“Yes, ma’am,” Theo murmured, a breathless smile on his lips.  “Ohhh yesss, ma’am ...”

He’d awoken with a dream fresh on his mind, one involving Alice and a myriad of ropes and various key parts of her body rubbing against him.  Her hand had been around his cock, too – so no surprise to find his own hand there when he woke up.

He saw no reason not to keep both going now – the dream, or the hand.  As f*%&ing horny as he was, he could have come within moments if he wanted.  But he much preferred to stretch this particular moment out, to let it last and--

*Creaaak*

“Shit!” he muttered, shuffling and scrambling with the sheets – for no real reason except surprise.  The door was locked, after all.  His daughter just had him so on edge since last night.

*Creaaak … Creaaak … Creaaak …*  Her footsteps receded down the hall.  Why had she walked so slowly by his door?  That girl was up to something; he just knew it!

Back to the task at hand.  He was still plenty hard, but … Grrrh … he couldn’t focus.  Jen kept popping up in his mind.  “Darn it!”  He put on some clothes, tried to conceal the tent in his shorts, and went to see what his daughter was scheming.  He wasn’t sold that this ‘truce’ was as real as she pretended.

Jen stopped tiptoeing once she’d left the hall, just trying not to wake up Dad.  She didn’t want to set him off and erase last night’s progress!  Picking at her shirt -- geez, she never knew boobs could make a shirt ride up like this! -- she made her way downstairs and got underway.

Huh … but there was surprisingly little weight on the squat bar.  Just 95 pounds total.  She hadn’t squatted so little in almost a week!  Her eyes shot to the chalkboard and -- “Daaaang.”  Dad had chalked in his results from yesterday, and they were down some twenty or thirty percent from last weekend!!  She felt a jolt of intrigue, then a twinge of mischief.  Dad wasn’t awake yet; he wouldn’t see.  She had to stoop to duck under the squat bar -- and as her legs straightened, she gasped in fascination.  The bar was SO light.

She rattled off a dozen squats and kept going, reaching twenty with ease.  The mild burn in her quads was more like an extended warmup than an actual workout.  Duuuude … This was all Dad could do?

In amusement, she added just twenty pounds more -- and still didn’t break a sweat!  For her next set she tacked on another twenty, but that was still too easy.  Only once she got to 155 did things finally get tough -- but still she cracked a grin as she fought through.  Good thing Dad weren’t here to see this, or he’d lose his shit!

Theo watched clandestinely from the top of the stairs, losing his shit indeed.  The knot in his stomach grew heavier with every plate Jen added to the bar.  Christ … she was HALF AGAIN as strong as him!!  Whereas they had been almost even strength just a few days ago…

*Clang!*  The sound of another bar hitting the rack jolted him into a startle.  Uhh … maybe he should go back upstairs, before she saw him.  He would pretend he was never here.  He -- Oh hell, she can’t possibly bench press THAT much!!  Like a bystander watching a ten-car pileup, he just couldn’t bring himself to look away.

* * *

Jen rubbed her hands together in thrill.  Six workouts down; and rather than wear her out, each one had energized her even more.  Her limbs pulsated not only with exciting strength but remarkable endurance too.  She’d planned on working out for an hour … but that might not be nearly enough.

“Huh?”  She could’ve sworn she’d heard the stairs creak again; but there was still no one there when she looked.  Maybe it was just Dad moving about the kitchen?  In any case, she’d beaten Dad’s mark handily, again -- a foregone conclusion, to the point that now she hardly glanced at the board and didn’t waste time chalking her own numbers.  She knew her own progress and was proud of her effort; what else really mattered?  Bridgette was right: she needn’t validate her efforts by comparing against him anymore. Damn, that was a nice change.

She dropped to the floor after her eighth pullup, stepped over her discarded shirt -- it’d gotten just too confining, once she’d worked up enough of a sweat -- and headed across the basement.  Plenty more workout ahead, but she could use another glass of water.  Reaching the foot of the stairs, she looked up … and was startled to find none other than Dad standing there at the top.

