I don’t have time to work out, he thinks, but he continues anyway, slowly trudging away on his Stairmaster with thoughts of numbers to crunch swirling through his head. He frustratedly places his perfect bangs back into place. If there’s anything he hates, it’s if his hair isn’t in place…even at the gym.

He glances up to the television screen mounted above him in hope that maybe the DOW or NASDAQ numbers are shown to soothe his number clogged head. Sadly, no, though he does catch a glimpse of a petite beauty, right by the window, on a treadmill. She’s perfect, he thinks, just my type—small, cute, and confident enough to run on display to anyone who would walk by. Though he didn’t even dare to think it, the fact that she wasn’t white or any sort of Caucasian might mean she’s ethnic and add some spice to the monotonous experience he calls life.

There isn’t a number on his mind as he slowly turns down the setting on his Stairmaster. He doesn’t turn it off, but it’s a step toward chatting up that beauty with the mocha complexion. As he continues to turn down his machine (still not off), he admires how the sweat on her brow only makes her glisten as if under a spotlight.

Finally, his machine is off and he’s already thinking of lines to feed her. Do you think I could steal a tad of your water? Your beauty has made my mouth run dry. No, he thinks, almost too proper. He knows a line like that wouldn’t work on a modern, educated woman. He pauses in the middle of the room, her back still to him, while he watches her behind move under her track pants.

Needless to say, he’s a bit distracted when people crossing in front of the large front gym window catch his eye. He tries to make it looks like he’s doing something and not ogling the treadmill woman. As he reaches for a barbell to lift, the woman moves.

Just as the couple walking outside pass in front of the lone treadmiller, she moves. Her face contorts and she waves her arms, running in a fashion that looks almost like an ape. That very same ethnic, cute, confident woman is also letting out a very unattractive groan. He jumps slightly at the change, as do the couple. The woman outside clutches her heart, looking at the runner with insanely big eyes as she drags her other away from the window as fast as possible.

Once out of sight, she stops running completely, making sure her feet are placed off the still moving tread and bursts into a fit of giggles. It’s not a sultry laugh he would have expected from such a woman, but a childish, girly giggle that sounded like a toddler who had just successfully stole a cookie from the cookie jar. He watched as she doubled over and nearly lost her balance. She caught herself on the bar and her clumsiness sent her off into another fit.

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and scoffed. Yeah, she was gorgeous. Yeah she was ethnic. But she was also immature. His bangs fall into his face and he indignantly puts them back into place in a huff. Numbers fill his head as he decides to skip the rest of his work out and head back to the office for some late night work.

I look back when I hear a huff from behind me. I realize that stuffy suit has finally stopped starting at me. The idiot didn’t even realize that I could see him drooling in the glare of the window. Blegh, I hate guys like that. He’s probably thinking about numbers whenever he’s not thinking sick thoughts of women half his age. I shiver at the thought. And what was it with him and his damn hair? It was a freaking comb-over, dammit!

I laugh again thinking of how I scared him off. The only reason I go to this damn gym is to scare people through the big window. I wouldn’t be in any sort of shape at all if I needed a pick-me-up every so often. The gym manager thinks it’s hilarious, so I enjoy it immensely.

Sophie Logger laughs as she starts to run again, awaiting her next victim to cross by the window. Bet you thought something would happen between the perv and Sophie, right? Or maybe the rest of this story would be all about him-- About him and his numbers? That would be the only love affair of this story. Yeah, right, because that would make a good story.

Nope, the Fates don’t do Sophie in just yet. Those ladies of Fate wouldn’t exactly like the tapestry of Sophie’s life to take quite a turn like that, though they do have a twist in mind. They wish to do her in in a completely different manner. They don’t want to bore her eyes out with the perv. They’d actually like her to… to fall in love. Little do they know, even while the weave her life, is that Sophia Logger doesn’t go down that easily.