I wish. It’d take them weeks to go through my correspondence. I shuddered at the thought. For years I’d received weird and smutty emails and messages from all sorts of people. Believe me, my collection of unasked for and unwanted dick pics was epic. Why random dudes thought I wanted to see their hairy little balls and pecker I have no idea. But it was all just part of putting yourself out there as a woman these days. Land on the cover of some magazines and it only gets worse.

And now some poor cops would have to wade through it, dick pics and all. Maybe in time they’d do a lineup of the usual suspects, and get them all to drop their trousers for a positive ID. Or some computer database would bring up a match based on the culprit’s short and curlies. I could just imagine the CSI episode now.

Kwana sniffed. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Move on to squats.”

“Lady, you’re mean.”

“You love it.”

“True.” I wiped the sweat off my face with the back of my hand and kept going. “I wouldn’t call him pretty exactly.”

“Masculine pretty,” amended Kwana. “It’s that angular jawline and cut yourself cheekbones. Gets me every time. Move faster. Come on, you’re not even trying.”

“My life hurts,” I whined, but did as told. The woman was going to kill me.

She lowered her voice, taking a step closer. “He’s looking at you.”

“Who, Ziggy? It’s his job to look at me.”

“No. I mean, his eyes were on your ass. Hell, they were glued to those globes.”

I snorted. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“I most certainly am not.”

A man in fluorescent workout gear approached from over by the dumbbells. Before I’d even finished registering him, Ziggy was there, putting himself between us. The guy held out a scrap of paper and pen, face a mixture of “c’mon, man” and “please.” Ziggy just shook his head.

“Can’t you see she’s busy here?” Kwana scowled. “Ask for an autograph later.”

“No autographs.” Ziggy’s tone was final. “Only at official engagements.”

With a heavy scowl, the dude stomped off toward an elliptical machine.

“We’re back in the private room next time,” said my trainer.

I nodded. “Might be best.”

“Heel raises, please.”

“Man,” I bitched. It was an important part of my workout process.

“Oh, just do it.” Kwana sighed. “You want those calves looking good when you wear your fancy shoes, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Get on with it then. One of these days I’m going to start charging extra every time you complain.” In all honesty, the woman deserved the money. I was a whiny baby when it came to exercise. She lightly placed her hands on my shoulders. “That’s it, Mae. Nice and slow. Get up high.”