[No Name Yet] 1.1 Stronger than You Look

[Ophaki]

My friend, great chapter and great writing as usual. I love the dynamic between brother and sister, Jenny's shyness, and Rob's introspection. You worry too much about the length of the chapter. There are readers who appreciate short, fast-paced stories and readers who love slow-cooking. Obviously, the former are not your audience, so don't worry about it. Now I'm going to get the full version since your "long chapter" was a little too short for me.

[Ophaki]

LIVE NOW

Muscular Women Are Live Right Now

Join private chats instantly. Real models. Real-time interaction.

120+ models online now

Start Watching →

[Sieming]

My friend, great chapter and great writing as usual. I love the dynamic between brother and sister, Jenny's shyness, and Rob's introspection. You worry too much about the length of the chapter. There are readers who appreciate short, fast-paced stories and readers who love slow-cooking. Obviously, the former are not your audience, so don't worry about it. Now I'm going to get the full version since your "long chapter" was a little too short for me.

Message received. No more worrying about the length of anything. I'm just here to tell the story. With any luck, this will make me actually share interesting information in future Author Notes.

And thanks for the vote of confidence in getting the first 40,000 words. That's longer than Of Mice and Men, and nearly 13% as good. And damn, there I go again about length.

If anyone else is thinking of getting the first book, understand that it isn't the whole story. For technical reasons, I had to divide the story into approximately 25k word "Books". "Arc" would have probably been a better word. It is the first of those, the part that is currently edited and finished.

[Sieming]

=== 1.12 Did He Notice? ===

Jenny tugged the hem of her old camisole down over her stomach, then stretched with a deep yawn as she crossed the room. Her hair clung in damp streaks to the back of her neck, still wet from her shower. The house creaked around her, the familiar groans of wood settling in the stillness, a sound she'd grown used to during these late nights after training. It had been a long three months, each session leaving its mark in sore muscles and quiet satisfaction. The air in her room still held the faint scent of coconut from the shower.

Jenny passed the mirror, and tonight, something caught her eye. She stopped and stepped back. The bedside lamp cast shadows across her face, but she in this case the shadows revealed instead of hid.

The light struck her shoulder perfectly. Different. Fuller. Rounder. Jenny raised her arm and flexed, slow and precise, exploring this new development.

Huh.

Her cami clung to her, bunching and hiding her shape. The thin cotton softened the lines underneath. She hooked her thumbs under the hem, pulled it off, and tossed it aside. Cool air skimmed her skin, raising goosebumps.

She raised her arm again.

Better.

It wasn't huge, but her bicep bunched. Below the skin, a small, defined swell spoke to countless push-ups and pull-ups. The earlier ache made it feel warmer, tauter—like the muscle still thrummed from use. She flexed again, harder. The bump rose more clearly. Yeah... that was something. You have to start somewhere.

She rotated, peering for another angle, straining to see the full curve of her shoulder in the half-light. A grin tugged at her mouth. Watching her body respond, feeling this new weight and firmness, was unexpectedly fun. Still, she expected more after all this time. Rob's biceps always jumped out, sharp and sculpted, while hers emerged gently, almost shy.

A stair creaked.

Jenny froze, caught mid-flex, a rush of mortification searing her like sudden fever. Rob was past the top of the stairs. The old floorboards' groaning, usually comforting, now sounded like an alarm in her quiet room. Her breath stuck, and for a ludicrous second, she considered diving onto the bed, hiding like a child caught. She knew it was too late. If she turned around he would be there, if he was coming to her room at all.

Before she could scramble for her cami, Rob spoke. "Hey, you left your backpack downstairs." His voice was casual, unbothered.

She swallowed hard and half-turned to the mirror, her reflection clear, her eyes on the Rob in the mirror standing behind her. He didn't drop his gaze. His eyes didn't flicker—no awkwardness, no teasing. Just looking, like it wasn't a big deal at all, like seeing his sister in her bra. His expression stayed neutral, almost clinical, like he was observing a science experiment rather than his half-naked sister admiring her new muscles.

Jenny's cheeks burned, but panic eased. If he didn't make a big deal out of it, she wouldn't either. Her shoulders relaxed, posture straightening. She exhaled a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"Thanks," she said, trying to shrug like she hadn't just been flexing in her bra. Her voice came out steadier than she expected, a small victory that bolstered her confidence.

"Uh, you're doing that wrong, by the way."

Jenny blinked. "What?"

"The flex. You're holding your arm at a weird angle," Rob said, stepping deeper into her room. He made a fist, raised his arm in a practiced flex, his bicep tightening, faint lines etched by the lamp's glow. The muscle popped sharply, months of their workouts showing easily. He held the pose.

Jenny didn't even think before she turned, reached out, and squeezed his bicep. Firm, solid, and, unlike hers, definitely popping out of his arm. As her fingers grazed his skin, she felt a jolt run through her, a sudden warmth that had nothing to do with the shower heat still clinging to her body. She could feel the ridges and valleys of his bicep, the result of months of their shared effort in the basement. She realized it was the first time she had felt him flex at the same time she realized that she had no idea how long she had been squeezing his arm.

Her eyes widened; she pulled her hand back. "Sorry, I didn't—" The apology hung between them. The room felt smaller, more intimate after her impulsive touch.

Rob just shrugged, a little grin tugging at his lips. "Nah, no problem. You can check my progress anytime you want." He showed her again, flexing once more, the muscle more defined this time as he leaned into it. "Like this. You gotta keep the angle tight, elbow up, and really clench. It'll look especially nice pumped after a workout." His voice was casual, almost teaching, as if this were just another of their training sessions.

Jenny hesitated for a second, then mimicked his movements, raising her arm. As her muscles strained, a bicep appeared—not quite as defined, but undeniably there. Like his sister, Rob reached for it without thinking, squeezing it for longer than she expected. His fingers traced the muscle under her skin, exploring its contours with a curiosity that matched her own.

"Make it harder."

She didn't think she could, but she did.

"Not straight up. Bring it in a little."

He gently turned her around so that she was facing the mirror.

"Now both of them."

Jenny brought her other arm up and did the same. That looked better. That looked good. Rob put a hand on each of her biceps and squeezed; gentile at first, and then harder. He pushed down on her arms, and she instinctively resisted, keeping them in the proper position.

His fingers were on the top now, with his thumbs underneath, exploring. The contact sent another jolt through her, this time less surprising. Like the comfortable ache after a good workout—a recognition of progress, of shared effort.

"Whoa," Rob muttered, his voice lower now, more thoughtful, more intimate. "Thicker than mine."

Jenny's stomach flipped. A flutter started low in her belly and spread like warmth through her veins, responding to the firm pressure of his thumbs under her arms and, even more, to his words. She smiled, trying to keep it casual. Her heart beat fast, a frantic drum against her ribs, unrelated to their workout.

"Not as cut, though," Rob added quickly, his voice returning to its normal register as he stepped back, a sudden movement that created a space between them. His gaze flickered away from her arms for a moment, landing somewhere in the mirror before he met her eyes again.

"Yet. Not as cut, yet," Jenny replied, her grin edged with confidence. She stood taller, unconsciously pushing her chest forward—a gesture both new and surprisingly natural. Rob laughed, a genuine sound that eased the tension. He shook his head fondly and nodded, as if believing her promise. Then he turned to the door, gave her one last look, and pulled it shut behind him. The latch clicked loudly in the sudden quiet of her room.

Jenny let out a long breath, air rushing from her lungs in a soft whoosh. She leaned against her dresser, the wood cool against her back, her legs suddenly unsteady. She glanced down — the pale line of her training bra, the faint indentation from his thumbs, her arms still warm where he had touched her. Something else caught her eye, and a new flush rose: the material was thin, and still damp from the shower. Even in the lamplight, she could clearly see—her pulse jumped. If she could see them, so could he.

Had he noticed? Heat surged—part embarrassment, part fear, part thrill. She met her own eyes in the mirror: wide, dark, hair a messy halo.

Jenny raised her arm again, now intentionally, recalling the feel of his fingers. Her bicep lifted in a soft, promising curve beneath her skin. Flexing properly, she noticed the increased size. She'd worried about gaining strength without visible muscle, but now saw the change. The bedside lamp cast shadows that made the muscle seem more defined, but she didn't care. She tilted her arm, watching light catch the subtle ridge absent three months ago. Her fingers traced the curve, feeling firm resistance under her skin. Rob saw it too. "Thicker than mine," he'd said. The words echoed in her head.

She could still feel the phantom pressure of his thumbs pressing against the underside of her arm, the way his fingers had wrapped around her bicep with genuine curiosity. The memory sent another warm flush through her. She reached for her cami but stopped halfway. The thin fabric suddenly felt unnecessary, as if it would hide this new discovery she was so proud of. She turned off her light and slipped into bed without it, the cool sheets against her bare skin making her newly formed muscles feel even more real.

But her final thought went back to the mirror. "What did you see, Robert?" she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet room.

— — —

Rob stood in the narrow upstairs bathroom, the fan rattling softly above him, its steady drone a familiar companion to his late-night thoughts. The faint scent of soap and shampoo still lingered in the air, mixed with the steam that curled around him like a shroud. His towel hung loosely around his neck, damp and heavy, while droplets of shower water still clung to his skin, catching the light from the bulb above the mirror. The mirror fogged, streaked with steam in abstract patterns that shifted with each breath he took, but he could still make out his reflection, if just barely—a shadowy figure in the mist.

He planted his hands on the cool, smooth surface of the counter, leaning slightly toward the glass, his knuckles whitening as he pressed. His eyes traced the outline of his figure with practiced detachment. He didn't linger on the details; it was more like an inventory. A quick check, like reviewing the specs of a machine before a test drive.

