AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s hard to know which comes first: my dry throat, my wandering eyes, the loosening of my jaw, or the twitch at the crotch of my sweatpants. I’m thirteen years old again.
With my forearm leading the charge and semi-blocking the view in a bid to stop me from getting in an embarrassing state in my underwear, I make my way through the crowd of temptation and into the sanctity of my office.
I take a bottle of water from my minifridge and soothe my dry throat, contemplating whether I should pour the whole damn thing down my boxer briefs to put out the flames. Hey, at the end of the day, I’m a hot-blooded man.
Pulling up my schedule for the day, I sink into my desk chair. I’m not sure how it happens but next thing I know, there are images of Izzy Coulthard on my screen. My mouse cursor is hovering over a YouTube video when I hear her voice in the corridor.
‘You’re looking great, ladies. You can head into the studio now. We’re about ready to film.’
Pushing back in my chair, I see her through my open office door. The smile she offers the others leaves as quickly as they do, and Izzy comes to lean on the balcony rail. Her shoulders drop an inch and she seems to be focused on nothing, lost in thought. Wow, she is insanely attractive. Even more so now, with her hair tied back, her lips relaxed and not forced into a pout. I realize for the first time just how slim she is. I want to go to her, wrap my arms around her, and take care of her.
What the actual?!
‘Izzy, now is as good a time as any to have a chat about presales.’ Kerry, in her high heels and skinny jeans – completely out of place in the gym – comes into view. Izzy stands, turning to her. ‘We need to do more ahead of Tuesday. The TV ads have definitely helped but we aren’t seeing the numbers we’d hoped for. At least not yet.’
I watch Izzy’s back constrict and then relax with a deep breath. ‘What can I do?’
‘The book signings start this afternoon, but I really think we need to give people a reason to want to know more. A reason to visit your page. I think you need to do what we talked about with your blog. The blog is doing okay. I think you have to drive more interest there and try to convert some of those readers to sales.’
‘Kerry, I’m not comfortable with it. I don’t see why I have to insult others to sell books.’
Those are not words I ever thought I’d hear Izzy say. Of course, the soft tone of her voice and the defeatist fall of her shoulders aren’t things I’ve seen yet either.
Kerry waves a hand flippantly. ‘Stop thinking of it as bad-mouthing. Think of it as playful. Joking around. Showing a new dimension to your personality that attracts people.’
‘Surely, if what I’m doing is mean, people wouldn’t like me. How would that help sales?’
‘Look.’ Kerry’s tone shifts to annoyance. For some unknown reason, I have an urge to walk out there, give her what for, and take Izzy away from the situation. ‘Any traffic is good traffic. This isn’t a joke. People have put money behind this book. And I thought you told me this was your chance to prove something, huh? That you can be who you want to be and make a success of it?’
The physical shift in Izzy is visible. The change in the air is palpable. Whoever Izzy has to prove something to, the person is worth trying something she doesn’t really want to do. She nods. ‘You’re right. Fine. I’ll do what it takes.’
Yep, that’s more like the Izzy I’ve seen.
I try to work but the constant stop, restart, boom boom freakin’ boom, is driving me crazy. An amped microphone projects Izzy’s shouted instructions along the corridor. And, yeah, maybe curiosity gets the better of me.
My next PT client is coming in three minutes. So, I find myself moving along the corridor to Studio A. No wonder the music is so loud; they’re filming with the doors open. Huge amps, the size my band used to gig with in high school, are lined along one wall of the open space.
‘All right, ladies. Let’s take it from the top.’
Restart and boom, boom, boom. My head is going to explode in time to this mind-battering track. Out in the empty corridor, I stubbornly fold my arms across my chest. I watch as Izzy begins to salsa. She moves one foot forward then back, her hip rolling under her tight leggings.
‘Let’s get some sexy arms, ladies. Show me how hot you are.’
With smiles on their faces, Izzy’s fake clients move their hands over their bodies as they follow her moves. But there’s only one person in that room I cannot take my eyes off. I imagine dancing with her. Rolling my pelvis against hers. Running my hands up her sides.
And then I’m doing it. I’m salsa dancing in the corridor. I’m moving my feet Latin-style. Holding out my arm as if I were gripping her waist and moving with her pressed against me.
‘Brooks?’
I spin quickly and come face-to-face with Daryl: six four, built like the Rock, my goddamn client.
I stop dead, my arm still around Izzy’s invisible waist. I look at my arm, as if this really cannot be happening. As if I didn’t just get caught salsa dancing by my most butch client. I clear my throat. In the most masculine voice I can muster – somewhere between Johnny Cash and Barry White – I tell Daryl, ‘Let’s get to it, man.’
* * *
By lunch, Studio A has been cleared and the gym is in the process of being restored to normality. I have undoubtedly lost man points with one of my clients today but the gym may have gained more followers. Which really raises the still lingering question: do I want to franchise the gym?
My cell rings as I’m unstrapping my hands after fitting in half an hour on the punch bags. I use the strap to wipe sweat from my forehead and swipe my thumb across Cady’s picture.
