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I don’t have to be anyone I don’t want to be when I’m home.
When I’m at work, I always need to be happy, positive, pumped up and motivating. Which, I love my job, but some days it’s just hard to be that switched on all day. So, when I arrive home, I don’t have to be any of those things if I don’t want to be. I can just be Natalie, who some days just wants to be alone with her own thoughts and not worrying about everyone else’s. I might be their personal trainer, but I also end up being their therapist or confidante too. Some days, that weighs on my shoulders. I want to see them happy, but I’m not qualified to offer the right advice. I try my best, but hey, it’s not like I’m good at relationships to offer any advice on that.
Over the years I’ve had a few long-term relationships, but when it starts to get to the serious part and there are the hints of living happily ever after, panic sets in and I manage to sabotage myself. The inevitable sentence comes out: “It’s not you, it’s me.” Every guy’s nightmare. A girl who can’t commit.
What’s even harder is that not much has changed since high school. I wasn’t good at making that close-friend relationship back then and nothing seemed to improve as I got older. Until I was blessed with Zara coming into my life five years ago. Xav and I were recommended to her as trainers after she injured her knee, and she needed help with rehabilitation. Because we aren’t just average personal trainers, but both trained in injury prevention and rehabilitation, we were glad to take her on as a client. The moment we met we clicked. It was easy, the friendship grew on its own and neither of us had to work for it.
Now, she’s the person I tell everything.
The good, the bad, the ugly, and the moments when I’m so worked up, I can’t even speak. You know the ones where you need to vent so badly that you can’t get the words out and you know the moment you start it will be like a massive rant. I finally have that person in my life who knows me inside and out. And thankfully, that person is not Xavier anymore.
Zara owns her own dance school and has worked so hard to get back to peak form with her own dancing, that she is finally again auditioning this year for the New York Dance Company. It’s been a journey after her injury, but she is the most determined woman I know.
Propping up my pillows on my headboard, my tablet is leaning against my raised knees. I’m doing the same thing I do every night—flicking through my various social media platforms. The fact that I always seem to land on Jordan’s profile is a sheer fluke—well, that’s what I tell myself anyway. Because otherwise, that would mean admitting I still have an unhealthy obsession with my teenage crush. Which of course would be totally pathetic for someone my age. Especially since he is now happily married and I’m totally in the friend zone. I mean, I put myself there, but hey, you can’t blame a girl for still admiring his body. Like every other woman in America does.
Jordan’s PR company does a great job of keeping up the image of a squeaky-clean, wholesome, all-American NFL player. Married and never caught in compromising positions with women or men. A lot of the time he attends charity events on his own because Sasha is busy working or away. It must be a tough marriage being apart so much, but I suppose they knew that going into it. They both have high-profile careers and, in a way, a limited number of years to get the best out of those careers. Mind you, I’m sure with the help of some surgery and good training, Sasha will look like that forever.
I never thought I would be a jealous person, but deep down, that’s what I am. I’m jealous of her. Not for her beauty and the lifestyle, but purely because she has him.
I mean, I shouldn’t be, but I just am.
My finger scrolls the page up, and there he is. Shirtless and modeling a pair of ripped jeans.
Fuck me!
Nothing sexier than a guy in a pair of good-fitting blue denim. The first shot of him sitting pondering the moment has me totally transfixed. What is he thinking about?
That small amount of chest hair between his perfect pec muscles is just enough to make your heart run. A chest that looks like he is bench-pressing at least two hundred and twenty pounds and not even breaking a sweat. He’s got his hand on his chin. No wonder he can play football. The ball would sit perfectly in a hand as big as that. My mind is already wandering off to what else those long fingers would be good at. His hair is just that right length. Enough to run your fingers through but still giving that well-put-together, rich, smooth look. Like he could put on a suit and stand in a boardroom with a bunch of businessmen and still fit in. Making every woman in the office swoon as he walked down the corridor.
Man, I need to stop doing this. It’s not healthy and kind of pathetic.
There should be a law that all photos of half-naked men come with a warning label. One that reads “have tissues available, ready to clean up all drool that is a result of seeing the vision before you.”
My phone rings, distracting me enough that it stops my body from self-combusting.
Smiling, I swipe the screen to accept the FaceTime.
“Hey, babe, what are up to?” Zara’s face fills the screen. Lying in her bed just like I am, this is how comfortable we are with each other. We don’t care what we look like or what time of day or night it is. FaceTime is always an option.
“Hi, hun, just scrolling and punishing myself,” I answer as I try to draw my eyes away from the tablet’s screen.
“Damn, you saw the jeans ad, didn’t you. I mean, holy shit. If he wasn’t married and wasn’t the guy who killed your love life, then I’d jump that.” We both start giggling.
“Stand in line, woman. If anyone gets to jump that, it’s me. Well, obviously if he wasn’t married, of course.”
She just rolls her eyes at me. “Way to pour water on the fire, Nat.” We both laugh and I scroll past the picture. I can’t keep looking at that and instead concentrate on the conversation. “So did you have fun with Xavier watching the football thingy?”
“Oh my God, don’t let him hear you say that. That’s sacrilege not to know what today is. I mean, it’s one of the most important days on the NFL calendar, apparently.” Putting my tablet on the bedside table, I slide down into my bed a little more.
“I guessed that by the way he was carrying on at the gym this morning. Puffing his chest out and talking it up with all the guys. Does that mean we have to listen to him talk about it tomorrow morning too?” She puts her hands under her chin, praying that I will say no.
“Sorry, I can’t save you. If I have to put up with it, then so do you, my friend. Plus, tomorrow is Saturday morning which means breakfast. So twice the punishment.”
“Ugh, I love your brother, but he is going to kill the vibe. The only thing I want to know about football players is their statistics, and I’m not talking about on the field.”
Pretending to be shocked, I cover my mouth with my hand. “Zara, that’s not like you. Let’s be honest, you’re too busy keeping your eye on the prize with the audition to notice any man around.”
“Hell, I don’t want to date them, but I can look, can’t I? No rules against that. I mean, it’s been a while since anyone has been in my bed.”
