, he smiled at me.

I smiled back politely.

He was attractive. Probably in his mid-twenties, with light brown hair, gentle eyes, and a toned body.

Just as I was about to turn my attention back to the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of me, I saw his mouth move. He was saying something to me, but all I could hear was the blasting of incomprehensible punk rock lyrics in my ears.

For a moment I considered just ignoring him, chalking it up to the fact that I was wearing headphones and therefore granted immunity from having to make any type of gym small talk. But, I reasoned, it would probably be rude to turn my head and pretend I didn't see him try to speak.

So I pulled out the ear buds and said, "Sorry, what?"

He chuckled. "Oh, I just said I've never seen anyone run with such passion before. It almost looked like you were running from the bogeyman or something."

I laughed and brushed a strand of damp hair behind my ear. "Yeah, never a big fan of the bogeyman."

"Are you training for something?"

"Yes... life," I replied sardonically.

"That's a good one. I'll have to remember that one."

I smiled.

"I've never seen you in here before."

I picked up my water bottle from the plastic holder on the treadmill's dashboard and took a sip. "I don't usually come to this location. It just happened to be near work."

My treadmill slowly came to a stop, and I watched as his slowed as well, almost as if they had been perfectly timed to stop one after the other.

He looked at me and grinned at the unspoken coincidence as we both stepped back onto stationary ground.

"You work around here? What do you do?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I'm an investment banker. I'm valuing a firm that's located a few blocks from here."

"Wow, an investment banker. That's pretty big time. So you're smart and cute. A deadly combination."

I blushed and fidgeted with my iPod. "Thank you. What do you do?" I asked immediately, anxious to get off the subject of me and my fake job.

"I'm a video game designer."

"Really? Any I might have heard of?"

He shook his head sadly. "Probably not. I work for a pretty small design company. We haven't really had any huge releases yet. We just completed a game called Powerless. It's kind of like a political Sim City."

I nodded. "Sim City. I've heard of that."

He laughed. "Well, I guess that's a start."

"Actually, I'm still waiting for Carmen Sandiego and Oregon Trail to make their comeback."

He laughed. "Oh my God. You remember Oregon Trail?

"How could I forget? We used to play that every day during recess in the fourth grade. 'Becky has cholera.'" I impersonated the detached bluntness of the game's memorable on-screen updates.

"Becky has died." He followed suit in an equally mundane voice.

We both cracked up.

"Hey," he began with charming timidity. "Can I treat you to a smoothie downstairs?"

I wiped the back of my neck with my towel. "Um . . ." I stammered awkwardly.

"Maybe a PowerBar?"