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After taking my explanation to how many girls were in the bathroom, he patted my shoulder and moved away, heading toward the rolling white board that had the workout explained on it.
Once everyone was back in the room, we moved and gathered the last remaining things we would need in the workout—thank God the ropes were only for the warmup—and got started.
Alma was correct.
The workout was a beast. It’s official name was Hansen, which ended up being five rounds for time of thirty kettle bell swings at a weight I was no longer allowed to do, thirty burpees, and thirty knee raises on the bar in substitute for the GHD sit-ups—a type of sit-up that you did on a fancy machine that literally made you sore for a week straight.
Being pregnant was hard, because I hadn’t had to scale my workouts since I’d joined the CrossFit gym four years ago. Granted, not scaling didn’t mean that I was the best in the gym, but it also meant that I had a leg up on any newbies that walked through the door.
Backstepping was hard. Especially when I had to work out next to Murphy who obviously had done CrossFit for some time himself.
How did I end up getting so close to him?
And why did I continue to get watched like a hawk despite him having his own workout to focus on?
By the end of the workout, I was working out directly in front of Murphy.
And it wasn’t like only he moved.
We’d both somehow been jostled aside enough that we ended up working out straight across from each other.
I got to watch the sweat trickle down his chest as he slayed the workout.
And he sat down on the bench when he was done and watched me until I finished mine.
By the time that I was done, I never wanted to work out again.
“Told you so,” Alma teased as she collapsed on the floor beside me.
I rolled my eyes. “I know you did. I should’ve listened. Now I’m going to smell awful the rest of the day. Man, Madden really needs to put in a shower here.”
I felt more than saw Murphy move closer, and reluctantly turned to give him my attention.
“You can shower at my shop,” Murphy offered.
I would’ve immediately said no, but I was prone to UTIs with this pregnancy—Goddamn did they suck big donkey balls—and keeping things clean and fresh were a great way to make sure that I didn’t get another one.
And I was not going to turn down the chance at a shower and smelling good the rest of the day after that particular workout.
CHAPTER 3
Things I like to lift:
1. Weights
2. A fork
-Text from Mavis to Murphy
MURPHY
As I rode my motorcycle into the forecourt of the shop, I wondered again, for the thousandth time, why the hell I’d offered Mavis a shower at my shop.
I parked and got off my bike, then headed to the front door without waiting for the woman that’d followed me the entire way to get out of her car.
Once I had the door unlocked, the alarm disarmed, and the lights on, I waited in the doorway, a wash of light spilling out into the slowly brightening morning, for her to arrive.
She did with a flurry of haste.
“How much time do you have?” I asked.
“Two and a half minutes,” she exaggerated.
I snorted and gestured for her to come inside, easily overtaking her and showing her the way to my place upstairs above my office.
I didn’t plan to utilize this space, but I’d found that it was easier to change out of my dirty clothes here, then take a shower, than it was to ride home sometimes.
So everything that was needed to get a body clean was there, which I showed her to the next second.
It wasn’t much. Honestly, I would’ve never thought it’d be good enough for a Pope, but the way Mavis smiled when she saw the shower was enough to make me grin.
It also gave me hope that she wasn’t a stuck-up snob like her grandmother.
Being gone about fifteen years, and not seeing Mavis in all that time, made me a bit wary of what I’d come back to.
Luckily, she was pretty decent.
“Thank you,” she said as she placed her stuff down on the counter in the small bathroom.
I left her at that, going downstairs and getting things turned on. Once my compressor and steamer were ready in the back, I got to work on a transmission from yesterday, only realizing about twenty minutes later that I’d never changed out of my workout clothes.
“Shit,” I said as I looked down at myself.
I was clean.
Luckily.
But I knew I wouldn’t be for long if I didn’t get changed.
Grabbing a rag, I headed to my office, going to the corner of the room and grabbing a pair of pants off a shelf.
