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“Damn, Leo,” he pouts. “That’s embarrassing, man. How am I supposed to show my face around her now?”
“I don’t give a shit about your pride. What I’m telling you is that you are not to use my gym to try to score with a woman. You are not, nor will you ever be, the gym manager. You’re lucky I don’t fire your ass on the spot. This is your last chance. If you ever pull a stunt like this again…” I lean forward, getting in his face. “We are fucking done for good.”
“Leo!” I hear my mother’s disapproving tone, and when I turn, her expression matches it. “You don’t mean that.”
I remember the past all too well. “I do mean it, Mom. I really do.”
CHAPTER 4
Jazz
I PLOP MYSELF DOWN ON the other side of the kitchen bar, absently swirling my wine around as I recount the events of the evening to my roommate, Isiah Grant. He’s my height, all lean and mean, with brown-suede skin, sparkling ebony eyes, and short dreadlocks that make him look effortlessly cool. Even after a gruelling twelve-hour shift as a paramedic, he’s still wide awake and ready to roll. Meanwhile, I’m feeling like a zombie after my own long day. I might have resented Zay’s boundless energy and fresh appearance if he wasn’t the most special person in my life.
“This man just straight up came at me, Zay.” Throwing off my equilibrium with his irresistible good looks and baseless accusations. “He first accused me of breaking the law, then actually suggested I was screwing his brother. For what? Free advertising. I mean, how low can you get?”
“Huh-uh,” Zay shakes his head in solidarity. “That’s messed up, Baby Girl. You don’t deserve that kind of treatment.”
“Right?! I try not to be a petty person. I try to keep a peaceful aura. But it felt frigging amazing to let him know he lost customers to me.”
“You set his ass straight.”
I give a satisfied nod then frown in remembrance. “He had a great ass, I can’t lie. Great face too. But his personality? Major red flag.”
“Hm-mm. I’m so over pretty boys who aren’t the total package. Only nice guys for us from now on.”
“Cheers to that!” I clink my glass to his.
The next morning, I’m brewing coffee while Zay and I get ready for work. It’s his last eight-to-eight shift before he gets four days off and switches to nights. That whiplash of a schedule would leave me completely wrecked. My muscles are already feeling the strain from teaching so many classes. I’m in the process of initiating a new instructor, Emilia Ramos. I’ve long admired her as a plus-size dancer from the Rhythm Revolution dance troupe, and now she’s going to bring that confidence and hip hop flavour to Fab Fitness.
Over the last two months, membership has grown faster than my projections. I’m thrilled that my approach is resonating. I’d taken a big risk by relocating to TO from North Bay when Zay got a job transfer, and using the money from my mother’s life insurance to invest in Fab Fitness. She’s been gone three years and it still hurts my heart. But there’s some solace in knowing she would be proud of what I’m doing, even though it’s not dancing.
Ballet has been my passion since I was five, when my mom enrolled me in my first class. I had talent, grace, and flexibility, according to my teachers. But they also told me that if I wanted to pursue a career in classical dance and be truly great, I had to lose weight.
Here’s a little-known fact: if you tell me what to do, I’ll probably do the exact opposite. I was determined to prove those teachers and casting directors wrong. I wanted to show them that my weight wasn’t a hindrance and that I could move as well as any of my thin competitors. But much to my frustration, that’s not what they saw. I faced more rejection at auditions than success, and ended up with the occasional bit parts, if I was lucky. Mom and Zay were always there for me, never once hinting that I should change who I was or lose weight. I might have kept fighting but?—
“Morning, queen.” Zay’s greeting interrupts my trip down memory lane. He’s just out of a shower and smells like soap and cologne. “How did you sleep?”
“Okay.” But only after taking matters into my own hands, literally. I’d spent hours tossing and turning, my mind, and worse, my body consumed with thoughts of Leo. I tried meditation and burning a tranquillity candle, but finally resorted to giving myself a Leo-inspired orgasm, that’s too embarrassing to confess, even to my bestie. “How about you?”
“Good. Scrolled through Insta and TikTok before crashing,” he says, expertly frothing my milk just the way I like it and topping off my mug.
“Yum.” I take a sip and lick the creamy foam. “Why can’t I meet a man like you?”
“’Cause I’m one of a kind.” He winks and slides two bagel slices into the toaster oven. “Want one?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Zay sends me a questioning glance. “You seem off. Not your usual bubbly ray-of-sunshine self. Is the thing with that gym bully still bothering you?”
I’m about to admit it when my phone buzzes on the counter. I glance over the rim of my mug to see Kai’s name on the screen. I gave him my number when we met at Second Cup a couple of days ago.
“It’s actually the brother,” I say, setting down my coffee. “Kai.”
“Seriously?” Zay’s face contorts into his signature sniffing-shit expression.
“He seemed like a genuinely nice guy,” I offer up in his defense. “Unlike Leo. I want to hear what he has to say.” I slide to answer and bring the phone to my ear. “Hello, Kai.”
“Morning, pretty lady. I hope I’m not calling too early.”