Theo coughed.  Shit!  He knew he shouldn’t have lingered by the stairs!  This was at least the fourth time he’d come back now.  Why did he feel the need to keep checking on her?  ‘Gathering intel’, he kept telling himself.  The more information you can gather on your enemy, the better.  Or, in truth, maybe he just couldn’t believe she was that strong, and his eyes kept needing more proof.  But then why had he just loitered here afterward…?

He hastily wiped the surprised look from his face and started down the steps, pretending he’d been heading down all along.  But halfway to the bottom, he began to regret it.  Good Christ, she looked athletic.  Very, very much so, especially since she’d taken that damned shirt off.  The way the light glistened off of her toned, sweat-slick torso …!

Oh crap – and she started up the stairs toward him.

“W-Wait!” he blurted, anxious to delay her ascent.

The tall girl paused on the first step.  “Huh?  Why?”  Her weight shifted, causing the light to reflect off her distressing contours and curves at all new angles.

He put one fist on his hip, then the other, unable to settle on a pose.  Finally he just let his arms fall to his sides.  “Uh … why are you working out?” he redirected, not knowing what else to say.  “You--” You are too big already!  “—You shouldn’t be lifting weights; the show’s tomorrow.  You’ll wear yourself out.”

Jen blinked.  For the first time ever, Dad’s scolding tone rolled right off her without a care.  She was just so energized from her workout; so ecstatic!  And Dad’s grumpiness seemed so … predictable.  Silly, almost.  Jen almost laughed at her own thought.  Silly! 

She floated a few steps up, to keep her voice quiet and calm.  “It’s the E.G.A.D. effect.  Women’s muscles recover a lot faster.  I’ve grown enough now that I can work out one day and be totally fresh for the next.”  Which was true, to an amazing degree.  Bridgette’s grueling workouts would’ve normally wiped Jen out for days.  But this morning she’d woken up feeling refreshed, renewed, peppy.  Each new day was like a clean slate; a brand new canvas for her to work on, all over again.

“That … well … you shouldn’t overdo it!”

Not long ago, his sharp tone would’ve driven a frightened shiver down her spine.  Which, today, felt almost laughable!  Especially with how his hands propped again on his slender frame, and how he stood even straighter to secure an even greater height advantage…

“Hey,” she redirected, feeling too amped up right now to beat around the bush, “if we’re gonna team up, we gotta, like, trust each other, right?  And not nag each other about how to work out?”

Oops.  Bridgette would’ve appreciated the bluntness … but of course Dad couldn’t handle it.  “’Nag’?!”  His eyes narrowed scaldingly, as if to frighten her.  

Her mouth curled in distaste.  He was sooo much more sensitive than Bridgette.  “You know what I meant.”

Dad’s hackles were raised, but he just couldn’t leave well enough alone.  “I don’t think I do, daughter.  You’ve still got a lot to learn from your old man.  A whole heck of a lot.”

OK, a crack was beginning to form in Jen’s patience.  “Fine, then join me,” she huffed.  So much for being impervious.

“Where?”

“On my next workout!”

He seemed to inch back.  “Uh…”

Losing the rest of her patience, she stepped up until she and Dad shared the same stair.  “If I’ve got so much to learn, then teach me.”

Theo froze.  Oh fuck.  Jen loomed a full head taller than him, her lithe neck and shoulders glistening, her breasts practically in his face.  And when her hand touched lightly to his chest, he nearly toppled off the stair like a leaf in the wind.

Christ!  She paused there only a moment before continuing on.  He could swear he saw a hard challenge in her eyes, maybe even a threat … but maybe he just imagined it.  Maybe he—

“Join me if you want,” she snipped, already at the top of the stairs looking down.  “Or not.  I don’t care.”