Weight: He wished he could put on some pounds. He was thin; felt fragile compared to his friends, like a sapling next to mature oaks. He thought of Jenny—broad shoulders that seemed to widen with each passing month, strong legs from horseback riding, solid arms that could almost pin him when she really tried. She wasn't bulky, but there was a weight to her now, a density that he could feel every time they worked out together, every time she landed on top of him during their wrestling matches. She'd gotten stronger. Gotten stronger fast. Did she weigh more than he did? He was suddenly interested in knowing that number. He caught himself. Why does it matter? The question hung in the steamy air, unanswered.

Height: He let out a sigh that fogged the mirror even more, his shoulders slumping in defeat. No growth spurt yet. The tape measure he kept hidden in his drawer hadn't moved in months. Short for his age. Heck, short for Jenny's age. At least he was still taller than Jenny. More or less. Yeah, well... His gaze dropped, lingering on his own body before looking back to the mirror, unwilling to face it for too long. He looked down again.

Junk: He grinned to himself, a little smug, the steam briefly revealing his reflection as he shifted. It was the one thing the other guys never hassle him about. No teasing in the locker room. Not once. The memory of Mark Henderson getting shut down last year with a single, pointed comment still made him smile. Weird, the things you end up feeling grateful for. It kept some of them from picking on his height, a shield he hadn't known he needed until he saw how it worked. After all, no one wanted that comeback, that silent acknowledgment that left them looking small instead of him. It was a strange sort of power.

Muscles: Rob raised his arm, flexing slowly, watching the condensation ripple as his skin tightened. A respectable, defined bicep, nothing crazy, but it was quite a bit bigger than last year. He ran his thumb over it, pressing gently, the skin still warm from the shower. Harder now than it used to be, denser under his touch. Still, not as impressive as when he was mid-workout, muscles pumped and swollen with blood and effort. But it was okay if you didn't notice how thin his arm was otherwise, how the bone almost showed from certain angles. Better than last year, at least. Progress.

Jenny: Her biceps didn't pop like his. She didn't have that defined curve, the hard edges that stood out when he flexed, the kind that looked good in a photo. But at rest? Her arms were thicker. He'd felt them. Finally knew for sure, after all these months of wondering. The weight, the feel, the heft. For months, he'd imagined what they would feel like flexed. He felt his own arm but pictured hers, solid and substantial. He let his grip expand, his fingers spreading slightly as he imagined how hers felt with his hands wrapped around them. Thicker than mine. The words echoed in his head.

How long until she catches up? Passes me?

The strange part was, he didn't mind. Not really. It made him push harder, gave him a reason to keep going when he wanted to quit. Every time she closed the gap, it pushed him forward, lit a fire under him that wasn't just about staying ahead. He liked that. Liked that their workouts had become something they both shared, something that was just theirs. Another competition, like wrestling.

Still...

He needed to stay ahead. Not just for himself now, but for this—this thing they had, this push and pull that had become the rhythm of their days, the current that pulled them through the basement workouts, the wrestling matches that left them breathless and tangled on the floor. He liked it. Liked the fire it lit in him, the way it made him feel alive in a way nothing else had before. But he also knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his gut, that it was a delicate balance. If he let her get ahead, would it still be a game? Or would it become something else? Something that made him feel small, watching from the sidelines while she soared?

If I had dumbbells...

The thought popped up, unbidden, as if it had been lurking at the back of his mind, waiting for a quiet moment like this to surface. He could almost feel the cool, ridged metal in his hands, the weight settling into his palms as he curled, feeling the burn spread through his forearms and biceps. He could see them, a gleaming set on a rack in the corner of the basement, new and serious, a declaration of intent. He could save up, figure it out. Maybe mow a few extra lawns this summer, do some chores for the neighbors. It wasn't impossible. Start lifting for real, beyond the push-ups and pull-ups, beyond the makeshift routine they'd cobbled together in the dim light of the basement. He could feel the potential in his muscles, the readiness to be pushed harder, to be shaped into something more.

But Jenny would use them too, wouldn't she? Of course she would. He knew it even as the thought formed. There was no way he could keep them a secret, not in a house this small, not with their schedules so intertwined. Not easily anyway. And did he even want to? The question gave him pause, his fingers still tracing the faint definition of his bicep in the dim light. There was a strange sort of thrill in the thought of her picking up those weights, her eyes narrowing with determination as she matched him rep for rep, her arms growing stronger, thicker, her progress fueled by the same fire that drove him. He liked watching her get stronger. He liked that they were doing it together. But he also liked the idea of having something that was just his, a secret weapon in this unspoken competition between them.

He finished drying off, wrapped the towel around his waist, and clicked off the light, plunging the small bathroom into darkness. He moved quietly down the hall, his bare feet making the usual sound on the old wooden floorboards. His room was dark, the air still, the only sound the steady rhythm of his own breathing. He threw on some shorts and climbed into bed. As he settled into the quiet, a last thought crept in, unbidden and insistent, pushing through the fog of his tired mind.

What the heck had Jenny been wearing?



== 1.12 Author's note ==

For those of you who picked up the rest of the first arc of the story (book 1), there were a few edits before I posted it here. Not enough to make it worth rereading. Just smoothing out some rough edges. That will likely be the case for the next 6 chapters in this arc as well. I won't call attention to it every time.

Jenny finally learns how to flex. Is that even a thing? It does explain why Jenny didn't look all that impressive when she flexed for Mel last chapter. Speaking of things that finally happened, Jenny and Rob have finally explored each other's flexed biceps. Is there an award for the slowest burning female muscle growth story? Any guesses on what happens now that Jenny knows that Rob isn't going to make a big deal about seeing her in her bra?

[Sieming]

=== 1.13 Returning the Favor ===

Rob sat up in bed, legs stretched under the covers, studying his history notes by the soft light of his bedside lamp. The house was quiet as always after ten—air thick, lights dim, voices low. Only the soft rustling of textbook pages and the sound of Jenny in the shower down the hall broke the silence. His mind drifted between battle dates and treaty names, words blurring together as fatigue crept in.

He was most of the way through the chapter when there was a light knock, barely audible, then Jenny's head popped into the room. "You up?" Her voice was soft, carrying the weariness of her day.

Rob looked up, blinking to refocus his eyes. "Yeah."

She stepped in, leaving the door half-closed and letting in a sliver of hallway light. She looked ready for bed—cami, cotton shorts, hair still damp. "Swim practice was brutal. My shoulders feel like bricks." She rolled her shoulders back, wincing slightly.

He looked back at his notes, the inked letters swimming before his eyes. "Want an ice pack or something?"

"No," she said, stretching her arms overhead with a grimace that turned into a yawn. "You could return the favor, though."

Rob blinked, his mind still stuck somewhere around World War 1. "Return the favor?"

She shot him a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. "A back rub?"

"Oh. Right." He sat up straighter, his history notes forgotten, heart beating a little faster. "Yeah, sure. I guess I owe you a few by now." He couldn't remember exactly how many back rubs Jenny had given him after their workouts, but the number had to be around a half dozen.

She climbed onto his bed, turned around, and settled flat on her stomach. "Give me your pillow. You're probably gonna suck at first."

He took the pillow from behind him and threw it at her. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." But he couldn't help but smile at her directness.

Rob slid out from the covers, cool air hitting his bare chest. Should he grab a shirt? No—Jenny's face was buried in his pillow. He straddled her hips as he'd seen her do, legs on either side, their bodies close. His thighs brushing hers through the thin shorts. It felt more intimate than he expected.

"Start here," she said, reaching back and tapping the space between her shoulder blades. "Use your thumbs, not your fingers. And don't be afraid to push a little."

Rob scooted closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. He wanted to get this right. His hands hovered over her back before touching down. Her skin was warm through her cami, and the muscles beneath weren't what he expected. Not soft. Meaty? Solid? Developed. There was a density to them that surprised him, a testament to hours in the pool and their shared workouts.

"Too high," and she pointed again.

"Right." He adjusted, moving his thumbs down slightly, the fabric of her cami bunching under his palms. He pressed again.

"Better. Now down. Slower and harder. You're not trying to erase a chalkboard."

He exhaled through his nose and settled into the motion. It was easier than he thought it'd be once he got the hang of it. Not simple, but rhythmic. Her breathing slowed, deepening and becoming more even. She stopped talking. He kept going, his thumbs digging into the tight muscles along her spine, his fingers following the curve of her rib cage.

Rob worked down the center, then up the edges. His fingers circled gently along her sides as his thumbs kneaded inward. He didn't rush, tracing her shape, learning as he went. Her lats felt wider and denser than expected. He pressed along their curve, curious, exploring the results of countless swim practices and pull-ups. It was a lot. They were probably part of her back, right? He worked her lats, and felt the tension release, then moved back to her shoulders when Jenny shivered.

— — —

Jenny  smiled when he found her lats, his thumbs working into the dense muscle there. She didn't mind as he explored their shape, fingers curving around her torso. The back rub became a side rub for a while, and almost a front rub as the very tips of his fingers brushed beneath where her breasts should be. The contact sent a shiver through her. She wondered if he'd noticed.

As he reached the small of her back, he leaned in for a better angle, his breath a whisper against her shoulder blades. She felt him shift, adjusting as he reached lower, his hips pressing into hers. He didn't seem to notice, intent on his task. She certainly did—his weight resting solidly on her glutes. Did he do that on purpose? She decided not to mention it. It felt good. Just part of the package.

She felt Rob's hands move steadily up her back almost like he was trying to read something written there in a language he was just learning to decipher. The thought made her wonder how his hands would feel without a shirt in the way—definitely a better translation, more direct, more intense, more intimate. That sent a small shiver through her body as well.

— — —

There was a spot near her left shoulder blade where the muscle resisted him—a tense little knot that pushed back against his thumb with stubborn persistence. He pressed a little more, gradually increasing the pressure, feeling the resistance beneath her skin. She let out a long, quiet breath. Not a word, not a noise exactly. Just air, but it was enough to make him pause, his hands hovering uncertainly above her back. The sound was soft, almost imperceptible, but in the quiet of his room, it carried.

