Page 80 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
Almost at once the lights dim and disco music comes on. For the next forty minutes I'm in a dark room with flashing strobe lights, surrounded by people who are furiously spinning the wheels of their stationary bikes.
Scott instructs us. He tells us when to change gears, how much to increase the load by and when to change the incline.
From my vantage point I now have a chance to get a good look at the man who has become the center of Arla's life. I’m finding the new gear change hard, and I ask Arla if I’m doing it right but she doesn't answer me, because she doesn't hear me, because she's busy ogling Scott.
After the first ten minutes, I don't talk much anyway. I can't. My lungs feel as if they're on fire and I can't feel my legs. My butt hurts, and a quick glance at the clock tells me I still have another twenty-five minutes of hell to get through.
I struggle to keep up, and shock hits me to see everyone around me cycling fast and furiously. We are not cycling uphill, apparently. Arla manages to keep up, and this I find rather shocking.
Thisis what love does to you? It makes you forget your body is screaming for release, and makes you want to prove yourself in your lover's eyes.
I am never doing this again.
My jaw drops. I can't close my mouth anyway, because I need to take in huge gulps of air. My lungs are screaming for it. What I really want to do is fall forward and hug the handlebars.
I am so out of shape. But I have a fast metabolism which means I don’t look out of shape. Lance doesn’t think I look out of shape. I didn’t miss the way his eyes raked all over me in the dress on Saturday night. I didn’t miss the press of his hands on me when we danced, or the electric touch of our bodies. I certainly didn’t imagine the way his hardness poke through the fabric of my dress.
No wonder he stopped dancing. No wonder he looked relieved when I told him I wanted to leave.
That night when he took me home, I had other ideas, but he … he has a sense of nobility.
Scott yells at us to increase our speed and to add more load on the gear. I fiddle with the settings but can’t figure out what to do.
A strong, hairy arm comes over. It’s the guy from the bike next to me. “Like this,” he adjusts it for me, then winks.
“T-thanks.”
He nods then starts cycling like a maniac, sweat dripping from his face. I can’t move the pedals much, so I adjust the gear back to what it was before.
I really need to get some sort of fitness routine going. I used to swim a lot, but work turned hectic and I was so dedicated to my work that I neglected myself.
They're all climbing an incline in the hardest gear, but I'm cycling happily, at the lowest gear, on a flat road.
This I can do. My thoughts go to Lance again. Going to the company event was a mistake, because now he's been imprinted even more fully in my head than ever. If I had a remote chance of forgetting him before, it is now gone. I want his arms around me, I want his lips on mine, I want his body pressed against the length of mine.
I want all of him.
The lights come on, shocking me out of my reverie. People around me are climbing off their bikes and standing in between them, stretching out their bodies. I'm still cycling like an idiot. Arla frowns at me and I stop cycling but remain seated.
This is what happens whenever I think of Lance Turner. I forget time, and where I am.
As we leave the room together, and Arla asks me what I thought of the class, I lie and tell her that I liked it, and that, yes, this was fun and of course I'll most definitely come again.
There’s no hope in hell of that ever happening.
We shower and get changed and decide to get lunch. She wants to know all about the company event and Lance. I try to keep it brief, not give too much away, hide my feelings about how I really feel—and hide from her that we've sort of agreed to try going on a few dates.
Not that he's called me.
It's already been over a week.
Maybe I misheard. Or misread the conversation. Maybe his ex-wife has her teeth in him again. I feel sorry for him.
“I hope you didn’t kiss him again,” says Arla. Her eyes run down my length before she rolls them “Or do something worse.” She hovers around in the lobby of the sports center entrance and is working the vending machine. Lately she's become very anti-Lance and even though I've explained that Lance is getting divorced, she doesn't seem to buy it.
“I did not. What a stupid thing to say,” I mutter.
“It’s not stupid. You turn into an idiot around Mr. Turner.” She grabs her bar of chocolate, then punches in another number. A packet of chips falls.
