Is that what I want? Revenge?
Yes, she wanted Patrick to end up fat and ugly in a group home for jerks, but that was highly unlikely based on his sharp jaw and cheekbones alone. Revenge wasn’t it, but the prospect of him seeing the refreshed, motivated, poised, put-together version of her bringing nothing but her A-game? It did sort of ring a bell.
And a sexy sleek body couldn’t hurt either.
“So you want to lose weight to win Patrick back?” Liz’s face twisted into an incredulous question mark.
“No.”
“I mean, I don’t think you need to. The way I see it, it’s nice to see some curves on your body. But, if you’re going to do this, please decide for yourself because you want to feel good and not because you want him back.”
Julie deadpanned like she was still trying to figure it out herself.
Liz slowly narrowed and lowered her eyes to her phone. She pressed her forefinger onto the widget to unlock the screen. Her Instagram feed came into view with a stream of before-and-after pictures of women who were anything other than stick figures.
“Check this out. Real men love curves.” She flipped through the pictures. “And let me stress this one more time. You don’t need to do this. But, if you want to, I’ve got your back. My gym is awesome.” She flicked her fallen tresses from one shoulder to the other, unleashing a massive bale of curls—a clear indication she was serious.
As it turned out, Julie’s gym was a hole in the wall. At least compared to Beast Body.
Wide-eyed and intimidated, Julie scanned the crowd the following Sunday. She had never seen anything like it. There was nothing calm, or quaint about it. She was surrounded on all sides by raw black concrete walls with five huge cement pillars holding up a matching exposed ductwork ceiling. A three lane crimson astro-turf track circled massive yellow machines and fitness equipment.
The place was like a dream set for the making of the next P90z fitness video. Really, why stop at X or Insanity when this pit had everything to help you break a sweat? Or, a bone for that matter?
What sort of threw her off though, was the enormous juice bar front and center with glittering lights and a cornucopia of exotic fruit.
She got the whole industrial metal meets asphalt, but the shimmer meets shine part of it didn’t exactly mesh. Must have been an appeal to both the Olympic athlete and the yoga mom. If there were a Starbucks and a place to purchase Lululemon, people would practically be giving away their money—keep the change.
Talk about gymtimidation.
Julie sidestepped away from the door to let a chiseled Greek statue with teensy spandex shorts enter. Of course, he didn’t even seem to notice her. Why would he? She fit in at this sort of gym like a pair of boots at the beach.
Talk about crossing a threshold into unchartered territory.
No doubt about it, this was nothing like her “hole in the wall.” This place was a crater in the wall.
She was used to the unpretentious muted pastels of her lavender-scented circuit gym with regular weights, tension bands, and calming music.
Here, it smelled like a gym. A thick musty sock stench went hand and hand with its rough dark décor. The fruity sweet aroma from the juice bar was like perfume trying to mask the smell of cigarette smoke. It ended up only filling the air with the stench of musty fruit.
Drawing her arms into herself, Julie searched for signs of Liz’s perky ponytail swaying among the sea of Baywatch beauties on the ellipticals and treadmills. One foot in front of the other, she stepped away from the door.
She scanned the room, finding a landmine of judgmental eyes. Each pair attached to what seemed like an InstaFit body. In her own threadbare heather gray sweatpants and stained Regions West Bank T- shirt, she was definitely out of her element.
She was still inching around the corners of her mind trying to recall the source of the stain when Liz walked up behind her, giving her a start.
“Hey,” Liz said, out of breath and chipper as ever. “This is going to be so awesome,” she exclaimed, way too excited for Julie’s current under-enthused state of mind.
They were standing in the middle of an aisle, flanked on either side by serious machinery, manned by the athletic highbrow elite of millennials. Julie’s gaze traveled from them back to Liz, her brow pinched and her shoulders sunken.
What am I doing here?
No sooner did Liz point out the human statue who would be training Julie did she disappear.
Way to have my back, Liz.
Julie watched as her friend abandoned her to go to the juice bar where Derrick was waiting for her. They practically burst into giggles, as if this was some kind of laughing matter. Liz hadn’t even given her the rundown on this Dane.
She eyed him sheepishly now. “So…” Julie said, her hands clasped behind her back. She swayed from foot to foot, in the hope that Dane would fill in the awkward silence.
“Let’s get some measurements.” His voice thundered as he placed his clipboard on the mat near his feet and pulled a bright yellow measuring tape from his gym bag. “You’re going to need to lose that shirt. I can’t get accurate measurements with that thing on,” he commanded, a touchy edge in his tone.
