OK, but, no one said it was Wet T-Shirt Night

Amanda stood facing her boyfriend Eric in her gym outfit of sports bra, heavy cotton crew neck short sleeved t-shirt and ankle length black leggings, dripping from head to toe in water.

“If you ever wanted to see me in a wet t-shirt contest? Well, here I am.”

Eric stifled a laugh. “Uh. Yeah.”

Other than the clear definition of the heavy seams of her sport bra and her underwear’s waist and leg bands, and perhaps a some soft who-would-actually-notice nipple definition, Amanda’s wet attire did not reveal anything beyond a jogger caught in a downpour. Only, it wasn’t raining.

“Seriously?!” Amanda argued. “I’m all wet and so, I thought you’d be, like, turned on. I mean,” she continued, looking down at herself, “it’s all sticking to me.”

“No, yeah,” Eric said, still stifling a laugh, “I mean… you are…seriously, man. Crazy! Seriously, how’d you, like, get all wet anyway?”

“Gina,” Amanda said. “From the West Building? She was in the pool, swimming, and no one else was down there. I stopped by the Cabana to see if anyone was using the sauna and, yeah, well, she dared me to jump in. As is.”

Amanda and Eric stared at each other.

“OK, so,” Amanda continued, “I’ll just…” she gestured toward the bathroom.

Eric gave her the thumbs up and settled back on the couch watching the big game, as before.