He didn't like it—that tough little knot. Its mere existence was a little affront to what he was trying to do. He went to work on it, his movements becoming more deliberate, more focused. Sometimes, with a direct frontal assault, pressing hard into the center of the tension. Sometimes, with subtle infiltration from an oblique angle, circling around the edges before pushing inward. Two thumbs, then just a palm, finally, knuckles pressing into the tight muscle. Jenny let out a little groan when the battle was going his way—a soft sound of relief mixed with discomfort that spurred him on. He wished her shirt wasn't in the way. It would be a lot easier to attack the problem directly, to feel the exact contours of the tension beneath his fingertips, to gauge precisely when to press harder, when to ease off.

Eventually, he was victorious. He could feel the knot begin to release, the muscle softening under his attention. He learned something about the job during the fight—a deeper understanding of pressure points and muscle tension—and was anxious to apply it to the wider battle that was her back.

He started again at the top and worked his way down, looking for other spots that needed attending to. His movements were more confident now, more assured. He could feel how strong her back was getting—how dense, how broad. Was that why they called them broads? Jenny's shoulders shifted subtly under his hands with every breath. He tried to imagine what his back felt like under her hands. Did he feel this way to Jen? Was this the same density she felt when she worked on his sore muscles after their workouts? He hoped it was.

A lock of hair fell across her arm, darker at the tips from water. He reached up unconsciously to move it back into place, his fingers brushing against her skin as he tucked the stray strand behind her ear. Jenny sighed at that too—a softer sound of contentment this time, not discomfort. The gesture felt natural, almost automatic.

Her shoulders were nice. Some muscle coming in on top, and more as he worked his way down her arm. He didn't really notice when her shoulders became her biceps, and he spent some time rubbing them as well. Squeezing, rolling, teasing between his thumbs and fingers. Jenny flexed them as she shifted position to give him better access. Her arms pushed out as he squeezed. That was interesting. He wanted to continue down to her forearms, but worried he would fall on top of her. Reluctantly, he moved in the opposite direction.

Time stretched. He lost track of how many times his hands went up and down her back. His room felt smaller, focused on Jenny—the air thick with the scent of her shampoo, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting shadows across her form, the rhythmic sounds of her breathing mingling in the quiet space. Eventually, he slowed his motions and let his hands fall away, his palms tingling slightly from the prolonged contact.

Jenny didn't move right away. Just murmured, "Thanks," low into the pillow, her voice muffled by the fabric but still clear in the stillness of the room.

"Any time."

She pushed herself upright a moment later, hair a mess, cami wrinkled and bunched. She stretched, her arms reaching overhead as she arched her back, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips as she quietly left his room.

At least she had her shirt on.



== 1.13 Author's note ==

I like the back rubs. It gives them a "safe" way to feel each other's bodies developing. We'll see that develop more in future chapters. Rob wasn't really paying attention when Jenny was giving him back rubs—at least not to what she was doing with her legs, and ends up practically sitting on Jenny's butt, instead of kneeling over and straddling it.  I wondered about having her correct him, and decided that didn't really seem in character.

In other news, after avoiding it for a couple of weeks, I started on the editing (rewrite is still probably a better term) of Book 2 "Catching Up Fast". With a set process in place, a chapter takes about 4 hours to go from, "Whatever, at least the damn thing is written." to "I wouldn't mind sharing that with someone." I know now from past experience that I'll go through one final edit before posting it here. I just did that with the chapter above.

When you're reading these stories, mine or anyone else's, take a moment when you're done to tell them what you liked and, at least for me, what you didn't like. It is easier to post the next chapter when you know people are reading them. To be honest, before I started posting this story, I was terrible about that.


If you don't know what to say, How about answering this question: Is Jenny already stronger than Rob?

[Sieming]

=== 1.14 The Shower Scene ===

The rubbery scent of mats in the air, Coach Miller, a last-minute sub for Mr. Carter, marched Jenny's gym class into the weight room, "Check your maxes, ladies," he called, his voice echoing as he scrawled names on the board in thick, chalky letters, adding columns for deadlifts, curls, squats, and bench press in sprawling handwriting. He looked them over and added a few more.

He always called them ladies; the guys didn't seem to like it, their shoulders stiffening slightly as they adjusted their stance or wiped their palms on their shorts.

Jenny looked at the board. If the numbers were up there for everyone to see, then it was a contest. Jenny loved that—it was numbers—numbers she could control, digits rising and falling with her effort.

Deadlifts, curls, bench press, lat-pulldowns—she remembered the exact moment she realized she was ahead. No "total" column, but she did the math and noticed a few others doing so as well, numbers clicking into place. Stronger than every girl, stronger than most of the guys.

Well, stronger in every category except squats. Mel owned squats. It was her domain. Melissa's squat numbers were ridiculous, and when she saw people's jaws drop, she grinned like a wolf, her eyes flashing with triumph as they loaded more weight onto the bar for her.

Everything else seemed to stop when Mel went down, the room falling silent except for the soft grunt of her effort and the clink of the bar settling into the rack.

Mel's incredible squats made it close, but Jenny's total was a little higher.

— — —

After gym, Jenny stood in the shower, reliving her results—heat mingling with adrenaline in her veins. She tilted her head back, letting hot water cascade over her shoulders, the spray beating a rhythmic tattoo. Shampoo rinsed away gym scent, replaced by her coconut conditioner. Here, there was no hiding. No secrets. Steam filled the air, hazy and dreamlike, but every body was clear.

It was also clear who held the power in this space.

Mel topped the pyramid. No one doubted it; her strength, confidence, and easy comfort with her body were obvious. And in the other hierarchy, Mel reigned there too. Jenny glanced down, swallowing discomfort—she remained at the bottom.

"Holy crap, Melissa," Kara's voice cut through the steam, thick with admiration. "Your butt should come with a warning label."

Mel just laughed, flipping her wet hair back with a practiced flick, sending droplets flying through the air. Her tone was casual, as if they were discussing the weather. "That's a year of squats, girls. Get on my level."

Jenny couldn't help but smirk as she listened to the banter. She liked that Mel was untouchable. It seemed effortless, the way she carried herself, born with unshakeable confidence.

"Love the haircut, Nancy!" Angie called from across the room, her voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls.

"Thanks, girlfriend!" Nancy chimed back, running her fingers through her freshly cut locks, the short strands clinging to her neck.

"Somebody's gonna need a new bra soon," Abby teased, laughing, her voice laced with genuine affection. "Seriously, look at those."

Kathy stuck her chest out proudly, her breasts catching the light from the overhead fixtures and the spray from her shower head. "It sure took them long enough, but I can't see my toes anymore." As Kathy looked down, Jenny watched a few drops slowly pull off the tips, like they wanted to stick around a little longer.

A round of cheers and whistles followed, the sound bouncing off the walls and mingling with the hiss of the showers. No malice in the teasing, just pure, good-natured fun. Here, they were a team. There were no real boundaries. Jenny felt it: there was a hierarchy, but it was something to aspire to, not something that divided them.

"I still can't believe she beat all the boys," someone murmured nearby, clearly in awe. The voice belonged to a girl with braces, her eyes wide with admiration as she glanced at Mel.

Brenda, right outside the showers, shot her a grin, her towel wrapped securely around her body. "That squat test was the first time more boys were staring at Mel's butt than her boobs."

Laughter rippled through the group, genuine and warm. Nobody was jealous of Mel anymore —she was too inclusive, too easy to like, too quick to lift everyone else up. It was the mothers, Jenny thought with a smirk, who looked at Mel with that mix of reluctant admiration and something more complicated.

And then —

"Damn, Jenny," Kara's voice broke through the chatter again, cutting through the steam like a knife. "When'd you get those arms?"

Jenny blinked, water droplets clinging to her eyelashes. "What?"

Kara motioned for the others, her hand making a sweeping gesture toward Jenny. "Look at those!" Jenny's eyes followed, glancing down at herself and realizing: she was pumped, her muscles standing out from their work in the weight room. The sets had left her shoulders rounded from exertion. Her biceps, noticeably thicker, soft, but distinct curves beneath her skin. She hadn't even noticed how pronounced they looked in the warm, hazy light of the shower room.

Abby, one of the girls from her math class, raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Whoa. Seriously, flex it."

Jenny flushed, warmth spreading through her chest like the steam. She took pride in her arms, in hours at home with Rob, and swimming. She knew how to flex, but, come on—they were in the shower.

Still... she considered it, weighing the moment, then gave a crooked grin. "Not in here."

Laughter filled the air — light, easy. If anything, the girls were impressed with that too. Eyes following her arms as she rinsed the last of the conditioner out of her hair. Enjoy the show, girls.

From across the room, Mel winked, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Looks like someone's moving up the ranks."

Jenny rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. As she left the shower, water dripping from her body onto the tiled floor, Mel gave her a playful slap on the butt. The surprise made Jenny jump, and a high-pitched squeal slipped out before she could catch it, echoing slightly in the steamy room.

Mel's grin widened, her teeth white against her tanned skin. "About time somebody gave me some competition around here."

Jenny's stomach twisted with a mixture of pride and uncertainty. She liked this feeling—this acknowledgment of her hard work—but it also felt dangerous, like stepping onto a new playing field where she didn't know the rules.

— — —

The locker room was noticeably cooler after the steamy shower, the tile floors cool beneath her bare feet. Jenny tugged on her socks, the chatter of girls dressing nearly covering the soft swoosh of fabric as they prepared for their next classes. Most of them were still in various stages of undress, toweled hair mostly done dripping. Droplets of water towelled off legs and arms; voices bouncing off the lockers in easy camaraderie. The air smelled of damp cotton and fruity body wash. Jenny, towel slung over her neck, didn't rush—the weight of the workout was still clinging to her muscles like a comfortable ache.

"Hey, Jenny!" Kara's voice rang out, loud enough to pull her out of her thoughts. She looked over to see Kara leaning against a locker, damp hair sticking to her cheeks, an expectant grin on her face. "You promised us a flex."

