Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she’d just be a form filler, a pencil pusher who would skim over the details and then send me on my way. That was often how it was with these office folk.

Who was I kidding? As if the academy would employ someone like that. No, she’d soon be asking a load of questions to find out all about me. And one of the things I disliked most in the world was talking about myself, my feelings. So it was understandable why I was so reticent heading to my appointment with Miss Nosey Pants.

A glance at my watch told me I couldn’t mess around any longer. I may not have been remotely interested in attending the meeting, but I also hated being late. Things like getting stuck in traffic and delayed flights drove me crazy, especially since there was nothing I could do about it. I’ve often been called a control freak and don’t deny it. In fact, I don’t see a problem with it, whatever I’m doing.

There was also no doubt in my mind that Miss Nosey Pants would call me something similar by the time our hour was up. I didn’t often wish away my life, but I really wanted it to hurry up and be one o’clock so I could leave that damn office and go back to what I did best—being an athlete.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door, just to the right of her name plaque.

I gave a little snort as I remembered that moment. I’d hidden my surprise and watched as she’d asked what the hell I was doing in the female changing rooms. When I’d corrected her, she’d fallen silent for a second, then stuttered, telling me her name and job title and something about a wrong turning and jet lag. Then she’d shot out of the changing room faster than any first serve I could ever belt out, with her cute little bum wiggling in her tighter-than-tight jeans.

I hadn’t done or said anything as she’d spoken, just stood there, let the water beat down on me and watched her wringing her hands together and trying not to look at my cock. I did wonder though how long she’d been watching me. Not that it was the first time a woman had seen me showering, and hopefully not the last, I just preferred it if we were both naked. Made it so much more fun, or at least it did when it was Elle with me.

Clenching my fists, I pushed thoughts of Elle from my mind. She was on the other side of the Atlantic, belonged to someone else, and thinking of her in the shower was not only delusional, it was self-destructive. And right now, I had other things to concentrate on. Starting with this Peeping Tom woman.