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flirting with a guy this hot, if I wasn’t so jacked on endorphins.
    I sauntered over with a crooked smile. “So Steve…is that what you drink when you score all those touchdowns?” I hadn’t watched Canadian football before, and I hated the sport with a passion. But Steve didn’t need to know that.
    His green eyes sparkled bright as he laughed, and his dirty blond hair was damp, with sweat trickling down his forehead. Meanwhile his nipples waved hello from behind his tight shirt, as he turned his torso right and left for a stretch.
    “What’s your name?” he asked.
    “Romi.” I always hated saying my name out loud. To me it was a graceless name, full of gender-ambiguity and roughness.
    “Romi eh? I like that. And to answer your question I DO always drink this, during the game and during every workout.”
    “Alright everybody break’s over!” the instructor yelled. “Back to your spots, let’s PUMP IT UP!”
    Steve turned to leave, but not before whispering: “Why don’t you give me your e-mail address after the class?” He added a sexy wink and returned to his spot.
    I was overcome with feelings, both emotional and physical. Never had I spoken to such a muscular man, let alone a professional athlete. And had he actually asked me for my contact information?
    I felt like I was high on caffeine pills, and for the rest of the class I didn’t feel an ounce of fatigue. I kicked, swiveled and hopped with the best of ‘em.
    As we stretched out the kinks at the end of class, I closed my eyes to the soothing sounds of some music I couldn’t really place. It reminded me of the Elfin hymns from “Lord of the Rings,” and it made me forget that Steve would be waiting when the class was over.
    The Elfin music suddenly came to a halt.
    “Okay everybody, thanks for an amazing class! Now before we dismiss, can we turn our attention to Steve for a couple of minutes? He’s got something he’d like to share.”
    All the ladies shouted “Woo!” again.
    Steve walked up to the front of the class with his bottle of purple beverage. He was also carrying a cardboard box full of grey and purple pouches.
    “Now football is a grueling sport, and a lot of people ask me how I make it. The truth is I’ve got a little something to get me through it, for every game and every workout.”
    This sounded strangely similar to my one-on-one chat with Steve.
    Steve grabbed a pouch from the box and continued. “Inside this pouch is a very special energy mix. We call it Total Thunder, and I developed it with top-notch scientists. With this ONE special drink, you’ll experience more stamina than ever before. And just to prove it, you all get a sample to try for yourselves!”
    Another “Woo!” from the sweaty ladies.
    “I’m going to pass these out, and when I do I’d love to get your all your e-mail addresses,” he paused for a dazzling smile. “Then I can send you ladies additional info.”
    Steve began to pass out the pouches as I stood there in the corner, feeling about as sexy as a speck of someone’s earwax. But what about the flirting? What about his waving nipples? It had all been a ruse, cleverly designed to trick me into buying Total Thunder. My humiliation quickly turned to rage.
    Before I could think of an action plan, Steve was back, only now with his pouch of Total Thunder.
    “Here you go, Romi. Now how about you give me your e-mail address?” His eyes sparkled once again.
    “Sorry asshole, I only drink Gatorade.”
    In a perfect world, I would’ve told him that. But of course I lived in a world where you don’t call giant football players assholes, especially not when their eyes sparkle green and their smiles tend to dazzle.
    I recited my e-mail address out loud, and ten seconds later we said goodbye.
    As I grabbed my coat from the locker room, I looked at my watch to see that it was nearly one p.m.
    I’d told my dad that I’d return in an hour and a half, or by noon to be exact. He was probably on his way