Jenny paused, her fingers halfway through pulling up her shorts, the denim rough against her skin. Her stomach tightened, the kind of self-consciousness she was slowly growing out of creeping back in. She pushed it down. What did it matter? It wasn't like she had anything to hide. Besides, she thought with a crooked smile, what did she really have to be embarrassed about? She sort of liked the way she looked.

"Okay, okay," she gave in, rolling her eyes as she lifted her arm and made a fist, the movement slow and deliberate, drawing out the moment.

The muscle in her bicep pushed up, a soft curve beneath the skin, not enormous, but bulging up in a way the girls weren't used to seeing, especially on one of their own. It wasn't exactly the size that caught their attention—it was the way it stood out against her now firmer arm, the clear definition a testament to her hard work. Jenny watched the girls stare, some in surprise, others just impressed, their expressions a mirror of her own private satisfaction.

"Damn," Kara muttered, her eyes wide as she appraised Jenny's flex. "That's legit." The word hung in the air between them.

Abby, sitting cross-legged on the bench in her plain white underwear, raised her eyebrows so high they disappeared beneath her damp bangs. She leaned forward, her movements suddenly more animated. "Holy crap, you really have biceps." Her gaze dropped from Jenny's face to her arm again, as if trying to reconcile the girl she'd known for years with this version standing before them.

Jenny's chest tightened in something close to satisfaction, a warmth spreading through her rib cage. "Thanks," she said, a little breathlessly, her voice softer than she intended. She let the arm drop, feeling a strange warmth fill her cheeks. Part of it was pride—a heady rush that made her want to throw her arm up again. Part was relief—there were so many ways this could have ended badly.

"Do it again," Kara urged, her voice a little softer now, a little more serious. She took a step closer, her towel forgotten where it lay on the bench beside her.

Jenny flexed again, this time with more confidence, the movement smoother than before. She held it longer, her gaze steady as she met the eyes of the girls gathering around her. This time, no hesitation, no second thoughts. It was proof of the numbers she put up in the weight room.

"Holy cow," Morgan said, her voice full of awe as she moved from her locker to join the growing circle around Jenny. "That's bigger than Carl's. Is that for real? Can I feel it?" Her question was hesitant, shy even.

Jenny thought for just a breath, her heart thumping against her ribs in a nervous rhythm that contradicted her outward calm. The silence around them was thick with attention, the usual locker room chatter dying away as all eyes fixed on her. She lifted her left arm too, her skin still warm from the shower as the muscles tightened. The overhead lights caught the curve of her biceps, casting subtle shadows that made them look more substantial than they really were.

"Sure," she said, her voice steadier than she expected. A thought flashed through her mind—Is this how Mel feels? When she lets a moment play out without knowing how it will end?—a brief moment of appreciation for the confident ease Mel always projected.

Morgan's fingers pressed into Jenny's hard muscle. Her face lit up with genuine surprise, the skepticism from moments before melting away completely as Jenny's arm resisted her squeeze. "Whoa. It's, like... solid," she said, her words tinged with disbelief, her voice barely above a whisper as if afraid to break the spell. "Feel it!"

The invitation hung in the air for a second before other girls gathered in, their movements tentative at first, then more confident. They took turns cupping their hands around her biceps, their expressions a mixture of wonder and, well, a lot of different expressions. Abby's touch was light and curious, Brenda pressed hard enough to hurt as her eyes narrowed in assessment, and Kara—ever bold—squeezed with both hands, letting out a low whistle. Each touch sent a small current through Jenny's arm, each comment building something inside her—confidence she hadn't realized was missing. She wasn't the girl with no chest anymore. She was the girl with the guns.

Mel, now fully dressed in her usual combination of jeans and a fitted shirt that did nothing to hide her own impressive physique, leaned casually against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a sly grin. She raised her hands and gave a lazy golf clap, her movements deliberately theatrical. "Ladies and gentlemen... a contender," she drawled with playful approval.

Laughter broke out around the room, warm and genuine, as the tension finally broke, and the girls relaxed into their usual camaraderie. The warmth in Jenny's chest deepened, spreading through her entire body like a pleasant fever. She grabbed her shirt, pulling it on over her head, the cotton fabric pulling a little on the muscle she was still getting used to.

As she finished dressing, pulling her sweatshirt over her head and smoothing down her ponytail, Kara gave her a knowing grin. "You're lifting with your brother, right?"

"Yeah," Jenny said, tossing her backpack over her shoulder, the weight of it familiar against her back.

Kara rolled her eyes, the gesture exaggerated but genuine. "Lucky. My brother won't even share the remote."

"Boys," Abby added with an eye roll of her own, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement as she finished adjusting her bra strap beneath her shirt.

"Fact," Brenda chimed in, still fiddling with her shirt, the fabric catching on her watch as she struggled to free her arm. "They're all the same."

From the other side of the locker room, Mel spoke up, a sly smile playing on her lips as she leaned against a locker, her arms crossed over her chest. "Except for Rob."

That earned some curious looks, the girls turning their heads in unison like a flock of birds.

"Wait — is Rob your brother?" Abby asked, her eyebrows arching with interest, her voice laced with sudden curiosity.

Jenny gave a tight smile, trying to brush it off, "Yeah. Why?"

Abby grinned, her eyes bright with mischievous delight. "He's kinda cute." The words hung in the air, a sudden shift in the conversation that Jenny hadn't seen coming.

"Totally," Brenda added, finally freeing her arm from the sweatshirt with a triumphant little sigh. "Short, but... nice eyes." She squinted, as if trying to picture him. "And his arms aren't bad either."

"Not that short," Kara added, her voice dropping a little, becoming more conspiratorial. "And he has a nice ass too." That earned a giggle from the girls around her.

Jenny's smile faltered for just a second, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. Her stomach did that weird flip again, like kicking off the wall. She ignored it, pushing the feeling down. Rob might annoy her to no end, but hearing other girls talk about him—well, she felt a weird kind of pride, and a strange bit of apprehension.

Mel caught her eye as Jenny moved past her, raising an eyebrow and flashing a knowing grin, a mix of amusement and maybe understanding? "Told you. He's kinda alright."

Jenny rolled her eyes, but the gesture felt weaker than usual. Maybe it wasn't so bad that Rob was getting some attention, too.

Maybe.


== 1.14 Author's note ==

I messed something up, and accidentally had NovelAi generate the scene below of Mel squatting that we don't see in the chapter. It is completely unedited, and has some continuity problems, but I thought it was an interesting mistake:

It started with Mel and the squat rack. The clang of the weights loading onto the bar was a percussive rhythm, a countdown. A few of the boys had stopped their own lifts to watch, feigning indifference but stealing glances. They'd seen her numbers on the board. They didn't believe them.

Mel stepped under bar, her hands gripping the cold steel just wider than her shoulders. She didn't rush. She took a breath, expanding her chest, then settled the bar across her traps, the weight a familiar, heavy pressure. The room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of chalk and sweat.

Coach Miller, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, nodded. "Alright, Miller. Let's see what you've got. That's defensive lineman territory right there."

Mel's eyes flicked to him, then back to the mirror in front of her. Her expression was focused, almost cold. She wasn't just lifting a weight; she was preparing to explode. This was the bottom of a forty-yard dash, the coiled spring before the starting gun fired. Her legs were the engine. This was just the proof.

She unracked the bar, stepping back with a slight grunt. Her posture remained immaculate—chest up, back ramrod straight. The boys who had been watching stopped pretending. They just stared. She began her descent, slow and controlled, her hips moving back as if sitting in an invisible chair, the angle of her shins and thighs perfect. Lower, lower, until her thighs were parallel to the floor. The bar dipped a fraction more, just past parallel, a small, deliberate push beyond the standard, a flex of pure power that made the muscles in her quads and glutes ripple under her gym shorts.

Then she drove up.

It wasn't a frantic movement. It was a violent, controlled explosion. The bar shot upward as her legs straightened, the force seeming to radiate from the floor up through her entire body. She locked out her hips and knees at the top with a sharp click, her body a rigid column of steel. She didn't drop the weight. She re-racked it with a loud, decisive clang that echoed through the sudden silence of the weight room.

One of the senior linemen, Mark Henderson, just shook his head, a look of grudging respect on his face.

Mel stepped out from under the bar, breathing a little heavier but otherwise composed. She turned to Coach Miller, a challenge in her eyes. "More?"
He just chuckled, checking the number he'd written on the board. "No. That's plenty, Miller. That's a freshman squatting varsity numbers. Good form, too. Looks like you're about to launch yourself out of the starting blocks, not just lift a weight."

A small, satisfied smirk touched Mel's lips. She didn't look at the boys. She didn't need to. Their silence was more telling than any comment. She'd made her point. Jenny, watching from the lat-pulldown machine, felt a flicker of something—not envy, but a kind of awed inspiration. She looked back at her own numbers on the board. Strong. But not like that. Not yet.

NovelAi is one of the tools that I use in the middle of the process of turning ideas into chapters. I was experimenting with one of its features, and didn't realize that it would just continue writing the story from the spot where I had left the cursor. Not a bad continuation, but not the direction I wanted to go with this chapter.

What do you think about the title of this chapter? "The Shower Scene" was the working title for a long time, and I just never came up with anything that I liked better. I might not hav spent too much time trying. I am certainly open to your ideas.

In other news, I have pretty much given up getting any "audience participation" rolling with this story. But I am much less motivated to post without any indication that anyone is reading. If you want to just skip ahead and see how the first book ends (there are only about 7k more words; you've read 33k so far), you can buy the eBook for $2 You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login.

[BravoBoy]

We read and very enjoy, you write wonderful. Keep posting

[Sieming]

We read and very enjoy, you write wonderful. Keep posting

As long as people are still reading, I'll keep posting. thanks for your kind words.

[Sieming]

=== 15. One Less Thing ===

Rob stood by his bed, moonlight filtering through the window, highlighting the lean lines of his torso. He'd already put on his sleep shorts, the fabric hanging loosely at his hips as he yawned. The hallway light spilled through the open doorway, casting a golden line across the floorboards—bright enough to keep him awake unless he switched it off.

