Page 29 of The Tartan Thesis

10

Beau

Highland Cows (cooz)

Translation: Furry cows from the Scottish Highlands, the ones with the fringes

Usage: You know you’re obsessed with them… don’t lie

Torin pauses just inside the gym doors, scanning the room like he’s walked into the wrong lecture hall.

Then there’s a stirring in my groin area as he takes off his jacket and I see what he’s wearing. When we built our action plan, he told me he didn’t have any workout gear, so he’s got on some of my smaller stuff for now. I prefer short shorts when I work out, so I have quickly gone from never seeing Torin’s legs to seeing the majority of them. They’re long and toned—thicker than I thought they would be. He also chose a sleeveless shirt, and I can see clear definition in his shoulders and arms.

It’s a good look for him. Really good.

Actually, he’s ripped.

He looks around like a lost animal and finds me on a treadmill. I’m still checking him out, so I’m sure he sees my eyes snap up from his sexy legs. He heads in my direction, eyeing various equipment like he’s unsure what he’s gotten himself into.

“Come on up,” I say, patting the arm of the treadmill next to me.

He stops and stares at the moving belt on mine. “I already walked here. Do I need to get on that?”

“Yes,” I laugh. “I want you to keep moving while I talk through some general guidelines of fitness.”

He sighs, grabs the side rails, and prods the belt with his toe like it might actually be quicksand that will swallow him whole. I chuckle as he finally plants his feet on the machine and turns it on. Once he finds his rhythm, he walks beside me while I explain the basics of strength training. I look over a couple of times to see if I’ve lost him, but he nods and glances over at me while I talk. He even asks clarifying questions. Such a good student.

After the treads, I lead him through an upper body warm-up and explain what we’re doing today. He lifts his arms for the circles but keeps flicking his eyes around the room—toward the squat racks, the mirrors on every wall, the guys lifting weights, some grunting their way through reps.

“No one here is judging you,” I tell him. His eyes snap back to me.

“I don’t know,” he says, color creeping into his cheeks, “some of these guys are really big, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I probably look daft waving my arms around like this.” So I was right. He’s self-conscious about being here.

“Yes, some of them are even as big as I am,” I say with a wink, earning me Torin’s patented judgment face, “but everyone here started somewhere, and I imagine you have a head start on most first-timers.” I glance pointedly at his legs.

“What? I’ve literally never been in a gym before.”

“No, but you have some serious strength. And now that I can see more of you”—I let my gaze travel openly down his arms and back up again—“you look pretty fit to me.”

He perks up a bit as I inspect him, so I go on. “As far as most gym-goers are concerned, anyone who’s here and working to take care of themselves is worthy of respect. It doesn’t matter where you are on your fitness journey, you’re putting in the effort.”

“I’m sure not everyone thinks that way,” he says.

“Not everyone,” I admit with a shrug. “There are judgmental people everywhere, but you don’t need to worry about that. Besides, I don’t think anyone would be able to tell you’re new to the gym.”

“Is this how you’re going to help me build my confidence? By telling me nice things?” His judgy face is still plastered on, but I detect a hint of satisfaction, too.

“No, I’m just telling you that you look good, and that even if you didn’t, you’d have my respect anyway, just for showing up. No one is forcing you to be here.”

“I mean… you kind of are,” he says. “It is in our action plan.”

“True,” I laugh. “Alright, pep talk done for now. Just tune everyone else out. You’re here with me, and I’ve got you.”

Then we get to work. I set up the weights for each exercise, show him how it’s done, adjust his grip and posture, then make him finish his sets. He’s a quick study, and he’s mean, which is hilarious.

“Apparently they didn’t teach you Yankee fucks about the Geneva Convention because you clearly don’t know that torture was banned in 1949.”

“That only applies to prisoners of war, sick and wounded soldiers, or civilians in occupied territories,” I say with a smile. “I’m well within my rights. Three more reps.”