As she disappeared, his muscles relaxed in a shiver.  She had changed, these last few days.  And not just physically.  His days of cowing her with a single word or a glare: yes, that was a distant memory now.  You could almost say the tables had turned …

But that was ridiculous.  He was imagining it.  Remember how apologetic she was last night?  No, he could still gain the upper hand here.  He had to, if he was to lead their team on the big stage just one day from now.  He could do it, but he needed a solid plan.  Some concrete way to secure things in his favor.

Well, for starters, he needed to take Jen up on her offer.  He couldn’t have her thinking he was scared to work out with her, for god’s sake.  Even if that was perhaps the last thing he actually wanted to do.

By the time he quit dawdling on the stairs, he heard the front door swing shut.  He caught a glimpse of Jen out the window, with the same skimpy outfit but now with running shoes on.  Running?  Crap.  … Although, then again, that might be just the thing.  You know what?  It’d be perfect.

Jen was feeling calmer again.  What would Bridgette say, seeing her lose her cool like that?  Granted, she hadn’t gotten shrill like she would’ve in the past, but …

*crunch crunch crunch…* She heard footsteps on the leaves, behind her.  Her lips thinned.  Honestly, she’d looked forward to running alone, without Dad around.  But she had offered, though.  Looking back, she saw him walking fast, his shorter legs struggling to even keep pace with her, much less gain ground.  By way of an olive branch, she slowed her strides and waited for him appear at her side.

“Back there, on the stairs,” she started ruefully, working up toward an apology, “I—”

“Forget it.”

Huh?  Dad wanted to let something go?

“Let’s move on,” Theo added, rubbing his hands.  Actually, he was pretty psyched for what was ahead.  “Jogging?” he asked.

Good.  He feigned a snort.  “Hardly what I’d call a ‘workout’.  More like wimpy ‘exercise’.”

Jen furrowed her brow.  A few strides later: “But you know cardio’s important, right?  Like, the most important thing for guys on the show?”

“Hmph.  Is it, though?”

She jerked to a halt, her blood rising.  “Dad … yes!  Of course it is!”

“Oh, sure, and I suppose weightlifting’s only for girls then.”

What?  “Well … yeah!  That’s literally how Mighty and Mouse is designed!  I’m not saying you can’t weightlift too, but I’m the only one it really benefits!”

Dad stared at her blankly, like this was news to him!  What?!  “Girls on the show need strength, power, and speed, agility, stamina.  Guys really only need those last three!  You’ve … you’ve seen the show, right?  Please tell me you’ve—you’ve—”

Dad barked a laugh, his mouth going crooked.  “I’m just shitting you, geez.  I’m not blind.  Obviously I know cardio’s important.”

Oh thank god.

Theo walked a few more steps, then inwardly smiled.  “I’ve even run a little bit on the treadmill, this week.”

“You have?”  Jen jerked her eyes to him hopefully.  “Just a little?  Or…?”  She hesitated.  “Ermm, well, every little bit helps.”

Ha!  She totally bought it.  She probably thought he just stepped onto a treadmill once or twice and called it good.  When in fact he’d actually been doing insane amounts of cardio all week, at ludicrous intensity.  All thanks to Lola, of course; but what matters is he was wayyyyy more in shape than he’d been even a week ago.  And far better in shape than Jen would believe.

And now, the next phase of his plan.  “Funny,” he remarked, strolling along, “most people would’ve added other skills to the list.  Such as … listening skills.  And leadership.  That’s what they say, right?”

He saw his tall daughter stiffen momentarily, looking over at him as they walked.  “Uhh … yeah.  ‘Where girls lead, and guys listen’.  That’s what it says in the intro.”

“Hmph,” he noncommittally replied.

He felt her eyes staring at him.  “You’re cool with that, right?” she asked slowly, as if afraid of his response.  “I mean … the women have to take charge.  The whole show is set up so the guys have to rely on them.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” assured Theo, taking the next few steps in silence.  “And of course I’ll do everything it takes to win.”

He heard her exhale in relief.  Ha!  She had no idea what he really meant by that.  But she’d find out real soon.

