Page 31 of Digging Up Love
Spring warmth mingled with damp air to steep a muggy brew even the blasting fan couldn’t touch. Weight lifting equipment surrounded Alisha in the last bay of a three-car garage, where she bent over a barbell in concentration.
Blue skies had morphed into a gentle rain misting down outside the open garage doors, and Alisha couldn’t help but grin over the change in weather. Good thing she’d left her phone inside, or she might’ve done something stupid, like text Quentin an Avenger GIF.
A trickle of sweat ran down her face, and she wrinkled her nose against the itch, then pressed the soles of her teal Chucks into the ground and pulled up on the roughened steel bar. The barbell bent slightly, resisting, then gave with a gratifying lift.
Flexing her glutes, she stood tall and dropped the bar, letting the weight bounce down to the pads with a dull thud. Bruno Mars sang out through a speaker on the dusty windowsill, and Alisha joined in with breathless karaoke, hitting her watch to start her rest timer before the next set of dead lifts. She dropped down into a low squat, rocking side to side to loosen tight hips.
Why had she let a pseudorelationship progress this far? He was a mistake waiting to happen. Torn between regret and something suspiciously like excitement, she straightened up and tightened her lifting belt, the leather that helped brace her core. If only she had a similar brace for her emotions.
She bent and wrapped both hands around the barbell again, thumbs hooked under her first two fingers for grip. Planted her feet and shuffled her heels in her readiness ritual. She worked through another set of three dead lifts, blocking out the mental noise, then dropped the barbell and stepped back after the last rep with a satisfied nod.
Too bad she couldn’t whip her heart into shape like her other muscles. She’d lifted weights for years now, and whenever she added resistance, her muscles rose to the challenge. After a few weeks, the new weight felt light, and she could tackle heavier lifts with success.Yet after years spent building up an immunity against her desire for a relationship, she succumbed to a handsome face and shared sense of humor like a weakling.
Gasping, she loosened her belt so it hung down around her lower abs and tossed her wrists up on her head, sucking air. What was wrong with her? She should be focused on her business, on anticipating her family’s needs, not sitting here heart-eyes over a guy she had no future with. She was officially done mooning over Quentin and ready to fast-forward through this roadblock of a summer.
The unmistakable crunch of tires on gravel hit Alisha’s ears, and she whirled around. Headlights shone through the gray drizzle. She crossed over to the speaker and turned down the volume, looking around for her hoodie.
A car pulled to a halt in front of the garage, and the driver’s side door opened. A woman got out, then leaned in to say something to the passenger. No one Alisha recognized. Abnormal, in a town where she could draw everyone’s family tree from memory. Her search for the hoodie turned frantic.
The driver jogged over and stopped just under the garage overhang. “Good morning,” she chirped.
One of the paleontologists? If so, she was a good hour and a half early.Awesome.
“Hi,” said Alisha, spectacularly. She resisted the urge to tug down her booty shorts, noting the other woman’s thigh gap with an internal groan.
The stranger was immaculate in a navy raincoat and tall Hunter boots over formfitting jeans, her golden-brown hair tumbling out from under her hood and cascading down in shimmering waves. “I’m Bridget Reid, from Chicago Northern. You must be Alisha.”
Hunch confirmed, she nodded. Feeling like the Hulk next to Captain Marvel, pre–pixie cut, she busied herself with contriving a way to hide all her exposed skin. But covering up when she wore only asports bra, spandex shorts, and neoprene knee sleeves was like fighting a forest fire with a squirt gun. She ended up hugging her middle like a hospital patient awaiting an appendectomy, hyperconscious of the liberal dusting of white chalk across her thighs.
“That’s me. Alisha.” She undid her weight lifting belt and instantly regretted the reddened indents and surplus bare skin it revealed. Couldn’t well put it back on now, though. “Sorry, we weren’t expecting you this soon.”
Bridget smiled an apology. “Yeah, I know. I just couldn’t wait any longer to get down here and see the site. Too bad this rain started up.” She spoke with a slight twang—nothing jarring, just a soft rounding of her vowels.
Out on the road, Alisha spied a black pickup slow down, then turn into the driveway. Quentin.
Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh ...
Where the heck was her sweatshirt?
Water rushed out of the gutter, and Bridget ducked, stepping deeper into the garage. She slipped off her hood and shook out her hair in slow motion like in a shampoo ad. Alisha stood mesmerized, a wildebeest trapped in the hypnotic gaze of a lioness.
“I hope this doesn’t inconvenience you, us showing up early.” Bridget’s lips pressed into an expectant smile. Delicate perfume wafted toward her, and Alisha fought the urge to clamp down her arms. Had she even put on deodorant this morning?Unlikely.
She ran her tongue along her unbrushed teeth before answering. “No, no. Of course not. And from here on out, you’re welcome anytime.” She made a mental note to keep the garage door shut for every workout from now on, no matter the temperature. And to lift in an old pair of knee-length basketball shorts. And a shirt—definitely a shirt.
Maybe she could flee for cover inside the house. Locate some clothes and salvage the shreds of her dignity. A burst of rain sheeteddown in denial of her unspoken wish, chasing Bridget all the way into the garage.
She cast a glance around at the squat rack and weights. “This setup is so neat! Are you, like, a bodybuilder?”
“Powerlifter.”
“Neat!” Bridget repeated, and then wrapped her arms around her small frame, shivering. “I did CrossFit for a while. In undergrad. But then I was getting too big. Y’know, bulky?” She spread her fingers and flung out her hands in a clawing motion. Then she dropped her eyes to Alisha’s arms and blushed. “Now I mostly stick with barre workouts and Pilates.”
Of course she did.
Aloud, Alisha said in a clipped tone, “Heard great things about those.”
“Oh yeah, you should give it a try sometime! Your muscles will be jelly afterward!” She spoke without a trace of irony.