He reached for the door as it pushed open. Jenny stumbled in, her gasp lost in the quiet. Her palm landed on his chest, fingers splayed on warm skin. Her other hand clutched her neck, eyes half-closed in pain as her fingers dug into tense muscle.

"Hey," she started, voice thick with exhaustion. "You busy?"

He looked down at her palm on his chest. "I mean—sleeping. Soon."

"Swim practice was brutal again today," she said, her tone tight. She noticed her palm resting on his chest and gently pulled it back, then used it to rub her neck. "Coach added this full-body drag exercise—it felt like moving through syrup. And after that, our workout." She let the thought trail off.

Jenny winced as she rotated her neck, the movement stiff and unnatural. "I'm dying. Can I get another back rub?"

Rob's fingers traced where her palm had been on his chest. He watched her biceps move as she kneaded her own shoulders. "Sure. Yeah, any time."

Jenny was already moving, grabbing his pillow and flopping onto his bed with a soft sigh—her body against his sheets. As she settled on her stomach, arms folded beneath her head, her shirt rode up too, revealing a sliver of skin at her waist where the dim light caught the curve of her spine. She wiggled into place, then glanced back at him over her shoulder, her hair spilling across his pillow.

Rob climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as he straddled her hips. He adjusted his position, his thighs brushing against hers through the thin layers of fabric.

— — —

Jenny felt how his weight settled low, pressing into her. The pressure was firm, centered, a deep, spreading warmth that radiated through her thin shorts and over the gentle curve of her hips.

It wasn't painful—wasn't even heavy—just there, a solid, grounding presence that made her acutely aware of every point of contact. It was probably too late to say anything without making it awkward, without breaking the spell. Not that she really wanted him to move. It felt... dangerously nice.

So she shifted, a deliberate roll of her hips against him, letting herself sink deeper into his touch. And let it go.

— — —

"I'm not that fragile," she said, voice muffled by the pillow. "Put some of that muscle into it."

She must be really sore tonight, he thought as he leaned forward, shifting more of his weight onto his hands. Her shirt pulled and bunched as he worked his way up and down, fingers seeking the knots in her muscles. He moved up, his thumbs pressing into the tense spots alongside her spine, catching again on the cotton.

Jenny shifted beneath him, a frustrated sound escaping her lips. "Ugh, this shirt's a nightmare," she complained. "Hang on a sec." In one fluid motion, she pulled her shirt off over her head, the movement practiced and confident. The moonlight caught the developing muscles of her arms and shoulders as they flexed with the motion.

No hesitation.

She tossed the shirt—it landed in a soft heap on his floor. "There," she said, voice softer now. "That should work better."

Rob took her in for a moment, then set his hands down tentatively. The difference was electric. No shirt in the way, just the smooth, warm expanse of her skin, the firm landscape of muscle beneath—broken by two thin straps and an elastic band. "Yeah, that's better," He agreed. Unexpected, but definitely better.

Her shoulders felt solid. His thumbs pressed into them and found an unexpected density, a resistance that surprised him. Not soft, not yielding—strong. Her upper traps curved outward now, the muscle responding to his pressure. Had she changed so much since her last massage, or was he just more aware of it now, seeing it laid out before him?

"You weren't kidding," he breathed, the words barely a whisper against her skin. "You're tight... and really built up here too."

"Best part of me," Jenny mumbled, her voice a low, throaty hum against the pillow. "When they aren't screaming in pain."

He looked down, his gaze mapping the lines of her back. It narrowed from her shoulders to the base of her ribs, a solid V. The deltoids capped her shoulders like smooth stones, and the muscles at her sides—her lats—flared wider than he'd realized, a testament to hours in the pool.

Was it a trick of the moonlight, or maybe his angle, or was Jenny wider than he was?

The thought was dizzying—a strange cocktail of intimidation, fascination, and a vague twisting. Was it admiration—or something closer to awe? The feelings tumbled together, unsteady and raw.

"I keep finding new muscles. Have you been holding out on me?"

"Keep digging. Who knows what you'll find back there?"

He kept digging, working his thumbs along the tops of her shoulders, dragging them down in a slow, deliberate path beside her spine. Each time, he skipped over the thin lines of her training bra. She shifted under him again, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the tension began to melt away.

"The knots here are crazy. I can tell exactly where Coach has you focusing."

Her breathing deepened, a slow, steady rhythm that he found himself matching. "Yeah," she murmured, the word thick with pleasure. "Right there. That's it."

Rob continued, adjusting his weight to press deeper as he moved. The muscles under his hands flexed and softened as he worked. She didn't have chiseled definition, but the strength was there, a powerful, steady form. He moved lower, his palms brushing the curve of her waist, his thumbs tracing the dip of her spine. Should he keep going?

"You are really digging in," Jenny said, her voice a low, teasing laugh that vibrated through her and into his palms.

"You've got more going on back here than I thought," he admitted, his voice rough. His hands roamed a little wider, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her sides, just below her ribs. He felt her shiver.

— — —

Jenny tried to speak, but only made a small noise — not quite a laugh, more like a hum of contentment. Where had that come from? She tried again. "You're not wrong," her voice muffled by the pillow. "Swimming builds it fast. Halfway through the season, and your shirts don't fit anymore." She arched slightly, a subtle, unconscious movement that pushed her up into his hands, a silent invitation for more.

Rob worked diligently around the edges, thumbs pressing deep into the muscles along her spine, fingers tracing the curve of her lats, but they never crossed the thin line of elastic that spanned her back. He'd skirt the band carefully, sometimes sliding under it just barely before retreating, as if the fabric was hot to the touch. The thought was both frustrating and amusing—he was perfectly comfortable straddling her hips, his butt pressed firmly, then teasingly into hers as he explored her back, yet this useless piece of cotton had become an invisible barrier. As usual, it just made everything worse.

She considered taking it off, reaching back and pulling it over her head with the same casual confidence she'd shown with her shirt, but something held her back. Not self-consciousness. It was more a sense that Rob might not be ready for that—at least judging by his careful avoidance so far.

"Thank you." She said contentedly, "You're really getting good. Have you been practicing? Rubbing another back on the side?"

"Just natural talent, I guess." Rob patted her shoulder twice as he shifted his weight and stood up.

The warmth of his hands still lingered on her skin as she sat up, reaching for the discarded shirt before stopping short. A mischievous impulse took over—she looked at Rob and left her shirt on his floor, a small, soft reminder of their evening together. She slipped out of his room and into the hallway, the ache in her body transformed into soft contentment and a vague longing.

— — —

Rob watched Jenny leave, listening to the soft pat of her feet and hearing the click of the hallway light—finally off for the night. Only moonlight touched the soft cloth on the floor near his bed.

He reached down, absently rolling the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger. It was still in his hand as he slid between his sheets.


== 1.15 Author's note ==

I am more and more convinced that the view counts on posts are not at all realistic. What do you think? Here are the views per chapter since I started keeping track:

1.1 - 1.7 (8425 views)
1.8 Merry Christmas (958 views)
1.9 What if (s)he doesn't want me? (1,084 views)
1.10 A Little Harder, Too (1,797 views)
1.11 February & March (1,467 views)
1.12 Did He Notice? (1,273 views)
1.13 Returning the Favor (1,792 views)
1.14 The Shower Scene (3,327 views)

I know it's hard to tell from the story, but I'm a numbers kind of guy, and these numbers just seem too high.

In other news, sorry about the long break before posting this chapter. I've been working on a couple of chapters in Book 2 that have been a bother to get in shape. I honestly thought that I would pick-up some speed once I got to Book 2, but that hasn't happened yet.

[Elmanouche]

I am more and more convinced that the view counts on posts are not at all realistic. What do you think? Here are the views per chapter since I started keeping track:

1.1 - 1.7 (8425 views)
1.8 Merry Christmas (958 views)
1.9 What if (s)he doesn't want me? (1,084 views)
1.10 A Little Harder, Too (1,797 views)
1.11 February & March (1,467 views)
1.12 Did He Notice? (1,273 views)
1.13 Returning the Favor (1,792 views)
1.14 The Shower Scene (3,327 views)

I know it's hard to tell from the story, but I'm a numbers kind of guy, and these numbers just seem too high.

In other news, sorry about the long break before posting this chapter. I've been working on a couple of chapters in Book 2 that have been a bother to get in shape. I honestly thought that I would pick-up some speed once I got to Book 2, but that hasn't happened yet.

I'm not sure, but I think views are not 'unique views' it's more like 'each time your thread was opened'.
o, I'm not sure it is a stat to bother with.

That being said, nice slow paced story you have there, c'mon, make Jenny outgrow her brother already!

[Sieming]

I'm not sure, but I think views are not 'unique views' it's more like 'each time your thread was opened'. I'm not sure it is a stat to bother with.

That being said, nice slow paced story you have there, c'mon, make Jenny outgrow her brother already!

Yeah, you're probably right, not really worth worrying about.

Jenny is probably pretty close right now, but neither one of them is completely sure they want to know that. I'm working on Book 2 now, and Jenny is definitely stronger, but it's taking them a while to figure that out, and what it means. It's starting to look like this will be the slowest FMG story ever.

[Sieming]

=== 1.16 Showing Off ===

Jenny stood before her locker, steam thick in the air and soap lingering, brushing damp tangles from her hair with slow strokes. In the mirror, her bicep flexed with each motion. Chatter, lockers slamming, and clothing rustled behind her. Her skin still buzzed from the shower, the towel's cotton rough against her sensitive skin.

"Hey, Jen," Kara's voice cut through the noise, closer than she expected. Jenny glanced up. Kara was leaning against the bank of lockers, her own towel barely clinging to her hips. Her gaze was direct, anticipative. "Give us another flex. It's been a while."