They crossed the grass and approached the track.  “How far should we run?” Theo asked, as if he hadn’t planned this whole thing out already.  “One lap?”

The look on her face was priceless.  “One?  But that’s just a quarter mile!”

“Oh, is it?” he feigned, looking across the track then shrugging.  “We’ll call it a warmup.  I don’t wanna run too far, right off the bat.”

He watched Jen’s mouth curl again in a frown.  He knew what she was thinking, of course.  She was on the Track team at her school, specializing in Cross Country.  She jogged every day, sometimes twice a day; and, if he had to guess, probably a couple miles each time or more.  She was ludicrously fit, by most people’s standards.  To her, a single lap probably seemed like nothing at all.  “Umm…” But she nodded diffidently and sighed.  “I mean … sure.  To start out.”

He kept a smug smile to himself as he did a couple of token stretches, acting like he was stiff as a board.  But in truth, he was more limber now than he’d ever been in his life.  His recent slimming had helped; but also, here, Lola was to thank for it.  That woman had made him stretch so hard each day, it was almost a whole workout on its own.  She could sweat him with just a simple stare, till he couldn’t stretch any farther.  And then she would go and press a finger to his heel – just one – and make his hamstring cry out in nervous protest … God damn, it was a good thing she was careful with her strength, that’s all he can say.  *shudder* But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he kind of liked that part, too.  Which… you know, it really--

“Dad?”

“Huh?”  He snapped out of it, realizing he must’ve been holding this same arm stretch for almost a full minute.  “Umm…”  Blushing, feeling his heart still fluttering, he switched to the other arm and …

Oh fuck.  His eyes wandered to the wrong place at the wrong time: Jen, doing her own stretches, happened to lunge forward in his direction just then; a deep, deep lunge which … cripes … presented far more cleavage, more jiggly tit flesh than he’d ever wanted to see from his own daughter!  

Effing hell!  He reaallllly should’ve made her put that damned shirt back on before she left the house!  At least her skin wasn’t glistening anymore, no longer sweaty.  He—dammit, he shouldn’t even be thinking about this at all.

“One lap,” he repeated, refocusing himself as they stepped up to the starting line.  “Now, don’t bother staying at my side.  Go at whatever speed you’d normally run at, so we’re both good and warmed up.”

The tall and far too scantily clad girl gave a quizzical look but shrugged.  “Umm, OK.”

“Ready when you are.  Feel free to lead the way …”  He added slyly, under his breath: “for now.”

Whatever Dad had just muttered, Jen ignored it.

“Ready …”

She readied her stopwatch and braced her legs.

“… Set … Go!”

Well, she took off at an easy pace.  He’d said she could run ahead; but, knowing him, that’d only piss him off.  So yeah, a nice, slowww, leisurely jog …

Which, impossibly, he still couldn’t match.

The fuck?  She couldn’t go any slower than this and still maintain a jog!  She could power walk faster than him!  When she looked back bewilderedly, her casually-jogging Dad put up his hands and said, “Don’t want to pull a muscle here!”

But that’s what stretches were for…

“You go on ahead.”

Fuck.  Well, she had no choice, did she?  Even her stilted, janky strides were pulling her steadily ahead of him.  She increased her speed just a hair, to at least get a bit of rhythm in her gait.  Before they reached the end of the first straightaway, the light pitter-patter of his feet was already fading away.

“Alright … go-time!” he called, going into the curve; and, thank god, his footsteps drew closer.  Jen looked back and saw a stupid grin on his face, like he actually thought he was running fast ...

“Whew!” he exclaimed, finally drawing even with her and—Jesus, he was already breathing hard?  “We’re goin’ now, huh?”

She didn’t comment.  She just jogged easily along, still at Dad’s side coming into the next straightaway, and …

And he again started flagging behind.  Already.

“Dang!  … You’d … better …”

He couldn’t even complete his sentence.  This was nuts!  As she looked back, his floppy, flailing gait only seemed to get worse.  And he’d said he’d hit the treadmill this week!  Ughh!  This was pathetic!

