Jason passed his ID badge under the card reader, listened for the lock to click, opened the door, and entered the men’s locker room. He searched for a pen and signed the entry logbook as Joe stripped. Tall and lanky, Jason swept his shirt and sweatshirt over his unruly auburn hair and down his arms in a single motion. He hung them in a locker and turned to Joe. Shorter and stockier, Joe, in only his briefs and socks, was shivering and rubbing his arms with his hands.
It’s at least seventy degrees in here, Jason thought. “Do you feel okay, Joe?” he asked.
Joe didn’t feel well. “I’m okay. Still tired, still jet-lagged,” he said, and hoped he was right.
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