Page 50 of Ruck Me Harder

Forty thousand dollars. That’s almost one year of tuition, right there. And all I have to do is make a few social media posts with the woman I’m crazy about??

It takes a couple of seconds for my brain to come back online. When it does, I give her a hard kiss on the lips.

“I don’t need money to put up with you,” I tell her. “I want to be with you. If you want to do this, I’m in, but I don’t need this. I don’t want to use you. I just want you.”

A brilliant smile slowly spreads over her face. “You’re in?”

“I’m in.” I give her a quick kiss. “But now I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Go, go. I can’t wait to see you out there.”

Jogging back over to the rest of the group, some of the guys are laughing, but the rest are stretching and trying to keep warm. They’re actually focused on the goal.

I need to be focused too. I can’t get distracted.

Forty thousand dollars. That’s, like, life changing. Do I want to gamble Viv’s and my fledgling relationship for money?

No. I’ll talk to her agent, but I’ll make sure there’s a clause in there to protect both of us. The protein company probably doesn’t actually care about me. They can sub in any guy in my spot. As soon as someone better, more suited for her, comes along, I’m sure they’ll be shoving me out the door.

I meant what I said; I don’t want to use her to get ahead. If it comes down to it, I’ll do whatever it takes to put us first. What we have is infinitely more important than money. I just hope she agrees.

Coach Jack blows his whistle and we get back to work.

And when I nail my floor routine, giving the performance of my life… I start to hope that maybe I can have both—Vivienne and a new start at life. I’ll do what I have to do.

twenty-one

. . .

Viv

When Birdie Sportswear wanted to host an event for their influencers, I was expecting something low-key. Maybe a yoga day on the Common or brunch at a crunchy hipster café in the trendy part of Cambridge. Am I surprised a holistic-focused company is taking us to dinner at an upscale, Michelin-starred steakhouse? Yes. Am I going to turn it down? No. Hell no.

I get all dolled up in a real bra and a nice dress, my hair and makeup done, and post an enigmatic selfie to Instagram.

The restaurant is in the North End of Boston, a half hour Uber ride from my place in Weymouth. The host of the restaurant looks me up and down with a snooty glare, disapproval written all over his face. I don’t know why. I’m adhering to the dress code. I don’t have the energy to play his game.

“Can I help you?” he demands.

Lifting my chin, I meet his glare with one of my own. I’m not going to make myself smaller to make him more comfortable.

“I’m here for the Birdie team dinner.”

With a put-upon sigh, the host leads me to the back of the restaurant, where a cluster of tables are arranged.

Olivia, Birdie’s creative director, stands and greets me with a firm handshake and a wide smile. “Viv. So good to see you again.”

“Thanks for thinking of me. I’m so excited for the spring line.”

Fashion companies work ahead, so their winter campaign is already shot and getting ready for release, and they’re full steam ahead in preparation for the spring launch. Lucky for me, the ad campaign will hit right as my season is starting, boosting my visibility and hopefully driving new fans to the team.

Thank goodness for Alycia. Without her guidance over the last few years, I’d have never put all these pieces together. I’m more of an impulsive, do it right now type person. Sitting on content is such a strain; I just want to release it out into the world right then and there.

Olivia gestures to the table, handing me a name tag. “Come, sit. We’re still waiting for a few more.”

There are a few people at the table already. I recognize Charlotte Kent, a social media activist, and Courtney Wright, a yoga influencer whose online videos I follow. The rest of them are strangers, but because I was given a dossier with all of their social media handles—they want us all to interact and follow each other—I’m sure their faces will become familiar soon enough.

“Hey, I’m Viv,” I say, giving the table a wave. The other women give me a range of polite to cheerful smiles, nods, and waves.