A slow heat bloomed in Jenny's chest. Had Kara noticed her brushing too? She hadn't been showing off, not exactly, but it was nice that her basement workouts with Rob were paying off.

She could feel the weight of the other girls' eyes as they turned her way.

From the opposite corner, Mel watched, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. She pushed off the lockers, her movements fluid and confident, and sauntered over. "Kara," she said, her voice a low, teasing purr. "Why don't you see how you stack up against Jen instead?"

Kara's eyes flickered, a brief, sharp glance taking in Jenny's lean torso, the flat plane of her chest, and then her own, fuller curves. A smug little smile touched the smaller girl's lips, a silent assessment.

"Mel..." Jenny started, a note of warning in her voice, but Mel gave her a subtle wink. She had this under control.

Jenny's tense shoulders eased, a fraction as Mel gestured toward their arms. Of course.

"Come on," Mel urged, her voice dropping lower, more intimate. She leaned in close to Kara, her breath warm against her ear. "Not those," she whispered, a wicked grin on her face as she pulled back. "Her arms, Kara. How your arms stack up. Arm wrestling."

Kara looked taken aback, a flush rising on her cheeks, before she let out a short, surprised laugh. "Right, okay. Sure."

The air crackled with anticipation as the other girls crowded in, forming a loose circle around them. A few catcalls and whistles cut through the hum of the ventilation fan.

Tiny Kara stepped up to the bench, her posture straightening with determination. "Alright, alright," she said, her voice a little breathless. "Let's see if Jenny is as strong as she looks."

Jenny's heart hammered against her ribs as she met Kara's gaze. When Kara's hand met hers, the contact was electric. Jenny's grip wasn't what she expected; Kara's hand felt surprisingly soft, the skin warm and smooth, her fingers delicate under Jenny's more calloused ones. They locked hands, and Jenny could feel the fine tremor in Kara's hand, a nervous energy that mirrored her own.

"Ready?" Kara asked, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes locked on Jenny's.

"Ready," Jenny said, her own voice a surprisingly low growl.

The moment they began, Jenny knew. It wasn't even a contest. She felt Kara pushing, the satisfying resistance against her bicep. Jenny held her at the top, letting the moment stretch, feeling the strain in Kara's arm, the way her knuckles began to whiten.

Then, with a slow, deliberate push, Jenny brought Kara's hand down to the bench. The thud of skin on wood was final, absolute.

Kara blinked, a grin spreading across her face. "I had to ask," she said, her voice huskier than normal. "I'm impressed."

Jenny's lips curved into a matching grin, the thrill of victory a hot, intoxicating rush. She raised her arm, flexing hard, the muscle swelling under her skin. Kara reached over and gave it a squeeze--tentative at first, firmer when Jenny didn't pull back.

"Any other takers?" Mel asked.

Brenda, who had been standing off to the side watching, stepped forward. She was taller, broader than the others, with shoulders and torso that suggested years of competitive sports. Everyone knew Brenda was the strongest—Jenny included.

She looked at Jenny, her gaze analytical as she sized her up. "I think I'll give it a shot," she said, her voice low and confident as she rolled her shoulders back, preparing for the match. The air around them crackled with anticipation as the other girls leaned in again, forming a tight circle around the wooden bench.

Brenda had the size advantage, and she was strong—as strong as Jenny had expected. When their hands met, Brenda's grip was firm and hard, her larger hand enveloping Jenny's.

Jenny felt the strain immediately, the muscles in her forearm engaging as Brenda applied steady pressure. Then, more pressure as Jenny's arm began to move toward the bench. The locker room got quieter then.

Brenda was as strong as she looked. As strong as Rob had been when they'd arm wrestled in the pasture. Maybe stronger. Not as strong as Rob was now. Not stronger than Jenny.

Jenny stopped their hands. Kara clapped. Jenny brought their hands back to even. Several girls cheered. Moving Brenda's arm was hard. Maybe the hardest thing she'd ever done—if she didn't count her first three pullups, or swimming against Tara, or wrestling with Rob.

It was a slow burn, muscles trembling with effort, but Jenny eventually pushed Brenda's arm to the bench. It was harder, and it took longer, but it was never really in doubt once she locked in. The final thud echoed in the sudden silence of the locker room as Brenda's hand hit the bench with a soft sound.

While she held Brenda's hand firmly on the bench, a thought flashed through her head: Rob could have taken her; we're about the same strength. The realization sent a strange thrill through her—part pride in her own progress, part wanting to see Brenda and Rob arm wrestle.

"Not bad," Brenda said, rubbing her arm with a mix of respect and surprise, her face flushed from the effort. "Really not bad."

Jenny beamed, feeling a little cocky but also a little surprised at how much of a challenge it had been. Her arm was trembling, a pleasant ache spreading through her bicep.

Mel, grinning from ear to ear like a proud coach, stepped in. "Alright, alright. Jen's killing it," she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "It looks like we're going to need some boys to really challenge her." That was met with more than a few boos.

Jenny raised an eyebrow, her competitive spirit already stirring. "I guess so," she said, feeling reluctant but curious at the same time. "You really think a guy would be that much harder than Brenda?"

Brenda smiled at that, but Mel shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You'd be surprised how hard boys can be." Some of the girls laughed at that.

Jenny's competitive spirit flared as she stepped back from the table, brushing a few damp strands of hair off her forehead. "Alright then," she said, voice bright with challenge. "Let's see what the boys have."

Brenda groaned theatrically, still rubbing her bicep. "I've asked. They are not interested in arm wrestling a girl. No upside for them."

Mel, tying her hair back into a messy knot at the nape of her neck, smiled without looking up. "Yep. The boys'll be scared to lose to a girl."

Jenny shrugged, "So? What do we do?"

"So," Mel said, a slow grin spreading across her face as she stood up, adjusting the collar of her shirt with deliberate precision, "let's make them less scared."

Kara filled in the silence, "How are we gonna do that?"

"Easy, we beat the strongest guy, the rest won't be embarrassed to lose." She glanced toward the locker room exit, her tone casual but her eyes sharp with challenge. "Follow me, girls."

The girls gathered themselves, still buzzing from the match. As they left the humid locker room behind, they stepped into the late-afternoon sunlight, the air turning crisp and carrying the scent of new grass. The old wooden picnic tables, stained from years of spilled lunches and the scuff marks of countless shoes, was occupied by a cluster of boys leaning back on elbows, their jackets half-zipped against the cool air.

Nate was at the center of the group, laughing about something one of his friends had said, his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Nate," Mel called, her voice carrying across the small distance. "Feel like arm wrestling?"

He turned toward her and gave her an appraising look. "With you?"

Mel didn't answer—just raised an eyebrow, a single, elegant curve.

Nate chuckled and pushed himself to his feet. "Sure, why not?" He stepped around the bench and sat, laying his arm on the table like the whole match was a formality, his movements loose and confident.

He flexed slightly, the muscle in his forearm and bicep tightening, enough to draw a few murmurs. First from the guys, then from some of the girls. One of the boys elbowed another, a knowing grin on his face.

Jenny hung back, arms crossed over her chest, watching. She could feel the residual burn in her own muscles, the memory of Brenda's resistance still fresh.

Mel turned her back on Nate, a slow smile playing on her lips as she faced the girls. With deliberate grace, she undid a button on her shirt. The girls were smiling. Mel undid another. The fabric parted, showing the soft curves beneath, a glimpse of lace and shadow that made the air feel suddenly warmer. She rolled her shoulders back, arching slightly, the movement sending a subtle shift through her torso that made more than one girl catch her breath. Abby didn't even pretend not to look.

"Mel doesn't fight fair," someone whispered, the words thick with something like envy.

"She doesn't have to," another replied, her voice a low murmur of admiration.

"I didn't know you could weaponize those," a third voice added, sparking a ripple of suppressed laughter that felt like awe.

Mel didn't respond. Just smiled faintly, turned, and leaned in toward the table. She didn't sit—just angled her body over the bench, one elbow down on the table, hand extended. Jenny couldn't believe how effective that position was. Had Mel practiced this? There was no reason Mel would have shown her. It's not like she could help.

Nate gripped Mel's hand automatically, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere, his eyes slightly unfocused, a faraway look on his face—about twelve inches away.

A girl—Eliza, maybe—stepped forward to officiate, her own cheeks flushed. "Three... two... one... go."

They didn't move.

For a long beat, it looked like nothing was happening. No one's arm trembled. No one bore down in determination. Mel had a faint smile. Nate was still somewhere else.

Then, gently, Mel's hand guided Nate's downward. No strain. Just two twin spheres of inevitability, as smooth and inexorable as the tide. The back of Nate's hand met the weathered wood without a sound, stillness for a moment. The girls exploded.

Cheers and laughter, cries of "Awe, Nate!" and "Destroyed!" filled the air, a cacophony of victory and defeat. The boys groaned, some clapping Nate on the back while others laughed openly at their friend's expense. Nate blinked, clearly unsure what had just happened, his usual swagger replaced by a look of dazed confusion.

"Two out of three?" he offered, good-natured but a little shell-shocked.

Mel was already buttoning her shirt, her movements unhurried. "I don't think you could handle another one."

The laughter swelled again, echoing across the field.

Jenny stood a few steps back, arms still crossed, her smile fading into something smaller, more thoughtful. The sun felt warm on her skin, but her mind was elsewhere, turning over possibilities.

She'd like to try that—but not Mel's way. That wouldn't work for her anyway.

As the boys and girls drifted off, their chatter turning to other things and the talk of arm wrestling fading into the background, Jenny's thoughts stayed behind at the picnic table where Nate still hadn't gotten up—his face faintly flushed.

She was picturing one specific boy across the table from her.

== 1.16 Author's note ==

As I'm editing Book 2: "Catching Up Fast", I've remembered to type out what I'm thinking as I finish each chapter (currently on 2.9). But it's still a bit of a challenge coming up with Author's Notes for these chapters that were originally set out almost 6 months ago, and edited maybe 6 weeks ago. On the plus side, not many people have really engaged with the Author's Notes, so it's not like we're losing much.

