“On the count of three,” he says. “Lift it over your head and remember to keep your arms straight.”
“I’m so tired.”
“Don’t give up, Chloe. You’re so close,” Lucy says. “How badly do you want it?”
Not much. I’m on the fence about which is worse, this workout or having the girlfriend of the guy I thought was my twin flame encouraging me. Why must she be so nice?
“You got this. You’re stronger than you think,” Finn says, looking down on me.
I’m sure this fiasco is the end of our journey. That article said happiness is contagious and it’s hard to walk away from happy people. Negativity is one of the biggest turn-offs. Well, the only thing I’m positive about right now—I am not happy. A man who does this every day must want someone like Lucy. She’s happy. She’s smiling right now.
Regardless, I’m not one to give up. I flex and lift the bar and by the grace of God it doesn’t fall back down on me. It’s not so bad after all. Huh. I really am stronger than I think. This may be my favorite. Perhaps I was a weight lifter in another life. Perhaps we don’t end here after all. Perhaps I finally impressed Mr. Personal Record.
When I finish the last rep, Finn winks at me. “Do you feel SuperFit?”
“Sure.” I swing my legs off the bench.
“This was amazing,” Lucy says, dabbing her face with a towel. “You’re a phenomenal instructor. Thanks for letting me join.”
“Any time,” Finn says. “You did awesome.”
She gives me a hug which only demonstrates again that I sweat and she glows, whispering, “He’s a keeper.”
“Is he?” I’ve spent so much time trying to do everything right, that I’ve had no time to focus on whether he’s wrong for me.
She pulls me off to the side, while Finn tidies up the space. “He put dummy weights on your bar.”
“Dummy weights?”
“Yeah, zero weights.” She tosses her towel over a shoulder. “I better get going and back to the office. Let’s do this again. Austin isn’t a gym person.”
She flounces away and Finn moves in front of me.
He holds out a bottled water. “That was a great workout.”
“For you,” I say, with only the mildest amount of sarcasm. The very mildest. I chug the ice-cold drink and bid a fond farewell to my weightlifting dreams.
“I can’t believe I got anything done while you were there, looking so hot. When you squatted...damn, Chloe. It was torture.”
The fiery look in his eyes tells me he’s serious. I’m sweaty. Disheveled. Still haven’t caught my breath. And I’m walking sort of strange due to the fact that my legs aren’t exactly holding me up the way they once did, six years ago, before this workout started. I don’t even want to think about what I smell like. This is hot to him?
“What are you doing at three o’clock?” he asks.
“Resting?”
“I need you at three o’clock.”
I drain the rest of my water to stall. I like him. I do. But I have nothing left to give after this workout. It’s possible I can muster something up from within my exhausted body. He did take pity on me and switch out my weights. “What do you need me for?”
Once again, he doesn’t tell me, he shows me by gripping my hips and snapping me against his groin. He’s hard.
Welp. Okay. Just to make sure we’re on the same page, I whisper, “Sexy times?”
He nods. Ah, three o’clock is the dicking hour. This is technically date three, so sex is okay, but now I have doubts. Lucy’s exclusivity question, for one. But you know, I’m not going to fixate on that. I’m an adult, so I’m going to enjoy a hot shower and let him ravage me.
After all those burpees, I deserve this.
Six
Even though SuperFit was a SuperShitshow, I’m stoked for SuperSex. I’ve spent the last hour mentally preparing. Opening myself up—literally—is a tremendous step. I’ve picked apart all the possible outcomes. Nothing seems horrendous enough to prevent going through with the sexy times.
Sure, I’d like to know Finn better on an intellectual and emotional level. But sexual compatibility is also important in a relationship. If you think about it, there must be hordes of dissatisfied women out there, faking orgasms, who wish they’d taken a test drive. So I’m willing to sacrifice my current nun-like state of grace to avoid that particular hell later. If the whole world will stop texting, that is.
Hey, Gran! Can I call you later? I text back to my grandmother’s third message.
IT’S IMPORTANT, CHLOE, she replies in all caps. No matter how many times I’ve tried to explain why people consider this yelling, she’s too stubborn to care.
Is it about Ruth?
It’s always about Ruth and their endless neighborly feud.
YES. SHE BROUGHT LEMON PIE TO THE POTLUCK. SHE KNOWS THAT’S MY THING.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and remind myself this woman raised me, and no dick will ever trump that. Even if the dick will be here soon.
No way! I’m sure it wasn’t as good as yours.
IT WAS TOO TART. AND THE MERINGUE WAS FLAT. I’VE PUT THE TEN COMMANDMENTS ON OUR PROPERTY LINE TO REMIND THAT TART NOT TO COVET WHAT OTHERS HAVE. LEMON PIE IS MINE.
You’re a badass, Gran.
I’VE GOT TO GO. CALL ME LATER. LOVE YOU.
Love you, too.
Charlotte receives the next reply. From the assortment of flowers she’s sent for my opinion, I prefer the lily for her bridal bouquet. The FriendsOfFriends notifications get ignored. Since meeting Finn, I haven’t even glanced at any of the new requests. I’m a singular focused gal. Rather, I’m trying to be. The next message gives me a lurch in my belly, like I just took a plunge down a steep incline on a roller coaster.
Austin.
“You haven’t been around. I need my history. What do you have for me today?”
My thumbs ache to fly across the keyboard and give him a tidbit. I fear