“Savin’ some … in … the tank,” he panted, “for … what’s … next …”

‘Next’?  Impatiently she shook her head and picked up the pace, leaving him in the dust.

Jen’s clear frustration brought a grin to Theo’s face.  Oh yes: she was falling for it hook, line, and sinker.  She actually thought he was gassed!  Maybe the old Theo would be by now; but after the most grueling week of exercise imaginable, Theo was hardly even breathing hard in truth!  The gasping for breath and flailing his limbs was all for show.  Now he settled back into his comfortable jog, totally in control, content—nay, delighted—when Jen zoomed farther and farther ahead.  At that quick speed, she was clearly taking this seriously indeed, and – unbeknownst to her – shooting herself in the leg in the process.  A very long leg, by the way, which … actually … OK, she may have looked a bit stilted before, but now at this speed she moved – no, flowed – down the track with remarkable grace.  She could’ve been the runner in a fitness commercial, gliding over the asphalt, her calves and hamstrings and glutes all firing in rhythmic succession and—

Dude.  STOP.  He looked away, feeling embarrassed.

But no matter.  He took his sweet time finishing the lap, even walking the last few feet with hands on his hips and plenty of huffing and puffing for show.  “Damn,” he convincingly wheezed, bending partway to the ground – and hiding another grin--“you gotta … gimme … a minute …”

By the time he straightened, Jen looked decidedly nonplussed.  A slight sheen of sweat coated her body again; her distressing chest rose and fell not too slowly.   She was at least a little winded.  Good.

“Two minutes, twenty-three seconds,” she reported, having stopped her watch just when he’d crossed the line.

“And you?”

“Two minutes and one second.”

“Geez,” he began, fanning his face, “that’s fast.  there’s a contentious issue I was gonna bring up, and it seemed like the best way to settle it would be a race … but it looks like I can’t even come close to beating you straight-up.  Damn … too bad …”

Jen slowly turned her head.  Ugh.  “I don’t even care,” she resisted.  “Can we just run?”

His lips pursed so annoyingly.  “Well, we could … but if we don’t sort this now, we’re going to spend all day arguing tomorrow – when, as you said, we really need to be getting along.”

She couldn’t freakin’ help it.  “Just say it,” she groaned.

“Well,” he said quite peppily, recovering oddly fast from his fatigue, “it’s about our team – but you have to promise not to start a fight when I say it.”

“What is it?”

“Promise, Jen.”

She grunted.  “Fiiiine.  I promise.”

He breathed deep, seeming relieved.  “I think you’re wrong about the show.  I don’t think the girl has to lead the team at all.  I think the man can lead just fine.”

Jen stared at him as if he’d just said the sky was green, or that the earth was flat.  “… What?”

“I know it sounds surprising.”

“No, it sounds nuts!  I--”

“You agreed not to fight.  Just hear me out.”

Jen ran a distressed hand through her hair and felt sick to her stomach as she let her dad explain.  “See, on this show, everyone just assumes the girl should call all the shots and the guy should just do what she says.  But of course it works that way, because all the girls they put on the show are cocky and arrogant, and all the guys are little beta wimps!  Obviously they’re going to knuckle under and obey the girl; that’s just how they are!  And obviously that’s not going to work for us, because we’re as far from the typical mold as you can possibly g—"

“No!  It’s not about personality; it’s how the show is designed!  Usually the women are shown everything of what’s going on; and the guys are just running blind, or doing one small part of the bigger picture.”

“Pfft.  Righhht.  As if the guys can’t handle anything more.”

“It’s just not their role on the show, that’s why!”

“Well, it sounds like plain ol’ reverse sexism to me.  I’m telling you, if you watch the show with an open mind, without all those simplistic preconceptions, you’ll see that it can actually work – nine times out of ten, if not more.”

Jen was aghast.  To anyone who’d watched even five minutes of the show, this was just … freaking … absurd!  “You—”

“Utt utt!  You have your opinion, and I have mine.”

