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Trish
“Come on, Trish! You can do two more!” Lisa berated me. “Good. There you go, one more… and done!”
I groaned and re-racked the barbell on the bench hooks, then sat up and wiped the sweat beading on my forehead with a towel. While Lisa walked out from behind the bench press to switch places with me, I worked to catch my breath, inhaling the pungent smells you could only find in a gym. I stood up, and Lisa leaned over to wipe off the bench before laying flat to begin her set.
“It feels weird doing heavy weights,” I said. “I don’t want to get, like, big and bulky. I want to betoned.”
Lisa unracked the barbell and began benching it like it weighed nothing. “That’s just a myth. You don’t get bulky unless you’re eating a lot of food, too.”
“Have you seen how much pizza I eat on the weekend?” I said while spotting her. “Not to mention my Saturday morning Pringles breakfast.”
She rolled her eyes. “Strength training won’t make you bulky. Trust me. It burns more calories than cardio, too.”
I did trust Lisa. She was my best friend, and she was as fit and lean as a cheetah. Not that I wasunhappywith my body. At least, no more than usual. But summer was upon us, and I wanted to look extra sexy in my bathing suit.
“Everything going fine at the shelter?” I asked when she took a break between sets.
She grinned up at me. “Better than ever. I mean, as good as thingscanbe at a women’s shelter. But no, it’s good. Lots of donations and volunteers. We’re doing great work. What about your job?”
The weights clanged heavily in the rack. “Better than ever,” I replied sarcastically. “Making coffee is extremely fulfilling.”
“I meant your search for a long-term job,” she replied with a glare. “Still no luck?”
I shook my head.
Lisa opened her mouth to say something encouraging—which she always did—but then her eyes cut past me. “Look. Blondie and Brownie are here.”
I twisted to follow her gaze out the window of the YMCA and into the entrance lobby. Two big, muscular guys—who we affectionately calledBrownieandBlondiedue to their hair color—were approaching the front desk to scan their membership fobs. They were both wearing dress pants and deep navy polo shirts that hugged their chiseled frames snugly, and they each held camo workout bags slung over their shoulder. They looked like undercover bodyguards, or Secret Service agents who were trying to blend in.
“That’s new,” Lisa said, nodding. There was a little girl with them with long blonde hair running down her back in a braid. She only came up to Brownie’s waist. The girl hugged each of them in turn before running off into the daycare room to play with the other kids. Then the two hunks went into the men’s locker room to change.
“I didn’t know Blondie had a kid,” I said.
“It doesn’t change anything,” Lisa said while laying flat to do another set. “Neither of them wear wedding bands.”
“Maybe they take them off before lifting weights?” I suggested.
Lisa’s voice was strained as she pushed the barbell even faster than before. “I’ve seen them up close before they change. No rings on those fingers, girl. They’re single. Speaking of which, you still haven’t told me which one you want.”
“I don’t like ogling guys at the gym,” I protested.
“Then I’m calling dibs on Blondie. I like a man with an accent.” She bit her lip and made a satisfied sound.
“We hate it when men stare atusat the gym,” I pointed out. “We shouldn’t do the same.”
“Fine. Ugh. You’re such a buzzkill when you’re in between jobs, you know that?”
I ignored her and took my turn on the bench to complete my final bench press set. Then we put the weights away and moved to the wall with the squat racks.
“Are you sure my thighs aren’t going to get huge?” I asked after my first set of back squats.
“That’s not how it works!” she insisted. “It’s a whole-body workout. Especially your core.”
While Lisa took her turn, Blondie and Brownie strode into the weights area. They had changed into baggy shorts and tank tops: Blondie’s was gray, and Brownie’s was neon blue and pink. I let my eyes linger on them—specifically the bulging shoulder muscles straining against the tank top straps—before pulling my gaze away. But a few moments later, I sensed them coming closer.
“Hey, Kettlebells,” Brownie said to me. “Is this squat rack open?” He jerked his thumb to the setup next to ours. Brownie and I had only interacted once before, when we were both using the kettlebells. A tingle of excitement ran up my spine that he recognized me.
