When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
After lunch, I worked on my paper some more until Dominic arrived. I just saw him a few hours ago, and yet I get butterflies in my stomach when he appears at my door. What the hell is wrong with me? "Ready to swim?" he asks. "I'm not swimming. I'm bringing a book. I'll just read." "You said you were swimming. You're backing out now?" "I said I might swim. It wasn't definite." "When was the last time you went running?" "I don't know. Probably a week ago. The weather's been crappy. I haven't been able to get out." "Then you need a workout. You need to get in the pool and do some laps." It was true. I feel the need to burn off some stress. Usually, I do that by running, but since I haven't been able to run, the stress has been building up. "Okay, but I'm not swimming the whole time. L