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I jam my ear buds into place and blast EDM to calm my insides, chewing a chunk of my hair.
I won’t be the person my mom thinks I am.
Chapter Four
Brody
“JUST TWENTY MORE,” I SAY, upping the weight on the pec deck machine by ten pounds. “You got this.”
Carlita groans and grips the handles tighter, forearms pressing against the resting pads. She starts the final set. Her words are stilted between reps. “Ugh…Brody. You…said that…ten…reps…ago.” Sweat trickles down her forehead.
“Yup, and now just fourteen left. Almost there.” I glance around the expansive gym and nod ‘hey’ to Miguel, a friend and coworker. It’s great to be back. The gym where I meet clients is finally done with the remodel, so no more bringing clients home and cramming them into my tiny living space.
Carlita’s arms shake, but she powers through and then flings herself forward, panting, forearms resting on her thighs. “We’re done, right?” She gulps water from a bottle. “That has to be all for today.”
“Ten-minute cool-down on the treadmill and you’re done.”
She stands with a groan, and I smile. I love my job, love helping people sculpt their bodies. I get to be their voice of reason. They all bitch and moan in the beginning about the pain and exhaustion—It’s too much. I’m too sore. I can’t do that. Why are you such a hard ass?—but they all come around in the end when they’ve got a killer core and sculpted muscles. It takes effort to get them there, but the payoff is worth it when they finally understand that working out is better than the consequences of an unhealthy lifestyle. Then they’re all gratitude and smiles, pretending like they never whined or cussed me out about doing one more rep.
Carlita jogs on the treadmill as I wipe the pec deck machine. Despite her supportive sports bra, there’s a nice bounce in her chest. She smiles, trying to encourage me to watch.
The two of us are friends. The kind with benefits. I’ve spent more than a few nights in her bed, but it’s all surface level. The great thing about Carlita is that we both want the same thing from each other: sex and nothing else. She’s a cougar looking for pleasure with no commitment, and I don’t date. Sure, I’ll go out with someone to have fun or see a movie, but only if we both agree to ‘no strings’. Fuck buddies only.
Serious relationships should be respected, and they aren’t for me. I’ve been in a few. They all get predictable after the first few weeks, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Interests fade. Women become high maintenance and complain about how I’m never doing the right thing. I never text enough. I spend too much time with my friends. I forget to bring a gift for whatever I was supposed to bring a gift for. Apology gifts. I forget those a lot. I spend hours thinking of the best way to apologize with words because, stupid me, I care. But because I forgot the flowers or teddy bear, my words and sincerity mean nothing.
I also have a high sex drive. That always causes problems.
Normally, I’d be watching Carlita and her graceful strides—each curve of her body. She’d be grinning at me with that knowing smile, bouncing a bit more to show off her goods. But I’ve lost interest lately. I keep picturing Paige and her aggravatingly tight yoga pants. Her snug sleeveless tops. She wears that goddamn sexy outfit every day. Every day. No bra. Only tight leggings that make her ass round, smooth, and perfect for grabbing, her top emphasizing the exact shape of each breast, drawing my gaze to those perky, erect-all-the-damn-time nipples. I know what her tits look like thanks to her unprompted strip tease. That’s all I can think about. I’ve relieved myself every morning in the shower because of her.
And that’s why I’m staying far away. If I’m already this hot and bothered by Paige, it’s even more reason not to get close.
Carlita glances at my crotch, thinking I’m getting hard because of her. She increases her speed. I sigh and wipe down other machines farther away even though they’re already clean, the sharp smell of chemicals stinging my nostrils. My shoulders ache. Today was busy. I’m tired and ready to go home. Crash on the couch. A smile crosses my face as my thoughts drift back to Paige. I bet she’s in the living room right now working her way through my DVDs. I might come home to find a six-person anal orgy on my giant flat screen.
Miguel slaps my arm. “Hey. Club tonight?” he asks, flashing his pearly whites. His long hair is curly and styled, beard and mustache trim. He’s very much a bronze Mexican god. Gets more women than I do.
“The club actually sounds good,” I respond. “Maybe after a nap.”
He yanks the cleaning towel from my hands. “Fine, old man. Should I help you then? Your muscles are looking flabby.”
Old? I’m barely into my thirties. Snatching the towel back, I smile. “Funny. Sounds like you want to get emasculated again. Unless you can suddenly bench press a hundred more pounds than last time.”
“No, but I can cycle thirty miles compared to your one.”
I toss the towel in a bucket. “That’s not true. I can almost do five.”
We both laugh. It is pretty pathetic how weak I am with cycling. But I’m not an endurance athlete.
I glance at Carlita, who is now standing beside the treadmill chugging water. “See you Thursday,” I call out and she waves. Miguel follows me to a nearby computer on a rolling stand. I type in session notes for Carlita—sets, weights, machines used.
After watching me type for a minute, Miguel says, “I hear Lotus is scheduled tonight.”
That comment perks me up. “Fuck, really?”
Miguel lets me finish my notes before responding. “Yeah. She looks amazing after her surgery. She’s a G now.”
My jaw loosens. “What? When did she have surgery?” I want to see Lotus with G-sized tits. I’ve never seen breasts that big in person.
“Oh, right, you weren’t at Dustin’s birthday party. Man, it was—” He’s poised to become very animated, telling me about the party with a grin and wild hand gestures, but he notices the pained expression on my face and stops. He shrugs. “It was, you know, just okay.”
