Chapter 8

Today is no different, of course. Not at Storm Executive Security. Not at Barefoot Beach. And not in the presence of Trent Long. I am who I am, shine with pride, and know that nothing or no one will ever change me.

I nod and say, “As a matter of fact, I do think you’re a beefy athlete.”

Surprising me, catching me completely off guard, he does a quick up-down on my toned body, and responds, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I appreciate that,” I say, and rub my hairy-built stomach with an open palm, attempting to tease him.

My provoking turns out to be ineffective, though. Instead, he swings his right arm up, twists his wrist, and points to the strip of beach behind him. “I should be getting back to my run.”

“You should. Exercise awaits me. Staying fit prevails.”

Again, he thanks me for letting him use the span of beach for his runs, motions a quick wave as a goodbye, and runs away, back to his straight life and world. 10: Peter Umbly