She was new to whatever it was he was about to put her through. At her gym, people smiled and greeted each other. They were friendly. This was the first time they were meeting, so how could he be annoyed with her already?
As if she was just supposed to know to start stripping down in the middle of the gym. What if she hadn’t been wearing a sports bra? What would he have said then?
For a second too long, Julie stared at him wide-eyed, afraid of what he would say once he saw her in the flesh, unfiltered. But, he hadn’t even glanced back at her once. This was no big deal to him. If he really did whip people into shape, he must have seen bigger asses and flabbier pooches all the time.
Julie dug down deep in her gut and found the last ounce of gumption she had left. Slow and labored, she contorted one arm at a time to slip them from the sleeves before inching the stretched cotton fabric over her head. Julie quickly glanced around the room while she patted her flyaway hairs back into place, and no one seemed to notice. Thank goodness.
She returned her gaze to Dane who showed no signs of the severely repulsed look she imagined would be waiting for her.
In fact, the idea that everyone else was unfazed spread through her like contagion. Julie exhaled and stood that much taller. A sneaky little smile crept its way onto her face. For a moment, she felt good. Damn good to be standing in a den of skinny minis and she was somehow holding her own.
She had an urge to tell Dane so, too. Then, he picked up his neon yellow tape from the mat and measured her arms and waist first without so much as a word. It wasn’t until he lassoed it around her thighs that her fight or flight instincts began to kick in.
The numbers rolled off his rough tongue in foghorn barks confirming what she already knew. She’d been stress-eating. And sure, her mope might have lasted longer than she’d hoped, but there was no reason to call her out.
Julie had felt it in the fit of her suit pants and her favorite blue satin blouse. The extra cleavage wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t like she’d missed feeling a little fuller around her hips and thighs. When you’re five seven—five eight according to her driver’s license—you notice. Heck, it was the reason her and the two-faced scale weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment.
But seriously, loud, slow motion robot voice? Not cool dude.
Julie swallowed hard as heat swept up the back of her neck and around to her ears and cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. Her rushed breathing and tightening chest alarmed her, but it was the lightheadedness that sent her into overdrive.
She didn’t know whether to lash out at him or break down, but she couldn’t do it here. Not in this place. Her gaze darted around the room in search of an exit as the choking sensation wrapped her throat in a death grip. To keep her hands from shaking, she clenched and unclenched them into and out of fists.
She wanted to run and hide.
About the only thing that gave her pause was the fact that Dane hadn’t moved an inch. He just stood there in front of her with his tape in hand. He waited, as if he’d experienced the kind of self-discovery process Julie was undergoing too many times to validate it with another step.
Dane might as well have wound his thick index finger in the air and told her to wrap it up because she was wasting his time.
Her nostrils flared as she exhaled the steam that was building up inside her.
She could run. But, that was what she’d done—what she had been doing. When her dad passed away, she couldn’t bear to stay at home with her mom and the flimsy walls that couldn’t keep a secret. So, she’d moved into her own place where she could be alone. When things with Patrick ended, she’d hidden herself away from everything and everyone. And that’s how she’d gotten here—by herself, buried inside a body she barely recognized.
Her left brow lifted in response and she sucked her teeth. With a narrow unwavering gaze, Julie allowed her shirt to fall to the floor as she crossed her arms over her chest, defiantly. She planted her feet wide apart. The rims of her eyes stung with stifled frustration.
God she could just scream, she was so angry. Still, she wouldn’t let another man break her.
“Good.”
It was a single syllable, but it could have been a match because it lit her nerves on fire the way it boomeranged her back into focus. She shot him a deadpan look, thinking about how good it would feel to give him a good right hook to the jaw, right about now.
“Excuse me?” Distaste lingered on her tongue.
“I said, good.” He stood within an inch of her face. “Good. That’s the response I want. I want you to be pissed off. Angry. I want you to want to kick your own ass.”
What kind of drill sergeant reverse psychology bullshit is that?
A few speckles of spit landed on Julie’s cheek, but she refused to move out of range for fear of what he might do next.
Oh, trust me Sarge. You don’t want to see me pissed off.
“It’s time for you to stop looking dazed with that weepy little look and get fed up. I want you to be angry enough with yourself to do something about it,” he preached, and she was just about ready to say Amen.
But, was she ready to do something about it?
