The gym feels emptier than usual this morning.
Maybe it’s the absence of Carlie’s laugh, which, despite our brief acquaintance, has become a sound I’ve found myself actually looking forward to.
I keep glancing at the clock, half-expecting her to walk in, apologizing for being late, but I know better.
After our conversation, it was pretty clear she had no intention of making her session today. For some reason, it disappointed me more than it should.
I get blown off all the time.
But after last night, I had hoped to continue whatever it is we seem to be building.
I don’t want to push it though.
If she’s sore or has other things going on, the last thing I want is to scare her off. I’ve seen clients bolt for less, and the thought of Carlie not coming back feels like it would hit different.
With an unexpected gap in my morning schedule, I head over to Dylan’s coffee shop for a caffeine fix and some light-hearted banter to lift my spirits.
The bell above the door announces my arrival, and Dylan looks up from behind the counter, his trademark shitty grin locked in place.
“Look who’s graced us with his presence,” Dylan calls out, already reaching for a large cup. “The usual?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I reply, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “And maybe some of that banana bread if it’s fresh.”
“You’re in luck. Stacy made a batch this morning. So, how’s life in the land of spandex and sweat?” he teases, slicing a generous piece of banana bread.
I shouldn’t even be eating the stuff—too many carbs—but I can’t seem to help it. It’s sooo damn good.
I chuckle, accepting the coffee and treat as he hands it over the counter. “Not bad. Had a no-show today, though.”
Internally, I cringe at the nonchalance in my words because I know Carlie’s already so much more than that.
“This the new client you were talking about on Sunday?” Dylan asks, leaning in with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, actually,” I nod. “I think she’s sore but just doesn’t want to say it. But who knows? She said something about unexpected housework.”
“Women. They’re unpredictable, man,” he scoffs, sliding his glasses up his nose. “Speaking of unpredictable women … Any new hookups I should be aware of?”
I roll my eyes, taking a sip of the hot coffee. “Still on that, huh?”
“Always.” He flashes me a wide grin. “After last time, I figure I need to be proactive from here on out. So, who’s the new client? Anyone I should hunt down after work and ask out?”
I pause, coffee halfway to my lips, the steam tickling at my nose.
“Nah, she’s ... different,” I find myself saying, the words feeling both protective and foreign. “Definitely not your type.”
I try to laugh it off, but a knot forms in my gut.
Dylan’s eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise. “Different, huh? That sounds to me like Adam Foxx, the man who’s seen it all, might be intrigued. What’s her name?”
I swallow my coffee, the sting of it burns all the way down. “Carlie.”
“Huh, that name’s familiar.” His eyes go distant for a moment. “I swear there’s a Carlie that comes in here once in a while.”
“I’m sure there’s more than one Carlie in the whole of Duluth, Dyl,” I say, matter-of-factly.
He shrugs it off with a laugh. “Yeah, suppose you’re right. Regardless …”
“How’s business?” I interject, with the hope of deflecting the conversation away from anything too personal.
Dylan shrugs, slicing another piece of banana bread for the display case. “Good, good. You know, the usual crowd. Your brother swung by yesterday and said you’re still moping about Jillian. Tell me that’s not true.”
“What?” I sputter. “No. Hell no.”
“Not what Brian says,” Dylan presses, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “He thinks you’re not over her.”
I shake my head, a potent mix of sibling annoyance and general amusement bubbling up inside me. “Brian’s got a big mouth. And as for Jillian, she’s the past. It’s just … I’m so sick of her flaunting her new relationship around the gym. Besides, whatever Brian said—our conversation wasn’t even really about that. He thinks I need to put more energy into Foxx Fitness.”
“He’s not wrong,” Dylan says, giving me one of his knowing, ‘I’ve been around the block as a barista,’ looks. “Maybe channeling your energy into something positive or brand new is just what you need. But back to this Carlie …”
I groan. Loudly.
“Are you sure there’s nothing there? Seems like she’s got you thinking differently,” he continues, giving zero fucks that I’m obviously not into this line of questioning.
I open my mouth to deny it, but the chime of the doorbell interrupts me. We both turn to see the door swing open, and in walks Jillian, as if summoned by our conversation about complicated women.
Her eyes lock onto me, a storm brewing in their depths. She strides over, her heels—definitely not workout-ready—click against the tiled floor like a metronome ticking down to an inevitable confrontation.
Her latest boyfriend, a guy who’s more brawn than brains, trails behind her like a shadow.
“Adam,” she announces, loud enough for half the coffee shop to hear. “We need to talk.”
Dylan raises his eyebrows, looking from me to Jillian and back again—his unspoken question hanging in the air.
I set my coffee down, bracing myself.
“And what exactly would you like to talk about?” I say, keeping my tone even—almost bored. I know how much she loves that.
She clicks her tongue. “We need to talk about how unprofessional your little yoga session with the gym’s new client was. Partner yoga? Really?”
I stare at her dumfounded.
“First of all, what I do after my shift is none of your goddamn business. Second of all, how’d you—” I begin.
She waves her hand like she’s waving away the world’s most inane question. “It’s all over the gym and someone posted about it on Instagram.”
I narrow my gaze, totally confused.
Who the hell would post about me and Carlie on Instagram?