“But yours is wr—"

“Hey, arguing about it won’t change a thing.  The way I see it, there’s only one solution: we race for it.  Winner gets to call all the shots tomorrow.  Loser has to swallow her pride and do what the winner says.”

In a moment of clarity, Jen could see it all.  Turn down the bet, and no amount of arguing would change his mind.  Their team would fail tomorrow in spectacular fashion, and that’s all there was to it.  Win the bet, and maybe they’d stand half a chance of getting through the show.  Lose the bet and, well, at least she’ll have tried.

“You’re on.  Let’s go.”  With a steely glare and frantic butterflies in her chest, she went to the start line and dug in her feet.

The rapid turnabout caught Theo off-guard.  “Oh!  Whoa there, um … we gotta discuss my handicap.”

Jen grated her teeth.  She should’ve known!  “Handicap?”

“Of course!  You’d crush me in a straight-up race.  Where’s the fairness in that?  I’m thinking—”

“One minute head start,” she belted without delay.

Geez -- she’d really fired that off in a flash.  “Umm … uh …” He thought fast.  “You beat me by more than twenty seconds on one lap.  Over four laps, that’s … like … a minute and a half.  I should at least get--”

“Oh, c’mon, you fucking staged it!”

He jerked backward.  Oh shit.  “You knew?”  He coughed.  “I-I mean … no, I didn’t!”  Smooth move, Ex-Lax.  “Well, you didn’t run your fastest either!”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you called it a warm-up.”

Crap.  “Well … still … I should get a minute and a half.”

Jen set her jaw.  Her eyes burned with impatience, and maybe anger.  “Fine,” she huffed, to his great surprise.

Really?  Goddamn!!  Although … the way she crossed her arms – those long, muscled arms – and shook her even more impressive legs, loosening them up, looking … daunting …

Had she agreed too quickly?  Did she know something he didn’t?  A knot formed in his throat.  “Two minutes,” he blurted, and her head whipped around.  He blushed.  “Umm … you’re better at long distance than me,” he reasoned, “so we should probably adjust it … accordingly …”

Jen fumed.  She wanted to argue … but she was so mad, she could hardly think straight, much less reason with him.  How could he possibly want to sabotage the show!?!  “Two minutes!” she all but roared, setting her watch and giving him room.  “Fine, just go already!”

Holy shit.  Theo couldn’t believe his luck.  That was the single stupidest decision Jen had ever made!  Sure, there could be some microcosmic chance of him still losing with a minute and a half head start … but two minutes?  No … effing … way.  Geez – she still had no idea how incredibly in-shape he really was.

“Ready when you are,” he quipped, not even hiding a smirk anymore as he braced at the line.

Jen’s mouth stayed curled in a frown.  “Go.”

Oh, if only he had eyes in the back of his head, to see the surely stunned look on his daughter’s face as he dashed off the line.  He freaking soared.  No more half-assed, ten minute pace this time.  As Lola had proved, he could finish in eight minutes if he really, really tried.  Hell, even Jen had run an eight minute pace, last lap.  So maybe at top speed she runs it in seven; big whoop.  This two-minute buffer was freaking laughable!

He waited till after the first bend to look Jen’s way.  Hmph… well, it was too far away to see if she looked panicked.  But surely she was.  Boy, he could just imagine the chill running down her spine as she realized the full extent of how she’d been played.  He knew he should stick to a steady two minute lap, but greedily he picked up the pace even more, sprinting around the second bend, in order to crush her hopes to smithereens by finishing more than one whole lap before she even began.

“Time?” he called, between healthy fast breaths, as he drew near.

“One fifty,” she said flatly, as he flitted past the starting line.  She … well, she didn’t sound or look worried, but …

“Two minutes!”  Her voice belted through the air, and … and he could already hear footsteps.  Rapid footsteps.  And closing fast.