And now it just feels like I'm whining.

What do we get in this chapter? We start an arm wrestling arc that will continue to develop over time. Jenny is of two minds about how her body is developing. Well, at least two minds. Will Mel beating Nate work the way she wants it to? Will more boys be willing to arm wrestle with, um, the girls? Stay tuned and find out.

[Sieming]

=== 1.17. Changing Proportions ===

Rob hurried through the kitchen on his way downstairs. He hadn't missed a workout yet, and he wasn't about to start now. Jenny and Mel's voices drifted up from the basement, but something on the doorjamb stopped him. A new line—a new date, new initials. The date was recent, the initials Jenny's, and the line nearly an inch above his.

Rob pressed his back to the jamb, hand flat against his head. He stretched, hopeful. Turning, he left his hand in place. Definitely above his old mark, definitely below Jenny's.

Rob looked at the pencil hanging from a string, but he decided not to make a new mark. Not yet, anyway.

— — —

The pull-up bar creaked under Rob's grip. His arms tensed; muscles bulge. His legs hung still, toes pointed, breath steady.

"Eleven," Jenny called out, her voice crisp and clear from her position below, where she stood with arms crossed, eyes tracking his every movement. A fine sheen of sweat already coated her forehead.

Rob grunted, shoulders aching, and heaved again. His chin cleared the bar with effort, the cool metal pressing against his neck as he struggled for that extra inch.

"Twelve!" Jenny's voice carried an edge of satisfaction, her lips curving into a small, encouraging smile.

He was slowing. His legs started to twitch with the strain, toes curling and uncurling involuntarily, breath getting shallow, each inhale a ragged gasp.

"Come on," Mel added from the corner where she leaned against the couch, her posture deceptively casual. "Two more. You've got this." Her voice was low and steady, somehow more motivating than Jenny's louder encouragement.

Rob inhaled through clenched teeth and pulled. Jenny's routine kept him consistent, but Mel's presence drove him to push his limits. Her watchful eye made him dig deeper.

Thirteen was ugly. Arms shaking, legs kicking once involuntarily. But he made it, his chin barely scraping the underside of the bar.

Jenny's voice rose, half cheer, half command. "One more, Rob!" Her eyes were bright with intensity, fingers flexing as if she were the one hanging there.

The next one took everything. His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. Shoulders flared wide as he hauled himself up with a full-body growl that seemed to come from his toes.

His chin passed the bar.

"Fourteen!" Jenny shouted, throwing both hands in the air. "New record!"

Rob let himself hang, chest heaving, arms burning with a fire that was both pain and pleasure.

Jenny didn't wait. She surged forward, catching him around the waist in a hard hug that nearly knocked the breath from both of them. She lifted. Rob reacted. His legs locked instinctively around her waist, thighs clamping right above her hips—ankles locked loosely behind her back. It was like he was getting a piggyback ride, only he was in front.

Jenny spun them both, laughing like she'd finally won a carnival prize–her face pressed hard against his chest, the sound muffled by his sweat-soaked shirt. Rob's chin bumped against the top of her head, and for a second, the only sound was the rush of air from the spinning motion and the thudding rhythm of his own pulse. Her laugh against his chest tickled more than it should.

Six full turns, and she decided that was enough. She slowed and lowered him down with a soft sigh and an even softer smile, her hands lingering at his waist.

Mel, still leaning against a couch, gave a slow clap, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "That looked like a pretty powerful incentive to reach a new max."

Rob flushed, heat creeping up his neck, and gave a sheepish shrug, suddenly acutely aware of how close he and Jenny still stood.

Jenny bounced on her toes, calf muscles coiling and releasing, then strode to the bar with determination. She jumped, caught the bar cleanly; fingers locked around cold metal.

"Let's go," Rob said, his voice low and intense. "Come on, Jen." He could feel the familiar knot of anticipation tighten in his stomach.

"One," Mel counted, her voice steady and clear. "Two... three..." She watched Jenny's form with a critical eye, noting the controlled precision in every movement.

Jenny's body moved like a swimmer should: clean, tight, methodical. Her core engaged, shoulders pulled back, and each movement was smooth as water flowing around a stone.

"Ten!" Mel called out, her voice rising with excitement.

Jenny groaned, the sound raw with effort. Her form started to falter, her body beginning to swing a bit, but she kept going, pushing through the burning sensation in her shoulders.

"Eleven!" Mel's voice was sharp with encouragement.

Her shoulders rolled forward. Arms on fire. Gritting her teeth. Sweat trickled down her temples, stinging her eyes.

"Twelve!"

She hung there, chest heaving, knuckles white where they gripped the bar. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, each one a small victory against the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her.

Rob and Mel looked at each other. Mel raised her eyebrows, then tipped her head toward Jenny. That was all it took.

Rob grinned, stepped forward, and caught Jenny around the waist just as she dropped from the bar. His arms closed around her waist, and he lifted her cleanly, her weight lighter and heavier than he expected at the same time. Her legs dangled, loose as he spun her around.

Rob managed the first spin with confidence, his arms tightening around her to maintain his grip, his face planted firmly in her chest. But by the third spin, momentum and her slick skin made slipping through his arms inevitable. As Jenny's eyes slid down to his face, her arms slid around his neck. They ended up face-to-face, more or less hugging.

Her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with exertion, breath fast against his collarbone. Rob felt the moment stretch—was Jenny going to kiss him? His heart thudded in a weird, sideways direction.

Then Jenny smiled, a quick flash of white teeth that didn't quite reach her eyes as she slipped from his grasp with the practiced ease of a wrestling match, the warmth lingering where she'd been pressed against him.

Jenny turned to Mel, the competitive spark returning to her expression, "Two records so far today, want to make it three?" Her voice made it sound more like a dare than a question.

Mel looked up at the bar, calculating. She ran a hand through her hair, her movements deliberate as if weighing the physics of it. "When in Rome," she said with a philosophical shrug that didn't quite match the sharp glint in her eyes. She jumped up cleanly, sending a little bounce through her torso.

Mel managed one fairly clean pull-up, her form smoother than Rob expected, closer to Jenny's sixth than her first, but still technically sound form. Her arms trembled as she held herself at the bottom for a beat, considering another. She started a second, then dropped back down to the floor with a little bounce that made more than her ponytail sway. Jenny gave her a sharp, friendly slap on the rear, the sound echoing in the basement, "No worries, you'll get there."

Mel didn't tell them that one pull-up was a new personal record; she'd never managed even an ugly one before. She hadn't exactly been concentrating on her upper body; her focus had always been elsewhere. Besides, she wasn't entirely sure who she wanted spinning her around, with their face smashed into her breasts.

— — —

Mel's expansive bedroom was warm with lamplight, the kind that made everything feel a little softer. Pillows were scattered across a thick braided rug, a big old comforter lay in a tangle, and a half-eaten bag of popcorn leaned precariously against a scented candle labeled Autumn Birch. The squat rack dominated the far wall, strangely at home beside a glossy white vanity and a bulletin board peppered with photos and magazine cutouts. Mel's room above the garage felt like a girl's room—if you ignored the squat rack.

Mel lay on her stomach, chin propped in her hands, flipping a hair tie between her fingers. Jenny sat cross-legged beside her, combing through her damp hair after a shower. The air carried the scent of coconut shampoo.

Mel wrinkled her nose playfully. "Are you seriously still using that bargain-bin shampoo?"

Jenny paused mid-stroke. "Uh... I guess? What's wrong with it?"

Mel rolled onto her side, mock-offended. "It's just... it smells like a beach-themed air freshener. You need a clarifying rinse or at least a decent conditioner. That chlorine does things."

Jenny raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you the hair expert?"

Mel gestured grandly toward the vanity. "Have you seen the tools of the trade? Don't let the squat rack fool you."

Jenny laughed. "Okay, okay. Maybe you can give me a makeover later."

Mel smirked. "You know what I don't get?" she said after a beat, not looking up.

"Mmm?"

"Why you're not, like, stronger than Rob by now. With the swimming, the horse stuff, all the workouts? I mean, I can't keep up, and you're still trailing behind Rob. Shouldn't you be past him already?"

Jenny didn't answer right away. She twisted the comb through one last knot, then set it down. "It's the ratios."

Mel blinked. "The what-now?"

Jenny leaned back on her hands, grinning. "The ratios. If I'm still doing two fewer pull-ups than Rob, yeah, that sounds like I haven't caught up at all in the last few weeks. But it's a huge difference whether we're talking about him doing five and me doing three, or him doing fourteen and me doing twelve."

Mel squinted. "Still sounds like two fewer."

Jenny sat up straighter, eyes lit. "Okay, think of it like this: at the start, I was doing maybe 60% of what Rob could. Now I'm at over 85%. The gap's shrinking. The curve's leveling off, but now we're really talking about proportions."

Mel gave a mock sigh. "And, this suddenly turned into math class."

Jenny snorted. "It always is, a little. I like numbers. They tell you things people don't say out loud. Like, even if Rob hasn't noticed it yet, he should be worried. Because I'm gaining on him fast, and he's running out of room to stay ahead."

Mel gave her a slow grin. "Kinda devious. I like it."

Jenny shrugged, letting a sly smile pull at her lips. "It's even worse than that. Pull-ups are a body-weight exercise, and I'm pretty sure I weigh more than Rob. So technically, every rep I do is harder. I might already be stronger than he is... at least in pull-ups."

Mel blinked. "Wait. You're sure you weigh more than Rob?"

"Almost positive."

Mel propped herself up, suddenly invested. "Dang. That's kind of amazing."

"Yeah. Don't tell him," Jenny said lightly, like she was joking—but not.

Mel tilted her head. "Why not? I think he'd be impressed."

Jenny hesitated, fingers worrying at the comb again. "I don't think he knows. And I'm not going to be the one to tell him. Not yet."

Mel frowned. "You worried he'd freak out?"

