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I had scoured the classifieds. Three dozen people had held my application in their hands and had either told me to come back next year for the Christmas rush, or that they had already hired several college kids and didn’t need more until the end of the semester. I wasn’t stupid.
The summer break exodus meant there wouldn’t be enough business to sustain more employees. The trick was to find something early in the fall semester, and timing just wasn’t on my side. Jobs on campus paid nine dollars an hour or less—nothing that could pay rent and bills with the hours I could work around my classes.
Most of all, I was pissed that I’d wasted so much money on bullshit over the past two years. I didn’t save anything left over after tuition, and worse, I’d spent it on booze, tattoos, furniture and motorcycle mods.
I had no idea I’d meet the love of my life and get married at the same time the fights ended, leaving our income landing just below the poverty line.
Working for Brandon and letting local cougars paw at me while they pretended to work out was the last thing I wanted to do, but the bills had to get paid somehow. Abby was on her second week of tutoring, but that barely covered the groceries and gas money.
I took a deep breath, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and slammed the door behind me, feeling the pooling rainwater slosh under my feet. I knocked on the glass door and waited. There was a code box outside, and each member had their own four-digit PIN.
A man whose neck was twice as big as his head set down his bar bell and, with the telltale stick-up-the-ass-and-arm-swing walk of a weightlifter, he opened the door and greeted me with a nod.
The man looked over his shoulder. “Brandon,” the meat head called with a gruff voice. He smiled at me, and it lightened his entire expression. “I’m Chuck,” he said, reaching his thick hand out to mine. “I was hoping you’d come in.”
“Travis. Nice to meet you.”
Brandon was mid-peck behind the receptionist’s ear when he looked up. Chuck noticed it, too, and his smile vanished.
It was nice to know not everyone at the gym agreed with Brandon’s antics.
“Maddox!” Brandon exclaimed, holding out his arms. “The fuck, man? What took you so long?”
He grabbed my right hand in a tight handshake and then pulled me in, tapping his shoulder to mine, patting my back with his free hand. The douche bags always went for the bro hug.
“You’ve met Chuck, he’s the management for all three gyms. Are you here to fill out an app or what?”
I nodded.
Brandon turned, reaching out toward his receptionist and snapping his fingers. “An application, Tiffany. Now.”
Tiffany turned her back to us and bent over, pulling open a filing cabinet and fingering every file.
Brandon back-handed my shoulder, chuckling and nodding toward Tiffany’s ass like a twelve-year-old.
I didn’t smile, or frown; I just concentrated on appearing indifferent.
Tiffany found what she was looking for and trotted over to Brandon with pen and the paper in hand.
“Found it,” she said, waiting for praise from her boss.
“You’re great,” he said. “Isn’t she great?”
If fucking a married man with a pregnant wife is an admirable accomplishment.“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “Filing is hard.”
Tiffany dipped her chin a few times in dramatic nods, appreciative that I understood her plight.
“You wanna fill that out in my office?” Brandon asked.
“You got an office?” I said, only half joking.
Brandon puffed out his chest. “Right this way. Tiffany,” he said, snapping at her again. “Water.”
She nodded, rushing away.
“Chuck, Maddox is finally filling out an app. We need to start a list of clients for him.”
Chuck nodded, then resumed his workout as if Brandon hadn’t said anything at all.