“Holy--!” he yelped.  “What in the--!!”  Jen blitzed past him in what seemed almost a blur.  Suddenly he felt like he was running in slow motion – she was on an absolute tear!  If she’d been gliding before, she was completely flying now.  Her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground!

A chill went down his spine … and that’s when he realized he’d been played.  By her.

“No,” he barked, staving off despair.  She was already some twenty feet ahead by the time he entered the bend; and thirty, maybe forty feet by the time he reached the straightaway.  But she was showing off, or trying to demoralize him.  No way could she keep sprinting forever.  If she did, he was in trouble; but otherwise …

Oh hell.  He drove his feet even faster.

Through the second lap, into the third, not even Lola could’ve motivated him this much.  Jen just kept pulling away!  At least, partway through lap three, she had left his vision.  He needn’t stare at her soaring, half-naked form any longer.  But as he started lap four, it began to feel quiet … too quiet.  It was no longer a matter of how far ahead was she, but how close behind.  He tried to steady his ragged breaths and lighten his plodding steps, listening for any sound of Jen’s shoes drilling the pavement behind him.  Still nothing … Still nothing … 

God, how close was she!?  How …

*…thump thump…*

… close …

*… thump thump thump thump… *

“Fuck!”  Just one final bend to go, but Jen was hardly a hundred feet behind!  He almost tripped on his shaky feet in the act of looking back.  His strides pounded in desperation; he ignored his pain.  Even Lola would be proud now!  But … But …

“Fuuuuck!”  He looked back halfway through the bend – and she was hardly fifty feet behind!  He flopped along in panic, wasting all kinds of energy, all while Jen surged along with the flawless precision of a goddamned Terminator bearing down on his heels!  *Thump Thump Thump*--the footsteps rang in his ears, as the finish line drew close, and—

“Yaghh!”  As the first flash of black leggings and sky-blue bra appeared to his right, he swerved like a madman right into her, flailing his arms, grabbing whatever he freaking could!

“Hey!!” a panting Jen yelped.  “What … the …!!”  

*Pow!*  Her hip checked solidly into his waist.  He careered to the side but somehow recovered, came at her again …

“Don’t!” the glistening teen yelled.  “Dude, DON’T!”

Whether it was her hip this time, or her arms, or both, he couldn’t tell.  All he knew was that his world went spinning, his limbs tumbling; and when he finally came to a halt he was face down in the grass, five feet from the track, his legs twisted and his arm pinned beneath his back.

He angled his head just in time to see her foot land on the finish line, ten yards away.  She came to a stop … turned … and began stalking toward him.  Fists curled.  Eyes ablaze.

Fuck!  He only just got his legs and arms straightened, by the time her shoes crumpled the grass near his head.  Another shiver wracked his spine as his eyes swept up two towering legs, an elongated torso, and a hard sneer just visible over rapidly heaving breasts.

“Are … you … KIDDING … me?!” she practically roared, her fists tightening, her knuckles cracking.  “You can’t even play a little fair!?!”

His hands were already above his head, shielding himself nervously, by the time he realized and put them down.  “I … I …”

“Well, I won.  Will you at least hold up the bet??”

“Urmm … I … I mean …”

“Dad!  I swear to god!  I’ll—”

“Yes!” he yelped, afraid to even hear what she’d do.  “O-OK!  We’ll … do it … your way!” he wheezed, finding his breath.

She threw her hands up.  “It’s not my way; it’s the way!  … I can’t even!”  At least stepped back now, and seemed exasperated more than furious.  “Do whatever you want.  I’m going to keep running.  I’ll … we’ll … What time do we have to be at the studio?”

His dry throat gulped.  “Seven,” he croaked.

“Fine.”  She gritted her teeth.  “We’ll leave at quarter to five!”

Her powerful legs took off down the track, leaving him stunned.  Did she just give an order?  Was she acting in charge, already?  A whole day before the show?

Holy crud.  He didn’t know what to make of that – but he knew he didn’t want to stick around here.  By the time her long strides had looped her back to this spot, Theo was well on the way back to the house, to recover and regroup.