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“My God, Lan, your mouth is worse than most of the arrogant, nasty shitheads at the gym. How in the hell you get folks to trust you to not corrupt the young, impressionable minds of children is beyond me.”
She laughs and goes on to tell me about the bet she and Carter made and the trick they played on Madden. “I honestly don’t know how Madden didn’t figure it out beforehand because Carter practically gave it away!”
“He definitely didn’t like the fact that I’m a woman.”
“Yeah, he came by to pick Belle up and was pitchin’ a fit about it. I don’t know if he was more pissed that you were a bitch or that we bet on his failure. We even bet on whether he’d return or not, and I totally lost that one! Fucker. But Carter said his momma would have his ass if he didn’t apologize for being disrespectful…” She falls silent then continues. “Which I guess is the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“It was nice. Most men in that situation wouldn’t have the courage to show their face again. I’m excited to train him.”
“Kick that pussy’s ass, Jo!” Carter yells in the background.
“You know, I can’t remember the last time we had a chat that Carter wasn’t inserting himself in the conversation. I mean, does it get old, teaching preschoolers all day then coming home to a toddler?”
Laney laughs. “He’s starved for attention, Jo.”
“We’ll have to get together soon. Lunch? We can share our most recent horror stories.” Sometimes Bryn joins us when there’s time in her schedule.
“Yeah, that sounds great! How abo—” Laney squeals, and I hear a thud with her laughter echoing in the background. Did she just drop me?
“Laney, what the hel—"
“Talk later, Jo! Time to tap that ass!” Carter yells, then the line goes dead.
*~*
I’m dragging ass when I make it to Dumb Belles the next morning. I like to do some type of cardio before meeting with my clients—a short run outside or maybe a spinning class if I can make it to the gym before one begins. I didn’t sleep the best last night. I really wanted to get a full eight hours, but apparently my brain and body weren’t on the same wavelength. Simply, I couldn’t steer my thoughts very far away from Madden Davenport. Maybe the reason I keep going back to him is because he reminds me so much of the previous me. He reminds me of the person I was six years ago.
Never in a million years would I have thought I’d end up a fitness trainer. Ten years ago I was the female version of Madden Davenport. My weight has been an issue for as long as I can remember. I wasn’t what you would say, obese; I was just chunky. My granny always told me I was just “big boned” trying to make me feel better. Appearance never really bothered me until I hit high school and became the girl who was immediately “friend-zoned”, not pretty enough to date. I was cool to hang out with, talk sports with, and joke around with. My very best friends in high school were always guys. Like Madden, all it took for me was one life-altering event to get my mind right and push my ass in the right direction. I lost over eighty pounds within the period of a year, and words cannot describe how much it impacted my overall health—physically anyway. I’m still a work in progress on the mental aspect.
My schedule is completely packed for the day, so I don’t have much time to let my thoughts drift to anything other than the clients I’m working with.
Today it really begins.
Today we decide on Madden’s rewards for the milestones I have mapped out for him.
I’m hopeful that he will come in with the same attitude he had yesterday and is ready to work.
Around 3:30 I become a little anxious and oddly excited for Madden’s session, so I grab the spray bottle and a towel and start wiping down the equipment. Whether I’m at the gym or at home, I always disperse my nervous energy into cleaning. Hundreds of people pass through Dumb Belles daily, and this place is nasty with blood, sweat, and tears—literally.
“Don’t y’all have a cleaning staff to do that?” Madden asks from behind me, and I startle as I jump and turn quickly, spraying the cleaning solution right in his face.
Well, at least he’s punctual.
“Damn it!” Oops. “I mean, sorry! I’m sorry! You startled me, and I was in my zone, man.” There you go, Jordan. Throw him in the friend zone with dude talk. Madden laughs as he raises his shirt and wipes his face.
I take a deep breath and assess him in this moment. He’s dressed in gym gear and trainers, holding his water bottle. A complete 180 from the man I met two days ago.
“Jordan,” he says, in the most formal manner, “no apology necessary.” His tone makes me smile because this guy is anything but formal. Respectful, yes—now he is. Polite—in his own way, but he’s a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kinda guy, and I add that to the list of reasons why Madden Davenport may end up being my favorite client.
In an effort to diffuse some of the tension and the awkwardness of the situation, I turn on my best professional voice. “Good afternoon Mr. Davenport, lovely to see you again.”
If the look on his face wasn’t so slack jawed, I may have been able to keep a straight face, but he’s so shook by the sudden change in my behavior that he bursts into laughter. “Loosen up. A little spray ain’t never hurt anyone,” he says and gently pats my shoulder as he continues laughing. It doesn’t take long for me to join him in chuckling, and I can literally feel the tension seeping from body.
“You ready for bitch camp?”
“Reckon I’m ready as can be, darlin’.” The smile on his face is wide, but I sense this is all a rouse to cover his nerves.
I lead him over to a small table in the left corner of the lounge and motion for him to have a seat. Once we’re settled, I pull his profile up on my phone along with the notes I made from our Q&A yesterday.