Dylan stands up straight and crosses his arms. “Jillian, this isn’t the place for—”
“I’ll decide what’s appropriate, Dylan,” she snaps, then turns her focus back to me. “I can’t believe you’d be so reckless. What if people start talking and it impacts the quality of the gym? You’re supposed to be a professional, Adam.”
Her words hang between us, and I can feel Dylan’s heavy gaze boring a hole into the back of my head.
I take a deep breath, trying to keep the situation from escalating right here in his coffee shop. This was supposed to be a quick stop to chill with my best friend, not a stage for Jillian’s drama.
I glance over my shoulder at Dylan, who wisely decides to busy himself with cleaning the espresso machine, and giving us the illusion of privacy.
Jillian’s presence, and her accusations, however—they’re the last things I need right now. Especially with thoughts of Carlie already occupying too much of my headspace.
I feel my jaw tighten. “Like I said, what I do with my clients is none of your damn business. And last I checked, you’re not exactly the authority on professionalism.”
My eyes dart to the guy beside her.
She balks, her face flushing a deep red, and for a moment, I think she’s going to cause a scene for that one. Because let’s face it, at least I’m not cheating on anyone.
But Dylan steps in, his voice calm and firm. “Jillian, you need to get coffee somewhere else today.”
She huffs, muttering something under her breath before storming out, her new boyfriend following without a word.
Real stand-up guy, that one.
I let out a sigh, feeling the weight of her words and the uncertainty they bring.
When the door has closed behind them, Dylan lets out a low whistle. “Exes, huh? Can’t live with them, can’t avoid them in a town this size.”
“Yeah, especially when you work with them,” I mutter, running my palm over my face.
“Truth. I thought for sure, I was gonna have to bust out my authoritative, business owner voice,” Dylan chuckles, but his tone quickly changes to one of concern. “You okay, man? Jillian really knows how to push down all of your buttons at the same time.”
I shrug, trying to shake off the lingering frustration. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just typical Jillian bullshit. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
He nods, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Still, the whole Instagram thing is weird. You sure there wasn’t some crazy fan at the gym who could’ve posted about whatever the two of you were doing? Which I’m gonna need more details on, by the way.”
I frown, pondering over it. Truthfully, I was so engrossed with Carlie that I didn’t even notice anything outside our bubble.
Sidestepping his last sentence, I say, “I don’t know. It was just a yoga session. Carlie’s new to working out, so I thought it would help. I mean, sure, it was a bit close, because we ended up being in partner yoga, but it was all professional.” The image of Carlie, the way we moved together during the session, flashes in my mind, causing a stir of something I can’t quite define.
“Sounds like it was more than just ‘professional’ for someone to make such a fuss about it,” Dylan observes, a teasing glint in his eyes.
My expression deadpans.
He clears his throat, taking another sip of his coffee. “So, Mr. Yoga now, huh? Weren’t we just talking about Melissa? Was she your instructor?”
Thankfully, our yoga session was not taught by the enigmatic instructor with a pet ferret.
“No, it wasn’t Melissa. And the session was strictly professional,” I insist, but even to my ears, it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself more than Dylan.
“Sure, Adam. Okay,” he chides, his tone playful yet a little too knowing for my liking. “But you don’t have to convince me. What you do with your dick is your business. I just want to know if whatever transpired was any good.” He wiggles his eyebrows, but his tone turns serious. “But just remember, if you ever need to talk about anything—professional or not—I’m here for you, bro.”
I nod, appreciating his offer and ignoring the slight innuendo there. “Thanks, Dylan. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Anytime,” he says with more eyebrow wiggles. “Now go show those weights who’s boss. And maybe think about setting some boundaries with Jillian. For your sanity, man.”
I chuckle, though the thought lingers uncomfortably in my mind. “Yeah, I think you’re right there.”
The question is how?
As I stand to leave, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Pulling it out, I see a notification for a new Instagram post tagged at the gym.
Curiosity piqued, I open the app. And as luck would have it, it’s a picture of Carlie and me in a yoga pose. Our bodies are pressed far closer than I remembered.
The caption reads: “New training methods at St. Mary’s? Where do I sign up?” with a couple of suggestive emojis behind it.
I don’t know the account, or who posted it, and by the looks of it, they’re not exactly a gym rat.
My heart sinks.
“Something up?” Dylan asks, noticing the change in my demeanor.
I show him the post. “This is what Jillian was talking about. I was just tagged.”
Dylan whistles. “That looks … intimate, man. Can see why Jillian flipped. Who posted it?”
I lock my phone, my mood soured. “No idea. But I need to sort this out before it blows up.”
“Good luck, man. And remember, keep it professional,” Dylan says with a teasing smile, but his eyes are sympathetic.
“Always do,” I reply, though my thoughts are already racing.
How am I going to explain this to Carlie? What if she sees this and thinks I crossed a line last night? Is that why she’s not here today?
Stepping out of the coffee shop, I decide to head back to the gym.
I need to track down whoever posted this and clear the air.
Then, I need to talk to Carlie. I need to make sure she knows that whatever that photo suggests, it wasn’t my intention to make her uncomfortable—or a target for the gossip mill.
This isn’t just about the gym’s reputation—though I’m sure Jillian will try to make it that way to ease the scrutiny on her.
No, this is about Carlie, and how much I don’t want this to change her perception of the gym—or me.