She inhaled and felt her chest stiffen, and in that moment she could have been The Hulk. She hadn’t even started the workout, but she was sweating. Her pulse sped up and her teeth ground over each other. Deep below the layers of self-loathing and world-shaking aftershocks from her breakup with Patrick, her muscles began to quiver at the possibility of doing something.
With his calloused pinky finger, he lifted her chin. “Are you ready?”
He was talking about fitness and health, but he might as well have asked if she was ready to kick her sadistic habits.
Yes. On the inside, she was screaming, “yes” to the top of her lungs. On the outside, Julie must have nodded or given some gesture of consent because from that point on, she was metaphorically and literally kicking her own ass.
First she kicked it with squats and lunges and way too many burpees. Then, she kicked it on the elliptical. When she was done sweating out her insides, she literally kicked her own ass with alternating sets of high-knees and butt-kickers.
“You mad yet?” Dane taunted a little over half way through her workout. He crouched down near her left ear while she prayed her twitching muscles wouldn’t give out on the last sixty-second plank.
“Tired,” was all she could manage. She was out of oxygen, patience, and excuses.
Sick. Tired. Boring.
“Yes! Good and tired.” He let out a wicked laugh. “I hope you get tired at the sight of starchy carbs. If it’s not that, I know you have a sugary latte frappucino daily, heavy on the drizzle. Get tired of that.”
Grande iced caramel macchiato espresso with whipped cream, heavy on the drizzle, for your information.
In that moment, Julie knew this was fun for him. He enjoyed torturing his clients—no, his victims. And it boiled Julie’s blood.
In that moment, it was Patrick’s sweaty, drunken face that she saw glaring back at her.
“I hate you,” she breathed.
Patrick’s face blurred back into Dane’s, and he smiled back at her apparently satisfied with her reaction.
“This is how you crack the whip?” Julie questioned, her voice labored and shallow.
“I don’t crack whips, I crack the mold, honey. The one that’s got your beautiful body trapped beneath it. That’s what I’m doing, sweetheart.” His voice was strong and definitive, as if there were no question about his purpose. He spoke with a conviction that made Julie wonder why she’d had any doubt at all.
Although, the words honey and sweetheart felt as condescending as if he’d called her “little lady,” as far as she was concerned. She was about as far from a “little lady” as she could be, and she definitely wasn’t his sweetheart.
Julie craned her neck up at Dane. She was holding on to his ankles in the middle of her scissor set, intent on dispelling any notions of her being weak-willed—whether she still felt like it or not. But he was mid-wave, calling someone over.
Given the fact that her muscles were crying for relief, she granted herself a much needed breathing break, allowing her legs to flop down onto the mat.
“Oh no, you don’t. You’ve got two more sets before you get up.” Dane pressed Julie back into her divot. “We’re done when we’re done.”
The twists of his disapproving frown unwound as the heavy footsteps grew closer. “Look who it is…” Dane announced. “What are you pressing these days? A ton, maybe two?” he guffawed.
A deep-gutted roar joined in with his, successfully drowning out all other sound in the room.
“Seriously, though. From here, sounded like you were moving mountains with all that grunting and growling you were doing. Is that how they do it back East?”
Julie stretched for a better line of vision of the guy, who was behind Dane, but from her position on the floor, she couldn’t really tell what he looked like since he was upside down. Plus, with Dane’s big calf in the way, she couldn’t get a full glimpse of the guy’s face. All she could see was a head full of dark wavy hair and a black T-shirt with blaring red stripes and a goofy-looking elephant logo on the breast pocket.
That, and the fact that he was tall, given how far she had to crane her neck just to see his hair.
“Dane, I’m just trying to get on your level, man.” A loud slap landed on Dane’s body and Julie felt the vibration travel down his legs to his ankles where she was still holding on. The second she let go, Dane moved from his spot and turned toward his friend.
The guy’s voice was low and filled with bass, in the sexiest way—the kind of deep rumble that settled low and tight in her belly. It can’t be.
At the prospect that her luck had struck gold twice, the juncture between her thighs gave a hardy squeeze, throbbing at the same erratic beat as her heart. She stretched her neck passed Dane’s foot. Still no decent view.
Move Dane.
The guy’s voice thundered again, and again Julie’s insides did acrobatic flips. It had to be him.
If it’s him, I owe you big time God.
As the two men fell into a bromantic embrace, full of pecs and biceps and way too much testosterone, the smoke and mirrors faded and finally she got a glimpse of the guy’s eyes over Dane’s shoulder.
They were the same molten brown come-hither eyes and they were masterfully attached to hot truck guy.