Page 50 of Muscle Cub

“This is way more than I need for a single class,” I muttered to Eric. “And we haven’t even made it to the shoe store yet.”

“Austin’ll probably want you to work out more with him in the future. I wonder if you’ll get a special membership rate if you’re the trainer’s significant other?”

The cashier rang up Eric’s two hundred dollars’ worth of underwear, and he handed her a store credit card.

“You have an account here?” I asked. “Do you even do yoga?”

Eric twisted his lips. “I wish I could say yes, but no. I just love their boxer briefs. Plus, we get a company discount.”

I was incredulous. “For a record label?”

“They sell a ton of basic pieces in black stretch fabric.” He said it like that explained everything.

I stared at him.

“It’s the music industry.”

I still didn’t get it.

Eric rolled his eyes. “Remember the cover art I showed you for the new Black Star Crown album with the pic of the lead singer? Dude’s wearing a women’s ballet shrug that one of our in-house photo stylists bought here and artfully shredded the shit out of. They fall apart when he takes them off, though, so he’s gonna need at least twenty of them for the live tour. Just one example. I could go on.”

“Huh. I thought he was doing that move where you put the front half of your T-shirt behind your head so you don’t get cum on it.”

Eric nodded. “Exactly. Which is why it’s the cover.”

18

Ben followed me into the laundry room.

I’d thrown my new clothes into the washing machine while we argued about which tools belonged to him. There were several that neither of us could confidently claim after floating around my house for years and mixing with my own. Ben swore he’d bought duplicates for other worksites, but he ended up giving me more than he took.

I thanked him, but I didn’t know what else to say.

Remodeling this house with Ben had saved me during those critical years after Charles had left and the second book had failed. He’d evolved into a sort of construction therapist, but expressing how much working with him had meant to me was outside the realm of our usual rapport.

We talked shop—Ben with as few words as possible—and never about our feelings.

When I pulled one of the shirts from the dryer, Ben spotted the logo and raised his eyebrows. “Fancy.”

“It was your boyfriend’s idea.” I enunciated the term to acknowledge his new status with Eric.

Ben chuckled—he might have blushed, but I was careful not to look at him—and that was our entire conversation about their relationship. “You ready to head to the gym?”

The question saved me from feeling obligated to comment on his last official visit to the house as my contractor. It wasn’t like he’d never be back as a friend again, but it was the end of a chapter.

I cleared the lump in my throat. “That’d be cool.”

“Sure you don’t want an epic deck?” It wasn’t the first time Ben had suggested it. He said that every time he went to the campground and saw the lavish outdoor spaces on Trailer Park Avenue. He always came back with an urge to build one.

I always turned him down. I had a beautiful, tiled patio that was original to the house, mature shrubs and trees that had taken decades to mature, and a backyard that was too small for a deck. “Why don’t you build one for someone at camp?”

Ben sighed. “Everybody’s already got one.”

We arrived at Blue Ridge CrossFit twenty minutes early, which was fortunate because the guy at the front desk handed us clipboards filled with personal information forms and liability waivers. He directed us toward the far end of the counter so we wouldn't obstruct the actual members waiting to scan in.

We changed in the locker room and found the class in a huge room with high ceilings, mirrored walls, and a structure resembling a black jungle gym. Dumbbell and kettlebell racks flanked a basketball-court-sized open space.

About twenty people, more than half of them women, were scattered around the space, stretching and talking to one another in small groups of two and three. It looked like a casting call for a superhero movie.