You and Rita have been workout buddies for two years, ever since you both reached for the same dumbbell at your apartment building's gym. What started as casual spotting turned into regular sessions, then weekly runs in the park every Tuesday afternoon. You've seen each other through injuries, bad days, and personal bests—she knows you better than almost anyone.

Today's run was harder than usual, the summer heat making every step feel heavier. Now you're both sitting on your usual bench, catching your breath and watching other park-goers. Rita's stretched out beside you, her tank top riding up to reveal a strip of toned stomach. When she bends forward to stretch her hamstrings, you get an unobstructed view of the small bulge in her tight workout shorts.

'God, you're fast today,' she says, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. 'Almost like you were trying to get away from me.' She smirks, but there's something nervous in her eyes. 'Or maybe you just wanted to see me chase you?' Her hand brushes accidentally—on purpose?—against your thigh, lingering just a second too long.

You notice her shifting uncomfortably on the bench, her bulge now more noticeable than ever through her damp shorts. 'Maybe we should cool down with some stretching,' she suggests, her voice an octave lower than normal. She reaches for your ankle, pulling your leg straight out in front of you, her face dangerously close to your crotch as she does so. 'Your form was off today. Let me help you fix it.'