Superficial (DE)

Eleven.

Beads of sweat rolled down Cerise's perky C cup breasts as she breathed heavily— in through her nose and out through her mouth to stabilize the heart. Her core muscles and thighs burned from the vigorous exercise as she kept her eyes trained on the cycle instructor.

"That's right ladies— ten more seconds, let's keep it going!" The instructor, a thin brunette in her late twenties encouraged.

Asante groaned loudly, dropping her head in a defeated manner as she stopped cycling. "Fuck this," She breathed out, winded, quitting just short of the rest of the class. "I'm not doing this anymore,"

Cerise let out a small giggle as she placed her hands on her hips trying to catch her breathe herself.

Cycling was their latest attempt at spicing up their exercise lives though they'd quickly found out that cycling was not for the faint of heart. But Cerise liked it because the competitive nature in her viewed it as a challenge— who could make it to the end of the class having done the least amount of complaining.

Cerise slowly got off her spin bike, her toned thighs sore and shaky as she downed the remainder of the green juice she'd gotten before class in an effort to quench her parched thirst as she'd forgotten to buy a water too.

Feeling her phone ring in the waistband of her leggings as she got her belongings together, she answered— the call connecting to her AirPods.

"Hell—,"

"I need you,"

Cerise's heart fluttered nervously, instantly recognizing the deep and raspy yet sultry and sensual voice— Brandon.

"What's wrong— where are you?" She asked immediately, the urgency in her tone causing Asante to look up at Cerise.

"I'll send you the address—,"

"Brandon you better not be getting arrested," Cerise fussed lowly.

"I'm sending it now— I'll explain when you get here," He spoke, hanging up.

"Who was that?" Asante asked, studying the befuddled look on her bestfriends face.

"That was my client— I have to go," Cerise said hurriedly, slipping her feet into her Ugg slippers and walking quickly out of the spin class.

Cerise stood in the elevator of some random studio building. Her heart feverishly pounded in her chest as adrenaline coursed through her veins— nervous but also excited with what she'd might find. She always dreamed of having one of those moments once she became an attorney as a little girl— to bust onto the scene dramatically and free her client from detainment and questioning and save the day.

Anticipation continued to build as she'd gotten off on the floor he'd given her— her hands becoming clammy as she continued to switch her Chanel bag back and forth between them anxiously as she walked, bursting through studio door C3.

Brandon looked up slowly at a frazzled yet puzzled Cerise, clad in skimpy spandex exercise attire with her fresh silk press pulled into a high ponytail.

"Is this a joke?" Cerise asked, the corners of her lips curving down as she frowned small.

"Is what a joke?" He asked, pausing fiddling with the fancy camera in his tattooed hands.

"You just acted like you were in distress and needed help—,"

"No I didn't— you inferred I was in distress," He clarified.

Cerise narrowed her gilded brown eyes at him as her high cheeks flushed with heat. "What is this— what are you doing?" She asked, looking around the room.