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nine
Death by Stair Climber
The urge to quit dating altogether is strong by this point. I’m sure I’m doomed and continuing to put myself out there will just result in further embarrassment. And with the big three-oh looming ever closer on the horizon, I’m feeling more and more disheartened by the minute. Cecil must have picked up on my mood because, with a lumbering sigh, he stands from his fluffy bed on the floor and lays his enormous head on my lap. His soft brown eyes implore me to pet him, and I’m more than happy to oblige. His short, coarse fur beneath my fingertips grounds me. Smiling now, I say, “Who needs a man anyhow? Huh, Cecil?” He snorts before climbing the rest of the way onto my lap and settling down for a good, long nap.
Cecil always seems to know what I need before I know it myself. I used to be more of a cat person. Dogs drool and need substantially more attention. But, as a single woman living alone in a big city, I decided a few years ago I needed a dog for protection. Millie tagged along to the shelter with me, and it took us about two-point-five seconds to fall completely in love with the playful boxer puppy. Turns out he isn’t much of a guard dog. He's more apt to lick an intruder to death than to do any actual harm, but I still wouldn’t trade him for anything. He’s a bit of a bed hog, but, as he’s currently the only man in my life, that really doesn’t matter much.
It’s been a few days now. Jason never called. Not that I really expected him to. The poor guy is probably terrified to have his manhood in my clumsy presence again. The date wasn’t a total failure, though. It proves that there are still a few good men left out there. However, it also adds another layer of complications to the quest. Of the few dateable men left, I have to find one who isn’t scared off by my quirks. I’m starting to see the very real impossibility of the task ahead of me, and it is terrifying. I didn’t expect this to be this difficult.
A loud knock on the door followed by a cheerful, “I’m coming in!” scatters the dark cloud of negativity surrounding me. I glance over in time to see Millie walking in, and my mood instantly lifts. It’s impossible to be sad around her. In fact, even Cecil perks up as Millie walks in, jumping from my lap and leaping at his second-favorite human with his butt wagging so forcefully it nearly knocks my coffee mug off the table. Millie takes Cecil’s aggressive affection well—she’s used to his theatrics, after all. She sets a few bags that I had just noticed her carrying to the side as she greets him. Her face lights up with joy as she dutifully strokes the spot just behind Cecil’s ear and croons about what a good boy he is.
I’m smiling and watching the reunion for a minute before I really focus on Millie. She looks beautiful, as always, but her attire throws me for a loop. “Hey, Millie! What exactly are you wearing?” I stand to get a closer look. It’s not the outfit exactly that’s confusing, as much as the fact that my friend is the one wearing it. Millie’s beautiful hair is slicked back into a high ponytail. Her slim body is covered with a tight, sporty tank top and an equally tight pair of yoga pants. She even has a cute pair of bright pink sneakers on her feet. I suspect they are brand new, not just because of their shiny condition, but also because I don’t think Millie has owned a pair of sneakers since high school.
Millie finally drags her attention from Cecil to take in my appearance. In contrast to Millie’s perfect sleek-ness, I just rolled out of bed, and I look like it. I’m still wearing my overly large night shirt with a pair of sleep shorts beneath it. My hair is in a ponytail, but it looks more possessed by gremlins than sleek and smooth like Millie’s. It’s Sunday. The day of rest. Which meant it’s my day to lay around my house like a slob and write, only emerging for genuine emergencies, like running out of coffee.
“What am I wearing? What are you wearing?” Millie’s lip curls at me, but honestly, she should be used to it by now. Of the two of us, Millie is definitely the best one at being a girl. I’m barely passable at it with the notable exception of my shoe collection. Which, now that I think about it, might have something to do with my lack of male prospects. Brushing that thought aside for now, I focus on Millie again. Millie’s mouth is moving. Uh-oh, she’s been speaking this entire time, and I didn’t hear a word. “… I thought I told you that I was coming by?” She shakes her head at my perplexed expression before reaching for the bags she stashed amid Cecil’s greetings. “It doesn’t matter. Here, I brought these. Get dressed and let’s get going.”
Grabbing the bag that she thrusts at me, I glance inside. A cutesy-matching outfit to Millie’s, complete with a shiny new pair of pink sneakers. All of which only increases my confusion. “What’s this for?”
Millie sighs deeply, as if it’s taking all the patience she possesses just to deal with me today. “This was your idea. How did you forget it?” Her hand covers her face for a moment, almost as if she needs to pull herself together before speaking to me again. I wait for her explanation with a small smile tugging at my lips. A moment later, after heaving an enormous sigh, Millie looks up again, her smile firmly back in place. “Gym membership, remember? You said it would be a good way to meet men. Online dating was sucking the life out of you and I’m a terrible friend for not setting you up on a blind date. Is it coming back to you now? I didn’t know where to even start looking, but I asked my brother to find us a good gym in the area. I even sprang for a sexy private trainer.” Her eyebrows wiggle this time, her frustration finally melting into humor, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes, despite the unappetizing thought of voluntarily exercising. With one last longing glance at my comfy couch, I nod at her and head for the bedroom to change.
It’s official. My chest heaves as I struggle to bring in enough air. I’m dying. A sharp pain in my stomach has me grabbing my side with a groan. This is how I go. My obituary will read as follows: Local twenty-nine-year-old woman dies by excessive exercise, bringing light to the genuine crisis facing the United States today. Charlotte Louise Grant was an unmarried spinster survived only by her beloved dog, Cecil, and her impressive shoe collection. A GoFundMe account has been started in her name and has already reached nearly half a million dollars. A spokesperson for the family states the money will go to a foundation working toward educating America on the dangers of active lifestyles.