Jenny nodded slowly. "I think... I think it matters to him. Being ahead. More than he says. If he knew I might be ahead now—or even close—I think it'd mess with his head. Can you imagine? Your little sister is suddenly taller, heavier, stronger, and, well, just bigger than you are."

Mel was quiet for a long time, a thoughtful look on her face. Then she nudged Jenny's foot with hers. "Yeah, I can imagine that. You're nicer than most people would be."

Jenny smiled. "I'm playing the long game."

Mel grinned. "You've got this whole secret muscle coup going on. Love it."

Outside, the wind pressed gently against the windowpane, and somewhere down the hill, the Wilsons' barn light blinked once before fading into the dark.

Inside, the girls leaned back onto their elbows. Jenny stretched her arms above her head, letting the stretch linger, then let her hands fall into her lap. She picked up the comb again, idly running her thumb along the teeth.

"I'm still going to get you better shampoo," Mel murmured. "Seriously. Rescue mission."

Jenny chuckled, tossing a pillow at her.
/font]

== 1.17 Author's note ==

Honestly, I'm not all that happy with the ending to this chapter. I guess there's nothing wrong with one ending on a quieter note, but it's not exactly something we've seen before. I actually looked for a "better" ending, and didn't come up with anything I loved. This is the closest I came:

— — —

Before he went to bed, Rob filled the milk jugs to water the plants on the landing. On his way out of the bathroom, He tried curling one—then the other. That gave him an idea.

[Sieming]

=== 1.18 Without a Sound===

Jenny was stretching her right arm across her chest, fingers hooked under the elbow, shoulder rolled forward as she tried to release the tension that had taken up residence there. The motion made her wince, a sharp pain lancing through her shoulder as she leaned into it, breathing through the discomfort.

Rob leaned against the door frame of her bedroom, arms crossed over his chest. He watched her movements with a practiced eye, noticing the slight tremor in her arm. "You look sore."

"Feel like roadkill," she said, voice flat with exhaustion. She switched arms, her movements more careful this time, and didn't look up. "Coach added partner resistance drills. I basically got dragged backwards across a pool for thirty minutes."

"Who could drag you?"

"Well, it turns out that you can hook two people up to one person if you need to," she said, a faint smile touching her lips as she remembered the look on the coach's face when he had to do that.

"But it really messed with my shoulders."

Rob stepped into the room, his footsteps soft on the carpet. "You want a backrub?"

Jenny didn't even answer. She dropped her arms, rubbed the base of her neck where the muscles had tightened into hard knots, and turned toward the bed.

As she climbed up, she peeled off her shirt and flung it toward the desk chair without looking, the pale blue fabric landing in a soft heap on the floor beside it. Then she flopped forward across the mattress, arms folded under her head, her face buried in her pillow.

Rob climbed on behind her and straddled her hips, his knees sinking into the mattress as he positioned himself over her. He could feel her warmth through his shorts, the firm tremor as she shifted slightly beneath him—a small adjustment to find a more comfortable position. Her body settled into the mattress as she prepared for the familiar comfort of his touch.

— — —

Jenny felt Rob's hands on her shoulders. He pressed in slowly, thumbs dragging down the lines of muscle with practiced weight. No hesitation now. He knew how she was built. Knew where it hurt and how to help. She could feel the tension coiled beneath her skin like tightly wound springs, each knot a testament to the grueling drills she'd endured. His hands slowly worked to unwind each knot, but snagged or lost focus once or twice on each pass.

She stayed quiet, her breathing even and deep. Her body remained pliant beneath his touch, trusting his hands to navigate the landscape of her sore muscles without her guidance. It was a language they'd developed between them, unspoken but understood in the press of skin against skin. A language that was not translating the way it should right now.

He worked lower. His fingers traced the curve of her spine.

He'd gotten better at this. The first few times were awkward, all fingers and angles and apologizing when he pressed too hard or not enough. She remembered the clumsy way his hands had fumbled, unsure of how much force to use, how to read the subtle cues of her body's responses. Now his hands moved with certainty, until they didn't

Jenny exhaled slowly into the pillow, the sound barely audible against the fabric. Not quite a sigh, but close enough—a quiet surrender to the moment. This was so close to perfect—just one thing getting in the way.

He shifted position, leaning into a deeper press, his body angling slightly to stay balanced. His hands skimmed over the elastic band of her bra—completely missing the middle of her back.

She frowned. That stupid band, normally just a formality, now felt like an unnecessary barrier between his hands and her skin.

His thumbs dragged again, catching slightly at the straps as he worked along her shoulder blades. The fabric resisted his movement, disrupting the smooth rhythm he'd established. Again, on the next pass, the same interruption—his fingers snagging on the thin straps.

Jenny huffed, a sound of frustration escaping before she could stop it. The massage wasn't working, and it wasn't Rob's fault. These constant breaks in rhythm prevented either of them from really getting into it.

"Stop."

She pushed up onto her elbows, the muscles in her back protesting the movement even as they benefited from the brief stretch. Without hesitation, she crossed her arms and grabbed the elastic at her sides. In one fluid motion, she pulled up then dropped the offending piece of fabric on top of her shirt. She dropped back down like nothing had happened.

"Okay, try again."

— — —

Rob's hands froze.

He'd only seen her back, the smooth expanse of skin interrupted only by the faint lines of muscle—but still. For a heartbeat, he considered stopping, considered suggesting she put the bra back on, but the words caught in his throat. This was clearly what she wanted, wasn't it?

Jenny turned her head sideways on the pillow, not looking at him. A strand of dark hair clung to her cheek, her profile softened by the dim light filtering through her window. "Well?" The word carried an edge of challenge, of expectation. He didn't answer, not with words. He set his hands back on her bare shoulders and kept going. The warmth of her skin seemed electric now, a current that hummed between them. Everything else was easier. Smoother. His palms slid over skin instead of fabric, thumbs sinking into deeper muscle. Her shoulders flexed and moved under his hands without resistance. The bands and seams that always threw him off were gone, replaced by an unbroken landscape, with more and more terrain.

Jenny breathed deeper, a slow, deliberate exhale that he could feel beneath his palms, the rise and fall of her ribs like a steady tide. He moved more slowly, more deliberately, savoring the contact. Her back was wide. Solid. He traced the shape of her delts with the sides of his thumbs, then rolled down her lats, feeling the strength that lay beneath the surface. He slid his hands down her side, feeling how they reacted. She didn't flinch. Just let him work, her body pliant and trusting under his touch.

"It's all yours now," she mumbled, half into the pillow, the words slurred with exhaustion and maybe contentment. He didn't reply. Just pushed deeper into the center of her back, knuckles dragging long paths down her spine, each vertebra a small, distinct ridge under his touch.

Her breath slowed, deepened, the rhythm shifting from conscious to unconscious. After a minute, her arms went slack. Her fingers uncurled from where they'd been clenched near the pillow. She stopped shifting. The tension that had held her muscles in a tight coil finally released.

She was asleep.

Rob stayed where he was, straddling her quietly. His hands rested just above her waist, the warmth of her skin seeping into his palms. The room was silent except for the soft, even rhythm of their breathing, a sound that seemed to fill the space around him. He could feel the subtle rise and fall of her ribs beneath his weight. As the quiet stretche, moonlight filtered through her window, casting silver shadows across her bare skin and highlighting the defined muscles of her back—a roadmap for his travels. He hesitated, his fingers hovering just above her skin, unsure whether to continue the massage or let her rest.

Then he leaned forward and kissed the back of her head.

Soft. Quick.

His lips barely brushed against her hair. The contact sent a strange warmth through his chest, a feeling both familiar and utterly new. He could smell the faint coconut scent of her shampoo mixed with the clean, slightly salty smell of her skin. For a moment, he wondered if maybe she wasn't asleep. He held his breath, listening to her steady breathing, relieved when it remained unchanged.

He sat back, paused, then carefully slid off the bed. The movement required more coordination than he expected, almost like he'd set a new personal record at some new exercise. He stood beside the bed for a moment, looking down at her. The broad sweep of her shoulders confronting him with their solidness. The still surprising bulk of her bicep that happened to appear from the way her arms were positioned, as if she had fallen asleep mid-thought. The room felt smaller.

He reached for the blanket at the end and pulled it up gently, laying it across the back of her legs and up to her lower back. His fingers brushed against her skin as he adjusted the fabric. The blanket was soft, worn from years of use, and he made sure not to disturb her as he settled it over her. He left her upper back exposed.

At the doorway, he glanced back one more time, memorizing the scene behind him—the sliver of moonlight on her skin, the peaceful rise and fall of her breathing, the soft blanket covering part of her.

He left the room without a sound.


== 1.18 Author's note ==

Well, that was it, at least for Book 1. Book 2 is over halfway finished, books 3 and 4 have rough drafts, and Book 5 is more or less finished. As I've said before, dividing them into books was more for technical reasons than plot reasons. I probably should have called them Arc 1, Arc 2...

Anyway, Book 2 picks up a few days after this chapter ends. I've been posting Book 1 in a few different places, but that's cumbersome, so I might just cut down to one location for Book 2.

If you made it this far, first of all, I'm amazed. I wasn't at all sure anyone would be interested in a, as it turned out, much slower than normal FMG story. It actually turned out to be slower than I was originally planning, and I'm not exactly sure how that happened. Book 2 picks up the pace a little, and by the end it is pretty obvious to everyone that Jenny is stronger than Rob. It's also faster in that Book 1 covered nine months, and Book 2 only covers one month.

Secondly, thank you for reading this far. I didn't know if I could write well enough, or have a story interesting enough to have someone else read it. This is my first work of fiction, and I continue to have fun writing it.

Let me know if you have any questions.

[srielley]

This is a great story with solid characters, well thought out scenarios, and fun dialogues. I hope to be able to read your work further in Book 2.

[Sieming]

Book 2 is finished. You can You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login.

I would be interested in what you liked and disliked about Book 1 if you made it this far.