I absentmindedly wonder which unflattering photo will accompany the touching words.
“Come on. Keep going! You’re almost there!” The encouraging words from Austin are deceptive. Between his sweet personality and his beautifully sculpted body, I was prepared to marry him on the spot when we walked in. Seriously, my ovaries begged me to have his babies. Right there. I was smitten, only to find out he is a complete tyrant.
Now, I glare at him, hoping the fire in my gaze will cause him to spontaneously combust. It doesn’t.
After nearly an hour of Austin’s tortures, I’m moving on autopilot. My legs climb another stair as the platform beneath me moves in a continuous rotation. I want to stop. So badly. But I don’t have the strength to lift my arm to press the stop button and if I stop moving, the machine will toss me on my butt. “I… need… air.” I hate wasting precious breath to speak at all, but it seems Austin doesn’t understand how dire the situation is. A glance at the stair climber on my left shows Millie isn’t faring any better. Honestly, I didn’t realize Millie’s skin could go that shade of red without the help of a lot of sun.
But Austin doesn’t seem to care about our imminent demise as he just barks out a laugh and says, “Don’t be so dramatic, Charley. You’re doing great! Only a hundred steps further and we can take a quick break!” Did I originally find his dimpled smile sexy? I was wrong. It’s not sexy. It’s the mark of Satan himself.
Why are we even here? Through my foggy, oxygen-deprived brain, I remember our brilliant plan. Okay, so it was my brilliant plan, but since Millie put it into fruition, she is at least equally responsible for the terrible idea. Join a gym to meet men. Yeah right! How am I supposed to meet any men when I’m too busy focusing on not dying? Not to mention, why did I think anything about the gym was sexy? What is sexy about an overpowering fog of body odor and sweat? What part of that is sexy? No, a gym is not a place to meet a man. If I ever agree to exercise again, it will be in the peace and quiet of my own home where I can die without an audience. Am I actually paying him for this torture? Remembering that Millie is the one paying for it does make me feel slightly better.
“I don’t think I'm gonna make it.” Millie’s voice sounds worse than mine. She’s gasping like a drowning woman who has just breached the surface of the water. She looks slim and athletic, but it’s simply good genetics. Neither she nor I have done much in the way of physical activity since our high school gym classes. Our idea of a good time involves cheesecake and drinks with tiny umbrellas, not sports bras and boob sweat.
My eyes are glued to the screen in front of me. Fifty steps to go. Forty. Thirty-five. I’m almost there! Thirty. A strange feeling worms its way through my chest. I still have the stabbing pain in my side that I’m convinced will be the death of me, but now I have a fluttering sensation in my chest, too. I’m going to make it. In spite of the pain and the torment, I pushed through, and I will finish strong. Twenty. I’m smiling now, and Austin’s words of encouragement can’t even ruin my moment. Five more. Three more. One More. Finally, the medieval machine of torture slows to a halt.
I’m exhausted and gasping for breath like a fish out of water, but it’s worth it. I did it. Elated, I say, “We made it! Mil-” But my words are cut off as I realize with horror that my feet didn’t stop moving when the machine did. My legs themselves are numb, and no longer seem to be under my control. I watch, helpless, as my shiny new pink sneaker lands on the plastic lip of the machine, having run out of stair tread, and I slip. The momentum tosses my upper body forward and as hard as I grip the handles, I can’t seem to hold my body right side up. There isn’t any strength left in my body to support my weight. My face is headed straight for the hard-plastic face of the machine and the most I can do to help myself is slam my eyes shut as my world tilts on its axis. Maybe this is how I’ll die after all. ‘Death by stair climber’ has a certain ring to it.
I probably should have been panicking, but I don’t have any energy left to waste on panic. I accept my fate as the price of putting myself through this torture. With my eyes closed, I brace for the impact, but it never comes. Instead, I feel a powerful grip around my waist mere moments before my body is pulled into a hard, warm embrace.
Oh, thank you, Austin!
So maybe he isn’t a complete sadist after all since he rescued me before I made a complete fool of myself. I snuggle further into his grip, eyes still closed, and let myself take a large inhale of Austin’s sexy, manly scent. I’m not ashamed to admit that I may get a feel of his firm, muscular arms too. I’d just decided to rethink marrying him - despite his tyrannical ways, the man had fantastic arms -when he starts speaking. His beautiful, husky voice vibrates through his chest and into mine as he says, “You really are a menace, woman.”
Opening my eyes, I come face to face with the smiling brown eyes of a man that most definitely isn’t Austin.
Emmett. After our previous meeting, my blush is an instinctive reaction. I hoped after thoroughly embarrassing myself in front of him at our last meeting, that I might be able to avoid running into him until he leaves town again. But that clearly isn’t meant to be.
I’m staring, I know I am, but I can’t help it. Emmett is gorgeous. I can see the resemblance to Cash now that I’m seeing him while sober. The brown hair and eyes match his brother’s, but where Cash is all sexy, confident smiles, Emmett is all hard, rugged lines and honed muscles. Millie is gorgeous so it makes sense that her brothers would be too, but Cash has never piqued my interest. Maybe because I could only ever see him as Millie’s lighthearted, easygoing brother. But there is nothing lighthearted about Emmett. The man is intense. And the heat flushing through my body at our every point of contact makes me think maybe intense is my type.
His words may not be romantic, but he rescued me. Twice now. My very own knight in shining armor.
He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to put me down and I don’t want him to. Right there, cradled in his brawny arms, I swear my traitorous heart does a little flip. Like it wants to jump from my chest and offer itself to him right there.
“Hi,” my voice is breathy, and my heart is beating so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
